They made it as far as the foyer before reality crashed back in.
Adrian's phone rang.
The sound cut through the haze of want like a bucket of ice water. He froze, Nora's hand still in his, her body warm against his side.
Victor's ringtone.
Of course.
"I have to—" Adrian pulled the phone from his pocket, stared at the screen like it might spontaneously combust.
"Answer it," Nora said quietly. She stepped back, putting distance between them. Her lips were still swollen from his kisses. Her dress slightly askew.
Guilt crashed through him like a wave.
He answered. "Victor. Hey."
"Adrian! Finally. I've been trying to reach you for an hour." Victor sounded harried, distracted. Background noise suggested an airport or train station. "Sorry for the late call. Time zones are destroying me."
"It's fine. Everything okay?"
"Define okay." Victor sighed. "The Ashford deal is more complicated than I thought. Legal's found issues with the contracts, we're renegotiating terms, and Ashford himself is being difficult. Long story short—I need to extend my trip."
Adrian's hand tightened on the phone. "How long?"
"Another two weeks. Maybe three. I know, I know. I promised I'd be back by the end of the month, but if I leave now, this whole thing collapses. I'm sorry."
Two more weeks.
Four more weeks total of being alone in this house with Nora. Four more weeks of fighting this pull between them. Four more weeks of torture.
His knuckles went white around the phone.
"Adrian? You still there?"
"Yeah. Sorry. That's—fine. Do what you need to do." His voice came out steady. Professional. None of the chaos screaming in his head. "We're managing fine here."
"How's Nora? Is she settling in okay?"
Adrian's eyes found her across the foyer. She was watching him, arms wrapped around herself, looking young and uncertain and so goddamn beautiful it hurt.
"She's great," he said. "Got offered the gallery position today, actually."
"What? That's fantastic! Put her on. I want to congratulate her."
No. Absolutely not. He couldn't hand her the phone thirty seconds after they'd been kissing in his car, after he'd been planning to take her upstairs and—
He handed her the phone.
Nora took it with trembling fingers. "Hi, Victor."
Adrian turned away. Gave her privacy. Walked to the window and stared at the city lights while his heart hammered against his ribs.
What the hell am I doing?
Behind him, Nora laughed at something Victor said. The sound was warm, genuine, everything good and pure that Adrian had no right to touch.
He'd been minutes away from taking her to bed. From crossing a line so far over it might as well be in another country. From betraying the man who'd saved his life, given him everything, trusted him with the most precious thing in his world.
What kind of man does that?
The same kind who killed his father, apparently. The same kind who'd spent his whole life taking what he wanted and calling it survival.
"He wants to talk to you again," Nora said softly.
Adrian turned. Took the phone. "Yeah?"
"Take care of her," Victor said. "I know you will, but—she's excited about this job. Make sure she doesn't work herself to exhaustion trying to prove herself. You know how she gets."
"I know."
"And Adrian? Thank you. For being there. For looking after her when I can't. It means everything to me."
The words were knives.
"Of course," Adrian managed. "She's family."
They said their goodbyes. Adrian hung up and stood there, phone in hand, staring at nothing.
"Adrian—"
"I need to—" He gestured vaguely upstairs. "Shower. Emails. I should—"
"We should talk about—"
"Not tonight." He couldn't look at her. If he looked at her, he'd either pull her close or fall apart. Possibly both. "I'm sorry. I just—I need space. To think."
The hurt that flashed across her face gutted him.
"Okay," she said quietly. "Space. Sure."
She walked past him toward the stairs. Paused with her hand on the bannister.
"For what it's worth? I don't regret tonight. Any of it."
Then she was gone, leaving him alone in the foyer with the ghost of her perfume and the taste of her still on his lips.
Adrian stood there until he couldn't anymore.
Then he went upstairs, locked himself in the bathroom, and turned the shower to scalding.
Forty minutes later, the water had gone cold and he was no closer to absolution.
He stood under the spray, forehead pressed against the tile, and tried to sort through the wreckage of his thoughts.
He wanted her. That wasn't new. He'd wanted her since she'd walked into that dining room a week ago looking like sunlight made human.
But tonight had been different. Tonight, he'd stopped fighting. Had let himself have what he wanted. Had kissed her in the car and walked her into this house with full intention of—
What? Taking her to bed? Starting something they couldn't finish? Destroying his relationship with Victor for a few hours of satisfaction?
It's not just satisfaction.
No. It wasn't. That was the problem.
If it were just physical, he could resist. He'd resisted plenty in his life—violence, revenge, the easy path. Resisting attraction should be simple.
But this wasn't just attraction. This was Nora seeing past his carefully constructed walls and finding something worth wanting underneath. This was conversations over dinner that felt like coming home. This was the way she looked at him—not with fear or judgment but with understanding and want in equal measure.
This was dangerous.
Adrian turned off the water. Dried off mechanically. Pulled on sweatpants and tried not to think about the fact that Nora was down the hall, probably not sleeping either, probably replaying the same moments he was.
Her taste. Her hands in my hair. The small sound she made when I kissed her neck.
Stop.
