I shook my head and kept my eyes facing forward. His touch on my skin was incendiary-burning like dynamite and almost ready to explode.

"It is," he said. "And you're just as beautiful as I remember."

I stumbled over my feet but quickly righted myself and cursed.

"Affected?" he asked, laughing softly.

"Just clumsy," I muttered, feeling a heat spread to my cheeks.

"Don't remember that about you."

"People change, Tyson."

His hand flinched off my back, and then his fingers dug into the fabric of my pale pink top. Even now, with just his fingertips pressing against me, I could feel the strength of him radiating through my clothing and into my skin.

I hadn't changed. I had always been naturally clumsy. I just used to try to hide it better when I was with him. I used to try to hide my natural self from everyone. My mom's constant reprimands to act like a Galecki were drilled into my mind, and they often left me feeling like I could never be myself. Tyson was the only one who got glimpses of it, but even then I never fully shed the Galecki skin until I grew comfortable on Eleanor's farm.

Something about chasing around loose chickens that had escaped from their coop forced you to drop all pretenses of perfection. I couldn't exactly look calm and collected when sprawled out in mud with chickens pecking at my upturned a.s.s, while a pile of eggs lay splattered beneath me.

I stayed silent while a hostess led us to a booth at the back of the restaurant. It was more private, quieter, and slightly darker than the rest of the booths. There was an illusion of complete privacy, and I instantly didn't like it.

Being so close to Tyson was shaking my already wobbly nerves.

I slid into the booth until I was hidden away in the darkened corner and jumped when his knee brushed against mine. I avoided eye contact with him while the waitress came and took our drink orders.

Once my Moscow Mule was set in front of me, I immediately ordered a chef salad. My stomach was tight and I didn't think I'd be able to eat much. I was unsettled by this whole day, helping Eleanor on the farm before I took off, rushing through the airport, the plane ride, and everything that was Tyson.

The vodka helped me, slightly. Mostly it shot straight to my brain, leaving me even fuzzier than before, but at least my pulse had slowed a bit.

"What were you doing in Denver?" I asked Tyson after the silence became unbearable. I didn't know if he was waiting for me to speak, or trying to put his own questions into words.

His thumb trailed down his dark brown beer bottle, picking up small drops of condensation. I wanted to be those water drops. My lips parted as I watched him bring his thumb to his mouth and slowly lick them off.

I swallowed thickly. It was hot in this restaurant. The air-conditioning must have been broken or something. Sweat beaded at the back of my neck, and I squirmed in my chair, becoming even more uncomfortable.

"Meeting with a client," he finally said. One perfect eyebrow arched up. "And you?"

I licked my lips and took a sip of my own cool drink. I was stalling and I didn't miss the disappointment that flashed in his eyes when I didn't immediately answer.

"I lived there," I whispered, staring at my plate. I didn't want to get into this, and as I took a bite of my salad, I began to feel everything pressing down on me. The past, the day...I didn't want to answer the questions I knew he had because it meant having to face my own.

Either way, it meant I would finally have confirmation that Tyson had lied to me, or I would have to face the new doubt that had just surfaced: wondering if my dad had lied to me.

"Hey," Tyson said, nudging my knee with his under the table. When I pulled my eyes up to his, his smile softened.

Seeing him relaxed made something melt inside of me.

It might have been my heart, melting into a pile of mushy goo.

"How about we forget the past for tonight? Forget the questions we both have and just enjoy each other?"

It was like he had a way to slither inside my brain and steal all my thoughts.

I licked my lips after flashing him a grateful smile, and watched as his eyes dipped and followed the slow movement of my tongue.

That mushy feeling increased and I nodded.

"That sounds really good."

He grinned. It lit up the darkened corner where we were hidden and he nodded, just once. "Good, then."

Chapter 3.

Thump! Thump! Thump!

I opened my eyes and immediately cringed away from the bright sunlight pouring in through the windows.

"Ugh," I groaned, and rolled over.

Straight into a brick wall.

Odd, I thought my room was larger than this.

I lifted my hand, ran it along the wall...and I became fully awake when I realized it was not a wall. Quickly I flipped through my hazy memories of the day before. The plane ride. The alcohol after. The company.

Oh, c.r.a.p.

"Tyson?" I asked, as the thumping grew louder. I pressed a hand to my forehead to silence the pounding inside my head, but then I realized it wasn't coming from my head, but the door.

Double c.r.a.p.

"Mmm?"

I curled my fingers around his shoulder and shook him. He was so hot and firm and muscular. For a moment I wanted to dig in, roll him over, and climb right on top of him.

How in the heck did we end up together? In my bed? I didn't have time to ask before another knock thumped on my door.

"Tyson," I hissed and shook him harder. "Someone's here."

"Wantmetoget.i.t?" His voice was slurred, m.u.f.fled by the fact that his face was mushed into the pillow next to me.

"No, but you need to hide."

Only one person could show up at my hotel room. Only one person knew I was in town.

And I was in bed with someone he hated.

Fan-freaking-tastic.

I extricated myself from the tangled mess of covers and limbs that pressed down over the lower half of my body. Tyson's leg hair tickled my calves as I yanked them out from under him.

Dang that felt nice.

Not the time.

With another huff and a groan, I climbed to my feet, just as another thump hit my door. This time, it was quickly followed by a familiar bellow. "Gabriella!"

