Page 67 of Stolen Harmony

“No,” he said quietly. “It's not.”

The admission crackled between us like electricity. I could see the shame in his face, the self-recrimination, but underneath it was something hungrier. Something that matched the heat building in my own chest.

“Did you like what you saw?” The question was out before I could think better of it, reckless and loaded with implications neither of us was ready for.

Elias's breathing changed, became more shallow. “Rowan.”

“It's a simple question.”

“No, it's not.” He ran a hand through his hair, the careful composure finally starting to crack. “Nothing about this is simple.”

“Because I'm her son.”

“Because you're twenty-six and I'm old enough to know better.” His voice was rough now, strained. “Because you're vulnerable and the last thing you need is some older man taking advantage of that.”

“What if I want you to take advantage?”

I watched Elias's face change, saw the exact moment when his control started to slip. His pupils dilated, his hands clenched into fists on his knees, and I could see the pulse jumping in his throat.

“You don't mean that,” he said, but his voice lacked conviction.

“Don't I?” I stood up slowly, aware of how the movement made my t-shirt ride up, exposing a strip of skin above my boxer briefs. “You've been thinking about it, haven't you? About what it would be like.”

“Stop.” The word came out like a plea.

“About touching me. About what I'd sound like if you made me come.” I took a step closer, close enough to see the way his breathing had changed, the way his eyes kept flickering to my mouth. “About whether I'd be as responsive with you as I was with him.”

“Jesus Christ, Rowan.” Elias was on his feet now, backing away like I was something dangerous. “You don't know what you're saying.”

“I know exactly what I'm saying.” Another step closer, close enough to smell his cologne, clean and masculine and absolutely intoxicating. “The question is whether you're going to do anything about it.”

For a moment, we just stared at each other. The air between us was charged, electric, crackling with tension that made it hard to breathe. I could see the war playing out on his face, desire fighting with propriety, want battling with the knowledge that this was wrong on every level that mattered.

Then, just when I thought he might close the distance between us, might give in to whatever this was, he stepped back.

“I can't,” he said, and the words sounded like they were being torn from his throat. “I won't.”

I felt my face burn with embarrassment, with the particular kind of shame that came from offering yourself to someone and being turned down.

“Right,” I said, my voice carefully neutral. “Of course.”

“It's not...” Elias started, then stopped, shaking his head. “You're not thinking clearly.”

“I'm thinking perfectly clearly.” I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly aware of how exposed I was, how fucking pathetic I must look standing there in my underwear and t-shirt, practically begging for attention from a man who'd rather pretend I didn't exist. “Message received.”

“That's not what this is.”

“Isn't it?” I moved back to the couch, needing distance, needing something solid between us. “You can watch me fuck other men, but the idea of touching me yourself is too much. I get it.”

“It's not about wanting.” His voice was strained, desperate. “Fuck, Rowan, if it was just about wanting...”

He didn't finish the sentence, but I heardwhat he wasn't saying. The confession hidden in the silence, the admission that he did want this, want me, even if he was too much of a coward to act on it.

“Then what's it about?”

“It's about the fact that I'm supposed to be the adult here.” He sank back into his chair, head in his hands. “It's about the fact that I was married to your mother, that I'm old enough to know better, that this is the kind of mistake that destroys people.”

“Maybe I want to be destroyed.”