The house was quiet, too quiet for a place that usually pulsed with noise, arguments, and footsteps. But tonight, every shadow held its breath, every room seemed to wait, as though the walls themselves knew a secret was about to be broken.
Mara shouldn't have been here, she knew that. She shouldn't have returned after saying she was done, after swearing she wouldn't let herself fall into this again. But the moment she stepped inside and smelled the familiar mix of cedar and male musk, her resolve snapped clean in half.
She wasn't here for him.
She was here for the man upstairs.
The one she shouldn't want.
The one twice her age.
The one who'd stolen her breath the first night she accidentally saw him fresh out of the shower, water sliding down his chest in sinful little trails.
Her ex-boyfriend's father.
Mr. Rylan.
And tonight… he was waiting for her.
Mara eased her way through the dim hallway, the faint hum of the AC the only sound guiding her steps. Her heart thudded against her ribs, too loud, too eager, because every forbidden thing inside her was awake and restless.
A door creaked upstairs.
A low voice followed.
"Come up, Mara… I know you're here."
Her thighs clenched.
God, that voice, deep, rough, like a whisper dragged across velvet.
She gripped the railing, her fingers trembling as she climbed, each step sinking her deeper into a choice she had no intention of undoing.
When she reached the landing, he appeared, broad shoulders, towel slung around his hips, skin glistening like he'd stepped straight out of temptation itself. His eyes dragged over her slowly, deliberately, as if undressing her stitch by stitch.
"You came back," he murmured.
"I shouldn't have," she whispered.
"But you did," he replied, stepping closer, heat radiating off him. "And that tells me everything."
Her pulse skipped a beat.
He brushed a thumb across her lower lip, gentle but claiming.
"This time," he said softly, "no sneaking out at dawn. No pretending it didn't happen."
Mara swallowed hard.
"And if your son finds out?"
A slow, wicked smile curved on his lips.
"Then he'll know I got to you first."
Her breath hitched.
His hand slid behind her neck, pulling her in, slow, intentional, like he had all night.
And maybe he did.
Because Mara wasn't planning on running anymore.
Not tonight.
Not from him.
His thumb lingered against her lip a second longer before he dropped his hand, but not the heat between them. The hallway suddenly felt smaller, the air thicker, like desire had weight and was pressing in on both of them.
"Mara," he said, her name a low rumble that sank straight into her bones, "tell me why you came back."
She opened her mouth, then closed it, because the truth felt dangerous. Too naked. Too real. Her heart hammered, but his gaze held her in place, patient and unflinching.
"I…" She swallowed. "I couldn't stop thinking about you."
Something dark flickered in his eyes. Not anger. Not surprise.
Possession.
He stepped closer again, the towel riding lower on his hips, and her breath caught as he stopped just inches from her. His scent, clean soap, cedar, and something purely male, wrapped around her like a hand at her waist, drawing her in even though he hadn't touched her.
"You should have stayed away," he murmured.
Her voice was barely a whisper. "I tried."
"But you still ended up at my door." He let the back of his knuckles trail lightly down her cheek, slow enough that her knees weakened. "Which means you're not done with me."
Her chest tightened. The admission hovered on her tongue, trembling.
"No," she whispered. "I'm not."
His jaw clenched, as if he'd been holding back something for too long. Then he turned slightly, angling his body so the dim hallway light painted the hard lines of his shoulders, the curve of muscle along his back. A dangerous, devastating man, one who had no right to make her feel this alive.
"Come here," he said quietly.
She didn't even think. Her feet moved as if pulled by gravity, his gravity, and she stepped into his space until her body brushed the heat of his. He exhaled, slow and deep, like she'd just given him permission to lose control.
His hand slid to her waist, fingers spreading, firm but reverent. She shivered at the contact.
"You know what happens if you stay tonight," he murmured against her ear.
Her breath hitched. "I do."
"And you're not afraid?"
"Oh, I'm terrified," she breathed. "But not enough to leave."
That made him groan, quiet, restrained, but aching. His forehead touched hers, his hand tightening at her waist as though anchoring himself.
"I've wanted you," he confessed. "Longer than I should admit."
Her pulse skittered. "When?"
"The night you walked in with my son for dinner." His lips curved in a slow, sinful half-smile. "You wore that little blue dress. You remember it?"
She did. She remembered every moment of that night, the clatter of forks, the awkward silence, the way she accidentally brushed past Mr. Rylan in the kitchen and felt heat shoot through her like a live wire.
"Yes," she whispered.
"I almost walked out of the house," he said. "Because wanting you felt like… crossing a line I could never reverse."
Her breath trembled. "But you crossed it."
He leaned in, lips grazing her jaw. "You made me."
Her knees nearly gave out.
His hand moved higher on her waist, guiding her backward, not forcefully, but with a quiet certainty that made her pulse spike. She let him, her back touching the wall with a soft thud, his body shadowing over hers.
"Mara," he said, his voice low and rough, "this isn't a game for me."
"I know," she whispered.
"If you walk into my room tonight, there's no going back. Not for either of us."
The promise in his tone hit her like a shock. Warm. Heavy. Final.
She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze without flinching.
"Then take me there."
For a heartbeat, he didn't move. Didn't breathe. His eyes searched her face like he was memorizing it, testing it, needing to be absolutely sure.
Then, slowly, deliberately, he took her hand.
His palm was big, warm, calloused, swallowing hers completely as he laced their fingers.
"Come with me," he murmured.
He led her down the hallway, step by step, the quiet house echoing the soft rhythm of their footsteps. Familiar photos lined the walls, family vacations, birthdays, memories she'd once been part of. They felt different now. Almost surreal.
Halfway to his bedroom, she hesitated, not pulling away, but feeling the weight of what she was about to do. He noticed instantly, turning toward her with a seriousness that pulled her breath tight.
"You can still say no," he said gently. "I won't touch you unless you're sure."
Her heart squeezed. Not all forbidden men were cruel. Some were dangerous for exactly the opposite reason.
"I'm sure," she whispered. "I've never been more sure of anything."
Something in his expression softened. Deepened. Then he lifted her hand to his mouth and pressed a slow, warm kiss to the inside of her wrist, so tender it made her chest ache.
Without another word, he guided her the final steps to his room.
The door clicked shut behind them.
And for the first time all night, Mara felt the world fall completely, dangerously silent,
as if this moment belonged only to them.