The haze clears, my synapses are reconnecting, and a wave of panic threatens to suffocate me. “Luce, you okay?”

Her hands begin a leisurely swirl over the skin of my thighs, and I swallow hard against the lump in my throat forming out of the fear I’ve gone too far.

“See what happens when you give in to it?” she murmurs against my skin. Her lips are wet. Needing to see her face, to look in her eyes and reassure myself that she is as okay with the experience as she appears to be, I ease my hands under her shoulders and slowly swing her around until she is lying on my chest, her head just inches above mine.

Her smile is blinding, her white teeth gleaming with pride as her eyes shine down on me. “You, Mr. Alexander, have been holding out on me. There’s no going back now.”

“Luce, I—”

“You’re a dark horse in a tailored Tom Ford suit, and I love knowing I’m the only one who gets to see behind the armor.” Her eyes turn soft as she looks at my mouth and lowers her lips to gently press against mine. And as if that is all the reassurance I need, I crush her to me, and kiss her like she’s the air I need to breathe.

It’s later on, when I’ve left the calm of Lucia’s apartment and am getting undressed in my bedroom, that I find the envelope that was left on my car. Prizing my finger under the seal, I carefully pull open the paper and unfold the note inside.

Amazingly, Carmen’s column on Wednesday barely mentioned us. The only comment she made was about having run into me and a “sassy, gorgeous, albeit opinionated, brunette” at the Tea Garden on Sunday. Nothing more, nothing less. Nothing berating, catty or closely resembling the passive-aggressive, sanctimonious diatribe I’ve come to expect from Ms. Dallas.

It seems Lucia was somewhat unexpected, but that Carmen admired her reaction and conversation during our date. Either that or she hopefully decided it wasn’t worth her while to publish any personal details.

I’m hoping for the latter. I don’t need to have a reporter hell-bent on an exposé.

It’s Friday night, two weeks after Lucia and I became something.

I’ve seen her twice during the past week, once for a quiet dinner at her place, which turned into more than dinner, something that neither of us were surprised by or disappointed with. I am still holding back years of restraint so engrained in me that although I know it’s apparent to her, I cannot take that final step.

It’s not that I don’t trust her. She more than proved that our developing relationship means more to her than I have any right to expect when she identified herself to the press. Knowing her like I do and the way that she does not yield to anyone, exposing that final part of me still seems to be too much, too soon.

Despite my growing feelings for her, I never want my life to encroach on hers to such an extent that she could no longer live her life the way she wants to—with no regrets.

Walking out of my office and toward the elevators, I stop when my phone vibrates in my hand. Expecting the screen to say Lucia’s name, I’m surprised when I see it flashing Richard James, the museum board’s chairman.

For the last few weeks, Grant and I have been waiting for an outcome from the museum board’s investigation. Operating in professional limbo has been no easy feat. Thankfully, a full portfolio of other projects has kept my hands—if not my mind—occupied. The nights when Lucia has been working at the restaurant, I’ve brought work home, keeping my nose to the grindstone until she either calls or visits and successfully distracts me in other ways. “Mr. James, this is a pleasant surprise.”

“Mr. Alexander. I apologize for calling you after business hours, but with an investigation such as this, we had to cover all bases.”

“I understand. Grant and I appreciate your thoroughness. There’s a lot at stake with such a high-profile project.”

“Indeed there is. I won’t inconvenience you further, but after investigating the facts and the allegations made about your designs, the board and I are more confident than we were before that Alexander Richardson’s concept is robust and unique in its approach. This building will prove to be one of the most pivotal and iconic installations in the city for years to come.”

“Thank you, Mr. James. I’m very happy that we’ve been cleared, and relatively inconspicuously,” I add.

“I never had a doubt, Mr. Alexander. It was important to maintain transparency and ensure that this and any allegation made, albeit unfounded, was investigated fully. Please believe me that we were never in doubt and always remained confident in the future success of the project.”

“I’m glad to hear that, Mr. James.”

“Callum, I hope we can move past formalities now. Please call me Richard.”

“Yes, thank you, Richard. We also appreciate that this investigation was not played out in the press.”

“Conducting such a preliminary investigation in the public eye would not have been beneficial to either party,” he states resolutely.

“Does this mean the groundbreaking ceremony next week will be going ahead?”

“Absolutely. I’ll see you then. I’ll have the board secretary contact yours with all the details.”

“Very much appreciated. May I ask one more question?”

“Of course, Callum. Go ahead.”

“Will you ever disclose to us where the original complaint came from?”

The line goes quiet, Richard’s hesitation giving me the answer well before his voice does. I take the time to press the elevator call button.

“Given the profile on the project, we felt it warranted investigation.”

“That’s fine, Richard. I guess we’ll never know.” I sigh quietly, still curious as to what anyone would have to gain by trying to derail the development at such a late stage.

“Unfortunately not. I won’t hold you up any longer,” he says.

“Thank you for calling to let me know.”

“You too, Callum. Pass on my regards to Grant also.”

“I’ll do that. See you next week at the ceremony.” The elevator doors open and I step inside, thankful for the strong cell coverage in our building.

“Yes. There will be a lot of press coverage, but given your profile, that won’t be anything new to you now, will it?” he says with a chuckle.

“Indeed. Good night.” I end the call and lean my forehead against the cool metal wall of the elevator, breathing out a huge sigh of relief at the fact that at least that aspect of my life has now been taken care of.

Unfortunately, the press coverage Richard alluded to will not take the pressure off that particular area. Right now the pros of good press coverage for both the project and the firm versus the cons of unwanted questions and attention on my personal life are pretty much on a level playing field.

I look at my watch, wondering what Lucia would think of me heading to the restaurant to see her. She’d be just as relieved by the good news about the case as I am. She’s even talked about holding a dinner at the restaurant after the groundbreaking. But seeing how late it is, it’s smarter to wait until she comes over tonight.

Once I’m in my car and heading home, I use Bluetooth to call Grant.

“Cal, my brother from another mother, who wishes he was my lover,” he says when he picks up the phone.

“You’re in the wrong profession. You should’ve been a comedian.”

“I’ve been telling you that for years, my son. Now for what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I thought you’d want to start your weekend off on a good note instead of staying at home, crying into your twenty-five-year-old scotch and watching chick flicks.”

“Does lesbian porn count as a chick flick? ’Cause if so, I’m up for that.” He laughs down the phone, and I can’t help but smile. Grant’s mood has always been contagious.