"Mr. Turner?—"
"Lucas," I corrected. "Given the circumstances, formality seems absurd."
"Lucas."
My name on her lips sent an unexpected thrill through me. "Last night was a mistake. A beautiful one, perhaps, but still a mistake. One we can't repeat."
"Because of Miles?"
She hesitated. "Partly. And because it would be wrong."
"According to whose moral code?" I leaned forward slightly. "You're not in a relationship with my son. You haven't been for almost a year. We're both unattached adults."
"It's not that simple, and you know it."
Her voice had taken on an edge of frustration. "There are professional considerations. Ethical boundaries."
She was right, of course. The same arguments I'd made to myself upstairs.
Yet hearing them from her lips made me want to dismantle them one by one.
"If circumstances were different," I said carefully, "if we'd met as we did, but without the complication of Miles, would you have wanted to see me again?"
The question hung between us, dangerous in its simplicity. For a moment, I thought she might not answer.
Then, almost imperceptibly, she nodded.
"Yes."
That single syllable cracked something open in my chest—a possibility I'd been refusing to acknowledge even to myself.
"And if I told you I feel the same?"
She closed her eyes briefly. "It doesn't matter. We can't."
"Can't and shouldn't aren’t exactly the same thing."
"Not in this case." She looked at me directly, her green eyes filled with a mixture of regret and resolve.
"Last night happened because we didn't know. We know now. Whatever we might have felt—whatever we might still feel—we have to walk away."
I should have agreed.
Should have nodded and let her go.
I should have maintained the ethical boundaries that I'd built my reputation on.
Instead, I reached across the table and covered her hand with mine.
She flinched slightly but didn't pull away. "Lucas..."
"One more night," I said, surprising myself with the words. "To explore what this is between us. Then, if you still feel it’s a mistake, we can walk away."
Her eyes widened.
"You can't be serious."
"I've never been more serious."
