She turned, and the look in her eyes made my breath catch. "Neither should you."
The air between us crackled with tension that had been building for months. Every time I visited Robert, every barbecue and holiday gathering, I'd felt it. The way her gaze would find mine across the room. The accidental touches that lasted too long. The conversations that felt like foreplay.
"Mia." Her name was a warning and a plea.
She crossed the space between us, her movements deliberate. "I'm not a child anymore, Jack."
"I know." God, did I know.
She kissed me first. Or maybe I kissed her. It doesn't matter because the moment our lips touched, everything else ceased to exist. The guilt, the consequences, the fact that Robert was outside lighting fireworks with the neighbors.
All that mattered was her mouth on mine and the way she gasped when I backed her against the desk.
We had sex right there in Robert's study. Fast and desperate and completely wrong. Her skirt pushed up around her waist. My pants barely undone. The fireworks outside providing cover for the sounds we made.
Afterward, she looked at me with those blue eyes and whispered, "Don't regret this."
But I did. The moment clarity returned, shame crashed over me like a wave. I'd betrayed my best friend. Taken advantage of his daughter. Crossed every line that mattered.
I tried to talk to her the next day, but she avoided me. Two weeks later, she was gone. No explanation. No goodbye. Just a note that said she needed to figure things out.
Robert was devastated. Linda was frantic. And I carried the guilt like a stone in my chest, wondering if what we'd done had driven her away.
Now she's back, and every feeling I tried to bury is clawing its way to the surface.
I drain the scotch and stand, pacing my office. The building is empty. Everyone's gone home. I should leave, too, but the thought of going back to my silent house makes my chest tight.
A sound in the hallway makes me freeze.
Footsteps. Soft but distinct.
I open my office door and peer into the darkened corridor. "Hello?"
No response.
Then I see her. Mia, walking toward her classroom, her silhouette unmistakable even in the dim emergency lighting.
My heart hammers against my ribs as I step into the hallway. "Mia?"
She turns, her hand flying to her chest. "Jesus, Jack. You scared me."
"What are you doing here?" I move closer, drawn to her like gravity.
"I forgot my lesson planner." She holds up the leather-bound book. "I need it for tomorrow."
We stand in the empty hallway, the space between us charged with everything unsaid. She's wearing the same navy blazer from this morning, but her hair is down now, falling past her shoulders in dark waves. I want to run my fingers through it. Want to pull her against me and taste her mouth again.
"We need to talk," I say, my voice low.
"There's nothing to talk about." She turns toward the exit.
I catch her wrist, and the contact sends electricity up my arm. "Don't run away again."
She spins to face me, her eyes flashing. "I didn't run away."
"Then what do you call disappearing in the middle of the night without a word?"
"I call it survival." She yanks her wrist free. "What did you expect me to do, Jack? Stay and watch you pretend nothing happened? Watch my father look at you like you hung the moon while you avoided my eyes?"