He grabbed his laptop. Work would help. Work always helped. He had the Singapore presentation to finalize, emails from Tokyo to answer, three contracts that needed review before morning.
He made it through two emails before giving up.
His mind kept drifting. To dinner. To her confession—I want you. To the feel of her hand in his as he'd led her inside, both of them knowing exactly where this was heading.
Then Victor's call. Reality intruding. Guilt flooding in.
Take care of her.
He was doing a stellar job of that. Really. Taking care of her by kissing her senseless in his car, by planning to take her to bed, by wanting her so badly he could barely breathe around it.
Victor trusted him. Had trusted him for thirteen years. Had given him everything—a job, an education, a future, a family.
And this was how Adrian repaid him? By wanting his daughter? By touching her? By lying through his teeth about how "fine" everything was?
His phone buzzed. Text message.
From Nora: Are you okay?
No. He wasn't okay. He was the furthest thing from okay.
He typed back: Fine. Just needed to clear my head.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
I meant what I said. I don't regret tonight.
You should.
Why?
Because he was wrong for her. Because she deserved better. Because this was doomed from the start.
Because Victor would never forgive me. And he'd be right.
The dots appeared and stayed there for a long time.
Finally: What about what I'd forgive? Don't I get a say in this?
God, she was killing him.
Go to sleep, Nora.
Only if you do.
I'll try.
Liar.
Despite everything, he smiled.
Goodnight, Nora.
Goodnight, Adrian.
He set down his phone and stared at the ceiling.
Four more weeks alone with her. Four more weeks of fighting this. Of wanting what he couldn't have. Of choosing between loyalty to Victor and—
What? Love?
No. Not love. He didn't do love. Love was for people who weren't fundamentally broken. Love required trust and vulnerability and a future he'd never let himself imagine.
This was just—want. Attraction. Proximity and bad timing.
It would pass.
Liar.
Morning came too soon and not soon enough.
Adrian was at the kitchen counter by five, coffee already brewed, laptop open, trying to pretend last night hadn't happened.
Nora appeared at six-thirty.
She'd clearly been up for a while—hair damp from a shower, dressed for her first day at the gallery in fitted black pants and a cream blouse, minimal makeup that somehow made her more devastating.
Their eyes met across the kitchen.
"Morning," she said carefully.
"Morning. Coffee's fresh."
"Thanks."
She poured herself a cup. Added cream and sugar. The silence stretched.
"Big day," Adrian said finally.
"Yeah. First day. I'm terrified."
"You'll be great."
"You keep saying that."
"Because it's true."
She smiled. Small, but real. "Thanks."
More silence. This was excruciating.
"About last night—" they both started simultaneously.
Stopped. Awkward laughs.
"You first," Nora said.
Adrian set down his coffee. "I'm sorry. For—I shouldn't have kissed you. Shouldn't have let things go that far. It was inappropriate and unfair to you and—"
"Stop."
"Nora—"
"Just stop." She set down her own mug with enough force that coffee sloshed over the rim. "Don't apologize for the one honest thing that's happened between us. Don't reduce it to some mistake you're already cataloging in your list of sins."
"It was a mistake."
"Why? Because you felt something? Because for five minutes you let yourself want something without drowning in guilt?"
"Because Victor—"
"Isn't here. And I'm an adult who can make her own choices. You keep acting like you're taking advantage of me, but Adrian—I kissed you back. I asked you to come inside. I wanted everything that almost happened."
"Almost being the operative word."
"Only because Victor called."
"Which should tell you something."
"It tells me you're a coward hiding behind loyalty."
The words landed like a slap.
Adrian's jaw tightened. "I'm trying to do the right thing."
"The right thing for who? Because it's not for me. And I don't think it's actually for Victor either. I think it's for you. So you can keep telling yourself you're noble and self-sacrificing instead of admitting you're just scared."
"Scared of what?"
"Of wanting something for yourself. Of letting yourself be happy. Of—" She stopped. Breathed hard. "Of me."
"I'm not scared of you."
"Then prove it."
"How?"
"Stop running. Stop making decisions for both of us. Stop treating this like some burden you have to carry alone." She moved closer. "I know this is complicated. I know Victor matters. I know the age gap makes you uncomfortable. But Adrian—we're both adults. We both want this. At some point, you have to decide if that's enough."
His hands curled into fists on the counter. "And if it all falls apart? If Victor finds out and it destroys our relationship? If you realize six months from now that I'm exactly as damaged as I warned you? Then what?"
"Then we deal with it. Together."
"You make it sound simple."
"It is simple. You're the one making it complicated."
God, he wanted to believe her. Wanted to believe this could work, that wanting her wasn't the worst betrayal imaginable, that he deserved something good for once in his life.
But years of survival instinct were hard to override.
"I need time," he said finally. "To think. To figure out—"
"How to let yourself be happy? Take all the time you need." She grabbed her bag, headed for the door. Paused in the archway. "But Adrian? While you're thinking? Remember that Victor trusted you with me because he knows you're a good man. Maybe start trusting yourself the same way."
Then she was gone.
Adrian stood in the kitchen, surrounded by the scent of her perfume and coffee and the ruins of his carefully constructed control.
Four more weeks.
He'd never survive it.