Lochlan

"So, are you going to tell me what the deal is between you and your dad?"

I stopped running my fingers through Millie's hair and glanced down. She laid on her stomach, her chin resting on top of the arm she'd slung over my stomach. The sheets bunched around the dip in her lower back, exposing a long swath of delicious skin from her graceful neck to the rise of her butt. The same area of skin I'd pressed against earlier in the bathroom while taking her in a way I'd never taken another woman, because that's what she did to me.

Even now, our lust slightly cooled by a second round—this one slow and filled with apologies—I could easily roll her to her back and push her legs open. In fact, it seemed a delightful idea compared to delving into the shitstorm that was the relationship with my father, but there was a genuine curiosity in her warm brown eyes. And since I clearly couldn't control myself around him and Millie, it was only fair I explain it to her the best I could.

Staring at the ceiling, I composed myself and searched for the best place to start. "Mrs. R claims my father used to be different, and I believe her. How else could a man as good as John Reed be his friend? It doesn't matter what he used to be like, though. By the time I was old enough to have any real memories of him, he was a lot like how you see him now. Cold. Calculating."

It had been two years since we last laid eyes on each other. He didn't even attempt to hug me today. Two years since seeing his son, and his immediate priority was finding every single one of my buttons and poking them. Millie was an easy target. No matter how hard I wanted to hide what was happening between us, I couldn't hide it from that man. He lived in lies and secrets. There was something else there behind his interest in Millie, but that wasn't something to bring up now.

"Mrs. R said he changed after my mom died." Millie tensed against me, and I wondered if she could feel the way my heart skipped a beat. "I was only four. She loved being a mom. Refused to hire a nanny like all other families. Hands on for everything. She wore this vanilla perfume that reminded me of sugar cookies, and to this day when I catch a whiff of it—"

I choked back a wave of emotion. No wonder my father thought I was weak. She died twenty-five years ago, and I was about to cry over her perfume.

"Hey," Millie said, sitting up and pushing back the strand of hair that never settled. "I won't judge you if you cry, you know. You don't always have to be—" She fluttered a hand in front of her as if struggling to find the words. "In control."

A smirk pulled at my lips, and I tugged her sheet down, revealing the red scrapes of my beard along her full breasts. "Does this look like control to you?"

She slapped my hand away and tugged the sheet back up. I immediately regretted losing such a lovely view, but it was for the best. Two more seconds, and I wouldn't have been able to finish the story around the mouthful of breast.

"Behave."

"Only because we only have one condom left, and I have very specific plans for it later that are going to require us to catch our breath for longer than thirty minutes."

Millie's pupils dilated, and I could see her nipples harden under the covers. "Stop trying to get out of your story. Where did you get more condoms, anyway? We didn't stop on the way here."

Clearing my throat, I ignored her question. No need to tell her I'd wandered into Marcus and Alex's room with my half drank bottle of whisky specifically to steal condoms. What had happened between us in the powder room was only one of a half dozen scenarios I'd imagined while drinking on the deck, and tomorrow when the rest of my buzz wore off, I might feel ashamed.

I studied Millie. Then again, maybe I wouldn't. She'd given as good as she received. There were long scratches on my back, and I'd had my fingers between her legs when I put the other hand around her throat. I felt how wet she got. Her body couldn't hide how much she enjoyed being manhandled, especially at the end, when she'd squirted all over the bathroom floor.

Shit. My father. We were talking about my father. The raging hard on developing at just the thought of how she'd come all over my cock while I pounded her from behind wilted slightly, but even thinking of him couldn't completely dampen the desire I had for this woman.

"Anyway." I cleared my throat. "My mom. She was pregnant when she died. With a little girl, so he lost not just her, but a daughter. I guess I get how it would drive him to withdraw the way he did."

My heart constricted at the thought of losing Millie. We were little more than acquaintances, but the idea of losing her like that—it made a cold sweat break out over my skin. For the first time, I had sympathy for my father. What would it be like to have this thing between us grow and deepen only to have it snatched away?

"I started spending a lot of time with the Reeds so he could grieve without a confused kid underfoot, but before long, years had passed. I rarely saw him. He was always traveling. He and John started arguing over how to do business, and about a year before Marianna was born, something must have happened between them because they stopped talking completely. I think the only reason he didn't pull me away from the Reeds was because it would have been too inconvenient."

"Tell me about her."

I didn't have to ask who she was speaking about. "When Mrs. R told me she was having a baby girl, I cried."

Millie scrunched her brows together. "Why?"

"Because I thought she would die like my mom."

"Oh, Lochlan."

The story embarrassed me to this day, but it also served as a reminder of what a wonderful person Anna Reed was. "Mrs. R went out of her way to console me. She took me to doctor's appointments. Let me ask them any question I wanted. She even let me help decorate the nursery."

A goofy grin split Millie's face. "What did you choose?"

Avoiding eye contact, I couldn't force my lips not to turn up. "Princess."

She let loose a giggle and fell back on the bed. I waited until she stopped laughing to continue.

"I'll have you know it was very tasteful."

"I'm sure it was."

"When Marianna was born, I thought she was the most perfect thing I'd ever seen. Alex used to get so pissed at me. He would want to play video games, and I would end up in the nursery asking to hold the baby. She took her first steps with me."

"You were there the day she disappeared?" The question was a whisper, but it cut deep.

"Yes."

"It's not your fault, you know. You were eight years old."

"No." I was sitting up now, my forehead in my hand, elbow on my knee. Bile filled my mouth. "That's just it. It's all my fault."