“Your father loved this episode,” Lucian mused as I attacked the last quarter of my grilled cheese.
“He did,” I agreed, stacking my empty plate on his. “Now that your penis has invaded my vagina on multiple occasions, I think you should tell me why you’re so close to my parents. Oh God.” I sat up straighter. “You didn’t have an affair with my mom, did you?”
“I did not have an affair with your mother,” he said dryly.
“Then what kind of a relationship do you have with her?”
He sighed and paused the episode. “Your parents helped me through a difficult time in my life. I owe them for that.”
“So you have some kind of invisible tally system, and once you’ve hit the appropriate number of tick marks, you’ll vanish from Mom’s life?”
“You’re a lot like your father,” he said, though it didn’t sound like a compliment.
“In what way?” I pressed, eager for any connection to the man I missed.
“You never give up. Even when you should.”
“He never gave up on you,” I said softly. But I had. Not that I’d had a choice.
“Not many people have the unbridled, delusional optimism that Simon Walton brought to this world.”
I sighed against Lucian’s broad shoulder. I may have gotten my tenacity from my dad, but I had missed out on the delusional optimism gene. “He was one of a kind,” I agreed.
We were silent for a long moment, both staring straight ahead at the frozen faces on the TV screen.
“I can’t believe Ansel is dead,” I said finally.
Lucian stiffened next to me like I’d just pushed the button where all his walls came up and the gate to his castle rolled down.
I put my hand on his thigh and gripped. “Wait. Before we jump into Lucian versus Sloane Round two million, let’s call a temporary cease-fire and have some peace talks.”
He looked down at me, his expression halfway between amusement and annoyance. “Peace talks? Why do women feel the need to talk everything to death?”
“If you’ll shut up, I’ll explain. Now, I’m not admitting to having wondered for a long time what sex with you would be like.” His expression went wolfish, and I held up a finger. “No! We’re still recovering. If we attack each other now, you’ll sprain your penis or I’ll lose feeling below the waist.”
“I’m willing to take that chance.”
I rose up on my knees and faced him. “Keep it zipped, Sir Fucks a Lot. What I’m suggesting is since we’ve appeased our curiosity with our one-night-only sexual shenanigans, why don’t we apply the same consideration to all the questions we’ve always wanted answers to?”
“No.”
I pouted. “You didn’t even consider the offer. That’s not very peace talky of you.”
“Don’t look at me like that.”
Sensing impending victory, I deepened my pout, saddened my eyes, and straddled his lap. “Come on, big guy. We cleared the air sexually and survived. Why can’t we drop a couple of truth bombs consequence-free before we go back to normal and never speak again?”
His handsome face with its poetic cheekbones and stormy eyes gave nothing away, but his cock was making its feelings known beneath me.
“I’m not above holding a pillow over your face until you stop annoying me, Pix,” he warned.
“Yes, you are. Please?”
His hands came to my hips, and he dropped his head against the cushion. “If I say yes—” I wiggled victoriously in his lap, and his hands gripped me tighter as his teeth clenched, deepening the hollows of his face. “Behave. I have conditions.”
I slid my hands under his open shirt and rested them on the warm, firm flesh of his shoulders. “I’m all ears.”
“You’re never all ears. You’re all agendas,” he pointed out.
“Oh, come on. You’re not the least bit curious about anything?” I prompted.
His eyes were steely on mine as he presumably tried to figure out my motive.
“I’m just thinking, we cleared the air sexually, why not clear it all the way? We end today baggage-free. Like lancing a boil.”
“A very attractive metaphor,” Lucian said dryly.
“Come on,” I cajoled. “Admit it. It makes sense.”
I knew how to build up a rapport with a suspect thanks to Becoming Bulletproof by former Secret Service Special Agent Evy Poumpouras. About a year ago, I’d started a secret, unofficial book club for a few local high schoolers who were going through tough times as unpopular misfits. We read a lot of self-help and nonfiction about interpersonal relationships, and I didn’t mind deploying some psychological warfare when the scenario called for it.