It had felt inevitable.
And now he was here.
Towering.
Composed.
Unapologetic.
The man I should’ve run from—and now the one I couldn’t stop wanting.
"Ms. Blake and I have met," he said smoothly. If he was shocked by the revelation, he hid it perfectly.
At the ceremony yesterday."
Our eyes locked, and in his I saw the same stunned recognition that must be evident in mine.
But while I felt my composure crumbling, his remained intact—the consummate businessman, unruffled even by this cosmic joke at our expense.
"Savannah?"
Miles's voice behind me completed the nightmare scenario.
I turned woodenly to find him standing there, looking between his father and me with a confused expression.
"Dad? I didn't know you'd arrived."
"Late last night," Lucas replied, extending his hand to his son. They shook briefly, a formal gesture that spoke volumes about their relationship.
"You're looking well, Miles."
"Thanks. I was just coming to introduce you to Savannah, but I see you've already met."
"Briefly," Lucas said, his gaze flickering to mine.
"At the ceremony."
I couldn't breathe.
Couldn't think.
The two men stood before me—nearly identical in height, in the set of their shoulders, in certain expressions—and I wondered with mounting horror how I could have missed the resemblance even in the dim garden light.
Miles was a younger, less weathered version of his father, lacking only the silver hair and the quiet confidence that came with age.
Lucas Turner.
Miles’s father.
The man who’d made me beg last night.
The man who had me coming apart in his hands.
The man now standing inches away in a tailored suit and polite indifference, his gaze cool, calm, and unreadable, like my body hadn’t been beneath his just hours ago.
"Savannah works at a prestigious marketing firm," Miles was saying, his hand coming to rest possessively on my lower back.
Lucas's expression remained neutral, but something flickered in his eyes at his son's proprietary gesture.
