We can’t keep it from Dad forever.
“But not now,” I murmur, panic fueling my words. “It’s too fast, Murphy. We need to…”
We need to what?
Cowardice roils through me, impossible to ignore, as my mind floods with dozens of vignettes of Dad turning nasty and hateful when he learns the truth about me and his best friend.
“He’s all I’ve got now that Mom’s gone,” I whisper, voice choked, tears trying to brim in my eyes. “He’s my only family, Murphy. Just him and me. If he turned against me, if he started to hate me, I don’t know what I’d do.”
“We can’t keep this a secret forever,” he says firmly. “You know we can’t.”
I nod, wrapping my arms around myself, feeling tiny as I stand under this silver-haired giant. His intense eyes bite into me, locking me into place, and the heat of his body seems to envelop me. My sex tingles from where he touched me, my whole body pulsing from the kissing and the rubbing and the contact.
“I understand,” I tell him. “But ever since the cancer took Mom, he’s leaned on me, Murphy. He’s relied on me. I don’t want to disappoint him. Please, can we just wait a while longer? Please?”
I hate the pleading note in my voice, high-pitched and – let’s face it – pathetic, but he has to understand.
He can’t make this decision for me.
He takes a step forward, brushing a tear from my cheek with his thumb, sending a tingling sensation down my face, and over my body.
“Okay, Molly,” he says. “I won’t tell him until you’re ready. But he’ll have to learn the truth soon enough.”
“I know,” I whimper, leaning forward and placing my head against his chest, his powerful heartbeat drumming against my cheek. “I understand. It’s just—it’s hard, Murphy. Mom meant so much. To both of us, obviously. She was the one who first started encouraging my driving. When I was a girl and I wanted to play with cars instead of dolls, she was so enthusiastic about it. She was so amazing. And then the cancer came and it took her, cruel fucking cancer, and then it was just me and Dad and…
“And she was everything to him. She was his world. It broke him. I really believe that. He used to gamble here and there before her death, but never like he does now—or did, in England and before. God, I hope he’s stopped.”
I break off, realizing I’m rambling and certainly at the worst possible time.
Dad is on his way up here.
“Do you mind?” I ask, grabbing a fistful of his shirt and holding it to my face.
He chuckles, the vibrations of his body moving through me. “Go ahead. And thank you.”
“For what?” I murmur, dabbing my cheeks.
“For telling me about your mother, your feelings. It means a lot.”
I look up into his face, his jaw tight, his eyes gleaming as they stare into me, through me, as if they can see every single part of me and he’s obsessed with each piece, no matter how small. “Maybe you can return the favor, huh?”
“Maybe.” He smirks. “But I’d much rather spend my time exploring that curvy body of yours—”
His words cut off when the door rattles behind us, somebody trying to push it open, but it’s locked and the handle moves ineffectually up and down.
Fuck.
“It’s Dad,” I whisper, stepping away from him. “Oh, God. Just… act natural.”
He sighs darkly, clearly not liking the idea of this impromptu play, but he then nods shortly as he walks around the edge of his desk and drops into the chair.
“Door—unlock.”
The door opens and Dad bursts in, the momentum making him stumble and then catch himself with a short laugh. I want to giggle along with him, but it takes all my self-control to stand at the edge of the desk with my hands clasped in front of me, praying I’m not going to give anything away.
Murphy agreed not to say anything.
He wouldn’t go back on that… would he?
Worse, what if Dad can smell what we did, our lust dancing in the air?
I fix a smile to my face, hoping Dad doesn’t look too closely at me and my tussled hair, red-blooming cheeks, and the recent desire shivering across my expression.
Dad whistles as he walks across the large office, glancing at the window, smiling as he turns his face first to me and then to Murphy. He’s wearing a neat dark blue suit and he’s combed his hair, shiny with the product. He looks more optimistic than I’ve seen him in a long time.
“This place is amazing, Murph,” he says. “It’s like Batman’s office or something.”
Murphy chuckles, but I can hear rumbling beneath the noise, like any second the effort of keeping silent is going to become too much and he’s going to explode with the truth.