Page 97 of The Silent Hour

“Why pretend he doesn’t exist?”

A bitter smile curved her lips. “Because some fathers give their daughters trust funds and daddy issues. Mine gives people reasons to disappear. And he isn’t even the man I’ve called Dad my whole life. I have a father figure. It’s not that sick fuck sitting in jail.”

Her confession hung heavily in the stale air. I studied her profile: the sharp plane of her cheek, the set of her jaw. Then I forced my eyes back to the cluttered desk, documents I couldn’t unread. Lila’s revelation unsettled me more than I’d expected. Mostly because I realized I hadn’t noticed a woman in years, not like this. My marriage, my life, kept me blind. Now something about how she held herself, how her hair caught the dim light, made me see her.

She leaned over again, reaching for a folder. Her shoulder brushed against my chest. Instinctively, I stepped back. Immediately, she noticed.

“You do that every time,” she said quietly.

“Do what?”

“Move away from me.”

“Maybe take a hint.”

Her lips curved, mischievous. “Maybe I already did.”

“Then start acting like it.”

She turned, filling the narrow aisle with her presence. “I’ve tried.”

I let out a short laugh. “You have a fascinating definition of trying.”

She straightened, stony. “I said I tried. I didn’t say I’m good at it.”

“That’s your problem.”

She stepped closer, just inches from me. I didn’t move. That was my first mistake. Her eyes flicked down to my mouth before returning to mine.

“You could tell me to leave,” she said softly.

“I’ve told you that plenty.”

“Not tonight.”

“Lila—”

“Tell me.”

I should have. Outside, I knew Eric was waiting by the truck. My wife was at home. My daughters were probably asleep. My wedding band felt suddenly leaden on my finger.

“Leave.”

Her gaze searched mine. Then she nodded, soft. “Okay.”

There was no smirk or argument. She stepped past me, only to freeze. I felt her shift, sensed her looking back.

“You know what pisses you off the most?” she whispered.

I shook my head.

“It isn’t that I want you. It’s that you finally want me back.”

I swallowed hard. “You’re fucking delusional.”

“Then this should be easy.” She was close to the distance and kissed me.

My body locked. Her lips were warm, insistent; one hand curled lightly on my shirt. I should have shoved her away. I didn’t. I kissed her back, my free hand sliding to her waist following the curve of it before a trickle of common sense had me ripping away from her.