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Something flickered across his face—not guilt, exactly, but awareness. Acknowledgment of the most complicated aspect of our situation.

"Miles and I have a complex relationship at best," he said carefully. "But you're right to raise the concern. He's my son, regardless of our differences. And you were important to him."

"Were," I repeated. "Past tense."

"Is it?" His gaze sharpened. "Are you still in love with him, Savannah?"

The question caught me off guard—not because it was inappropriate, but because the answer was so immediately, emphatically clear.

"No," I said without hesitation.

"I haven't been for a long time. Maybe never was, not really."

The admission hung between us, weighted with everything it implied. Whatever had pulled me to Miles had been hollow.

That whatever had pulled me to Lucas felt... different.

Deeper. More dangerous.

His expression softened slightly. "Then we navigate this carefully. Discreetly. With awareness of all the complications."

It sounded so reasonable. So logical. So possible.

"I should still withdraw from the Westlake project," I said, testing his reaction. "Maintaining professional distance will be... challenging."

"If that's what you think best." His easy acquiescence surprised me. "Though I believe you're more than capable of compartmentalizing. Of separating the professional from the personal."

The confidence in his assessment was flattering—and unsettling. "You seem very certain about my capabilities."

"I am." He moved around the island, approaching but not touching me. "I don't usually pursue women, Savannah. Haven'tin years. The fact that I'm willing to take this risk should tell you how exceptional I find you."

Heat crawled up my neck at the naked admiration in his voice. "This is insane," I whispered. "We barely know each other."

"Don't we?" He reached out then, tucking a damp strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering against my cheek. "I think we know the essentials. The rest... we learn along the way."

I leaned into his touch despite myself, craving the connection even as alarms blared in my mind. "And if it all falls apart? If we hurt each other? If Miles finds out?"

"Then we deal with those consequences if and when they arise." His thumb traced my lower lip, sending shivers down my spine. "But consider the alternative—walking away now, never knowing what might have been. Could you live with that uncertainty?"

The question hit with precision, targeting my greatest weakness. I'd spent my adult life calculating risks, making smart choices, building a stable foundation after the chaos of my childhood.

But underneath that careful exterior lurked something wild and reckless—something that had recognized its match in Lucas Turner from that first night.

Something that had never been satisfied with safe choices, predictable outcomes, controlled emotions.

Something I'd never fully acknowledged, even to myself.

"No," I admitted, the truth tearing from me with surprising force. "I couldn't."

The confession felt like stepping off a cliff—terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure. For the first time, I was acknowledging the part of myself I'd spent years suppressing.

The part that craved risk, intensity, and experiences that bordered on destructive. The part that had been drawn to Miles initially because of his emotional unavailability, not despite it.

The part that now recognized something far more dangerous—and compelling—in his father.

Lucas's eyes darkened at my admission, satisfaction flickering across his features. "Then we proceed. Carefully. On terms we both agree to."

The buzz of the intercom interrupted whatever I might have said in response. "Your car, Ms. Blake," the concierge announced.