Chapter 5: A Kiss and A Secret

*Daphne*

“Maybe. But I’m sure as hell not blind,” Blackwood has said.

Hearing Alistair’s sudden confession had Daphne feeling all sorts of confused and strangely warm inside. Maybe it was the bottle of wine the two of them had consumed, or perhaps it was the dangerous low lighting that made him even more attractive—if such a thing were possible.

All that Daphne knew for certain was that this was a moment in which she had expected to share with Rowan and not so much her boss. However, talking to Alistair came far easier than she expected. And she could tell that he was hanging on to her every word as she spoke.

But now the young woman was starting to feel a bit bold in her conversation, thanks to the mystical powers of the wine chasing through her system.

“Tell me... with all that bottled up charisma, why haven’t you re-married?” she asked.

Blackwood merely threw back his head and chuckled. “Don’t get me wrong. It’s not as though I’m opposed to the concept of marriage, it’s just that... the idea was forced upon me at a very young age. As was the ‘ideal’ girl.”

His explanation had Daphne sitting up a little straighter now. “Wait. Are you saying that you were in an arran—”

“An arranged marriage. Yes.” He leaned back into the velvet cushioned seat. “The Blackwood lineage is notorious for meddling and manipulating people’s lives. My father, Clinton Blackwood, had it in his will that in order for me to receive my inheritance, I had to marry the girl of his choosing and produce an heir.”

Daphne’s mouth fell open, letting out a sharp gasp.

“Oh my God. Mr. Blackwood, that’s...that’s...”

“Completely monstrous, yes. It was,” he affirmed.

She took her lip between her teeth and softened her eyes. “I was going to say ‘cruel’. So, did you just not like your wife?”

This was extremely personal talk they were getting into, but Alistair continued to indulge her questions. “Clara and I learned to live with each other over time. To my surprise, she was also living under sort of the same restrictions as I was,” he explained.

“In order to pursue her own career path, she was required to marry as well. It was amusing and oddly comforting to find that she was just as enthused about the whole ordeal as I was.”

“I’m sorry,” Daphne said.

He drew his brows together. “For what?”

“You had to endure such an unfair ‘issue’ just so that you could pursue your own dream. It’s no wonder you never remarried. After what you just told me, I’m shocked you don’t find the whole idea completely repulsive,” she huffed.

The tightness in his features melted into something Daphne would consider to be empathetic. His voice grew low in his chest.

“Daphne.” Her heartbeat thundered widely inside of her ribcage. “I truly don’t have anything against marriage. It’s just that I was never given the choice. I wasn’t permitted to go for the woman of my choosing. But even after I lost Clara, I was so caught up in my work that I didn’t see the need to marry again.”

Daphne tore her eyes away, her lips falling into a pout.

“Oh, come now, Miss Sullivan. Don’t give me that face,” he drawled. “I did what was expected of me, and I can assure you that I am quite content where I am.”

She turned her head back to face him with a hint of doubt in her eyes. “You’re happy?”

“Yes. Without a single considerable doubt. I am genuinely happy with where I am at this very moment,” he told her quietly.

Daphne felt his eyes search over his face only to land on her lips. Her body was buzzing between the wine and the total high of having this man’s full attention on her. There was no more than five inches between them, and every intrusive thought was screaming at her to close the gap and reach out for him.

Her eyes glinted with amusement. “I think I should probably be getting home soon.”

It was a Friday evening and neither of them were heading into the office tomorrow. But Daphne knew that if she didn’t put some form of distance between them, there was no telling what she would do.

Alistair tilted his head and gingerly agreed with her. He threw a wad of cash down on the table and extended a hand to help Daphne out of the booth.

The car ride was spent mostly in silence. And the tension that was filling the small space was enough to choke either of them. Yet they said nothing. Part of Daphne wanted to know what sort of thoughts were running through Blackwood’s head, whereas the other part already possessed a decent enough idea.

Her lungs were pleading for fresh air while her entire person had become consumed in Alistair’s delicious, intoxicating scent of old cigars and cinnamon. She needed to get away but never wanted to really leave.

Alistair pulled up in front of her building and got out of the car to come around to her side. He pulled the door open and reached for her hand. Her stomach fluttered from the chivalrous display that she graciously accepted his hand and felt the coarseness of his palm.

“Thank you for tonight,” she said with a smile. “I didn’t realize how much I needed it.”

“Allow me to walk you to your door.” It wasn’t a question but more of a direct statement. Alistair led Daphne through the main doors of her building and over to the elevators.

She hit the appropriate button for her floor and felt the lift begin to pull them up. Halfway up the ride, Daphne realized that Blackwood’s hand was still clutched around her own.

‘It should not feel this good to be this close to him,’ she thought. ‘I need to pull my hand away. I need to put distance between us.’