"I'm coming!" I shouted and turned back to Tyson. He had rolled over, the sheets pooling just below his waist, and his hands were tucked under the back of his head.

I took a moment to enjoy the view, the thickness and strength of his muscled chest. The dark hair that narrowed as it dipped beneath the waistband of his boxer briefs. He was absolutely perfect.

"Hide!" I snapped and rushed into the bathroom where I ripped off my clothes from the night before and threw on a pair of yoga pants and a tank top. At least I woke up dressed. I didn't remember much of the night after three Moscow Mules, dinner, and sidesplitting laughter.

"Not going to hide from him, Blue."

"You have to. He'll kill you if he sees you here with me." I closed my eyes and tried to control my rapidly beating heart. "Please, Tyson. I haven't seen him in ten years."

Whether he picked up on the pleading or the panic, I didn't know, but he eventually nodded. I turned away before I could see him clothed only in boxer briefs. It might have burned my retinas.

And it'd suck to go blind, although then I wouldn't have to face my father's constant critical and disappointed looks.

Squeezing my eyes closed, I tried to remember the previous night, but only came up with memories of laughing and telling stories about when we were in high school. Somewhere between the dining room and waking up in my bed, the only thing I vividly remembered was deciding that even though I knew I should stay away from Tyson...I wasn't going to.

It wasn't going to lead to anything serious, anyway. It couldn't. Not now.

But I could have fun while I was able to. I could use him as a s.e.xy, fun distraction when I needed to forget about watching my mom shrivel away. And in doing so, perhaps I could kick Tyson out of my heart once and for all.

Quickly, I threw on the robe hanging on the back of my bedroom door and shut it behind me. After fixing the tie at my waist, I reached for the door as the obnoxious pounding started all over again. Wiping my hair out of my eyes and cringing, I opened the door to see the man who had acted like I was a nuisance ever since the day I was born.

"h.e.l.lo, Father," I said.

His eyes dipped to my robe and then he lifted his eyes to mine. "You're not dressed."

I took a step back, waving him in. His scorn wasn't surprising. It just hurt. It had been a decade since he'd laid eyes on me. He'd chosen never to travel to Colorado with my mother when she made her bi-annual vacation, and the first words out of his mouth dripped with disdain.

"Good morning to you, too," I said with a smile. I caught his eye roll as he walked past me and into the small living room. "I must still be on Denver time."

It was a lame excuse, and I shouldn't have bothered. He despised them.

Jimmy Galecki's presence sucked the oxygen out of the room, and I fought the shiver that rolled down my spine as my father inspected the place. I noticed that he didn't seem to have aged a bit in the years I had been gone. His black hair was just as shiny and styled the same, parted on one side and flopped over his forehead. His shoulders were broad and he still stood extremely tall. I didn't get my height or my personality from my dad but the hair and light blue eyes were two things he could claim he gave me.

That and money.

I was a raised a Galecki, and he commanded respect by a simple look. I gave that to him, allowed him to look his fill, and forced my gaze not to fall on my closed bedroom door.

"Your trip was good?" he asked when he finished.

"It was." I tightened the belt at my waist and refused to fidget. He hated fidgeting and any show of nerves possibly more than he hated excuses. Not wanting him to see my trembling hands, I quickly made my way to the small kitchenette and began preparing a cup of coffee. "How are you?"

The little girl inside me pleaded for a loving look from him. Something kind in his eyes, something to show he was glad to see me. It wasn't that he hated me, but showing any weakness in his world was deadly and that included showing affection for his only child.

"Your mother wants to see you today."

Holding an empty coffee mug in one hand, I looked down at my robe. My hair had to be a matted mess, and the remnants of last night's alcohol and poor decisions were pounding at the base of my skull.

"Now?"

The way his lips curved said it all. "Whenever you can manage to pull yourself together."

I took the insult like I had taken all of them-with a simple nod.

"Yes, sir."

"And there's something else I need to talk to you about while you're at the house today."

"Mom?"

"No."

Something pressed itself against my chest, making it difficult to breathe. I knew it. I freaking knew that his allowing me to not move home when I came back to Detroit would bite me in the a.s.s. He hadn't been allowing anything at all. He had chosen to wait for a more opportune time to manipulate me into doing something he wanted. He didn't have to say it. I had lived that life for eighteen years, always under his thumb and direction. The glacial look in his eyes said it all: He had a plan for me, and he wouldn't allow me to get out of it.

d.a.m.n it.

"Oh?" I asked, and he shook his head.

Sliding his hands into the front pockets of his suit coat, he stalked toward me. It was how he moved. My dad didn't walk or wander, he strode with purpose every moment of his life.

It was probably one of the things that had kept him alive. That and his armed guards.

He dipped his chin when he reached me at the entrance to the small kitchen and smiled. It was fleeting, disappearing before the little girl inside of me could cling to the hope that her dad really did love her.

"It's good to see you, Gabriella. Your mother and I are pleased you're home."

I smiled hopefully. "It's good to see you, too."

With another nod, he slid past me, and paused at the door.

"Make sure you're dressed appropriately for your visit."

My smile fell along with my shoulders.

Then he was gone, and the door shut behind him. It echoed in the quiet room, along with my heart, which was beating against my ribcage.