But even as she attempted to inch her hand out of his, Alistair reinforced his grip and held her tighter.

The doors slid open and the two made their way down the hall until Daphne had them stopping at her place. It was then she felt him sadly let go of her hand.

“Thank you again for this evening, Mr. Blackwood,” she said.

She was struck by a dazzling smile that caused her to melt on the spot. “Miss Sullivan, surely you and I can finally drop the formalities.” She raised her eyebrows. “Call me Alistair.”

Her mouth went dry. “I...I don’t know if that would be...”

Alistair inched closer. His eyes fell once again to her trembling lips. “Appropriate? Probably not. Blackwoods have a tendency to go about doing things their own way.”

Before she could wrap her mind around what was happening, he took the tip of her chin between his fingers and placed a kiss on her cheek. Daphne closed her eyes and sighed. Men like him did not exist.

“Alistair...” she whispered helplessly.

A muffled groan tore from his chest. “Daphne.”

All the air had seized from her lungs when she made the horrible, deliciously sinful move to tilt her head up and press her lips against his. Alistair slid his hand along her cheek and pulled her deeper into the heated kiss, stealing every moan that slipped off her tongue.

“F*ck, Daphne.” His breathing turned ragged. “Say it again... Say my name.”

Her mouth fell open, releasing a breathy moan. “A-Alistair.”

He kissed the line of her jaw, sucking and nipping all the way down the curve of her neck before coming back to snatch her lips once more. Daphne’s entire body was set ablaze. She tried to push herself closer into him but was rudely interrupted by the harsh reality that surrounded them.

Hearing the distant sound of the elevator caused her to press her hands against Alistair’s chest. “Stop. We need to stop,” she gasped. “Oh my God. I can’t believe I just did that.”

She tore herself away from him as quickly as she could and before Blackwood had a chance to pull her back.

“Daphne—”

“No!” She shot him a terrified look over her shoulder. “This cannot happen! I...I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have done that.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “Daphne, please can we just talk—”

She briskly shook her head. “No. No. This was a mistake. Oh God!” She slipped into her apartment and quickly closed the door.

“Oh my God! What the hell have I done?!”

. . .

Daphne felt awful as she trudged her way through the lobby of her work building.

After having spent the whole weekend wrapped up in her own guilt, Brianna had to practically throw her out of the apartment in order for her to make it to work on time. For the last two days her mind had been filled with nothing but Alistair. His look. His scent. His ‘taste’.

Right when she thought she was coming to grips with moving forward, her mind instantly replayed the scene of the two of them outside her front door. How fervently he took control of her mouth and made her lustfully drunk for him.

How on earth was she supposed to face him now, she hadn’t the foggiest idea. Daphne made it to the top floor and quickly discovered that a whole new issue awaited her.

Her heart dropped into her stomach. Good God this could not be happening...

“Rowan?”

The man lifted his head up from looking down at his phone. A smirk of satisfaction curved his mouth. Clearly it was his intention to surprise her at work. The question was—why?

“W-What are you doing here?” she asked.

She plastered her best willful smile on her face even though she was still slightly upset at him for not reaching out in the last few days. Then again, who the hell was she to judge? She was the one going behind his back, kissing her damn boss!

Daphne cursed herself in her head.

Rowan reached out to rest his hands on top of her shoulders. “Well, I know you were upset with how we left things the last time we spoke.”

“Yeah, well, I got over it pretty quickly,” she informed him lightly.

“I figured as much but I still wanted to come in and see the place,” he said, gesturing his hand around the room.

A disturbing chill had entered the room along with a deep, grizzly voice that erupted from the doorway of Blackwood’s office. “As if you haven’t already seen the place before,” he slithered.

Daphne felt thousands of chills prickle over her skin as her gaze fell upon the older man. Alistair’s eyes were purely fixated on Rowan as he spoke.

“It’s been quite a long time since we’ve last seen each other,” he stated.

Rowan’s smug grin lingered. “Indeed it has.”

Daphne glanced between the two men before shaking out her hands in front of her.

“So, it’s true?” She turned to her fiancé with wide eyes. “You seriously know Alistair Blackwood. How?”

Rowan spared the man a sneer while Alistair did nothing more than leer at the younger man who stood next to her.

“We go back about twenty five years,” Rowan commented.

“We only recently fell out of touch when his mother died,” Alistair added coldly.

Daphne’s heart thundered frantically in her chest. “What?” Her fearful gaze fell onto Blackwood.

“Well, Rowan, it’s quite obvious that you’ve told her nothing about where you come from or ‘who’ your family is,” he pointed out darkly. “And to think you intend to marry this girl.”

Her voice came out weak and shaken. “Will someone please—”

“Rowan, Miss Sullivan...” Alistair said with heavy vexation. “...Is my son.”