6. Duncan
DUNCAN
The concrete walls echoed with the sound of car doors slamming and heels clicking against the pavement as other early arrivals made their way to the elevators.
I had been here for twenty minutes already, nursing a cup of coffee that had long since gone cold and trying to convince myself that ambushing my assistant in a parking garage was not the behavior of a desperate man.
Tuesday morning, I had picked up the phone to call the temp agency and request a replacement.
Ivy had disappeared Monday afternoon without explanation, leaving only a hastily scrawled note about a family emergency.
I had stared at that note for ten minutes, recognizing the neat handwriting that had once signed birthday cards and thank-you notes when she was younger.
But I never made the call. I set the phone down and told myself I would wait one more day, give her the benefit of the doubt. When she showed up Wednesday morning with dark circles under her eyes and an apology that felt genuine, I knew I had made the right choice.
Working with her for two full days had been both torture and revelation.
She was efficient, organized, and professional in a way that impressed even my most demanding clients.
But watching her move through my office, seeing her bent over paperwork or fielding phone calls with that careful, measured voice had awakened something in me that I thought I had successfully buried.
The itch was back, stronger than ever, and no amount of cold showers or late-night runs could make it go away.
I had tried twice during the week to get her alone, to have the conversation we needed to have. Both times, she had deflected with logical explanations, redirecting our interaction back to work matters and maintaining the careful distance she had established since that first day in my office.
But I couldn't let it go. Not anymore. The sleepless nights and distracted days were proof that my feelings for Ivy Whitmore had not diminished with time or distance. If anything, having her close again had intensified them to a degree that was affecting my work and my sanity.
Today was my last attempt. If she pushed me away again, I would respect her wishes and find a way to work with her purely as an employee.
I would not become the kind of man who used his position of power to pressure women into situations they didn't want.
I had enough scandals in my past without adding harassment to the list.
The sound of a car engine drew my attention to the garage entrance. A dark blue minivan turned into the parking area, and I straightened with surprise. Ivy drove a Honda Civic the last time I had seen her behind the wheel. The minivan seemed impractical for a single woman in her early twenties.
She parked three spaces away from my BMW and sat in the driver's seat for a moment, her hands gripping the steering wheel. Even from a distance, I could see the tension in her shoulders, the way she took several deep breaths before finally opening the door.
I waited until she had gathered her purse and laptop bag before approaching. She looked up as I fell into step beside her, her expression carefully neutral.
"Good morning, Ivy."
"Duncan." Her voice was polite but wary. "You're here early."
"I wanted to catch you before the day got started." I matched her pace as we walked toward the elevators. "I have a board meeting at nine, but I was hoping we could talk first."
"We can discuss whatever you need in the office," she said sternly, her eyes flicking up to meet mine, and it made my chest knot up. Another deflection.
"This isn't about work."
She stopped walking, forcing me to halt beside her. The parking garage was nearly empty now, most of the early arrivals already upstairs beginning their day. Our footsteps echoed in the concrete space as she turned to face me.
"Duncan, we've been through this. I told you?—"
"I know what you told me." I kept my voice low and calm, but I could hear the undercurrent of frustration bleeding through. "But I need you to understand that I can't get you out of my head. Since you've been back, I feel like I'm losing my mind if I can't talk to you. Really talk to you."
Her hazel eyes searched my face, looking for something I couldn't name. "Are you sex-starved? Is that what this is about?"
The question was blunt and unexpected, clearly intended to shock me into backing down. Instead, it made me realize that she deserved complete honesty, even if it made me vulnerable.
"Yes." She blinked, obviously not expecting such a direct answer, but she didn't look away, and I didn't stop the ball that was finally rolling in the right direction.
"I haven't slept with a woman since you.
" I watched her face carefully as I continued.
"But it's not because you were so amazing that I couldn't move on.
It's because being with you made me realize I wanted more than physical release.
Over time, sex for the sake of sex started to seem pointless. "
She went perfectly still, and her breath caught in a way that told me my frank honesty affected her more than she wanted to admit.
"Duncan…" Ivy's mouth opened and closed like a fish gulping water, but she didn't say more.
"The elevator," I said, nodding toward the bank of doors twenty feet away. "Let's finish this conversation upstairs."
She nodded and resumed walking, her heels clicking against the concrete in a rhythm that matched my own footsteps. We reached the elevators in silence, and I pressed the call button while she stared at the floor numbers above the doors.
The elevator arrived with a soft chime, and we stepped inside together. I waited until the doors closed before reaching over and pressing the emergency stop button.
"What are you doing?" Ivy turned to face me, her eyes wide with alarm.
"I'm making sure we won't be interrupted." I leaned against the wall opposite her, giving her space but making it clear that I wasn't going to let her escape this conversation again. "I have a question for you."
"Duncan, this is?—"
"Have you ever thought about what would have happened if we had never slept together?"
The question stopped her protest cold. She stared at me for a long moment, her expression cycling through surprise, pain, and something that might have been longing.
"Of course I have." Her voice was barely above a whisper. "I've thought about it a million times."
"And what about the other scenario? What would have happened if you had called me back or responded to any of my messages? If you hadn't run away? Was it because of the scandal? You were afraid of being the next woman dragged through the mud?"
"I didn't run away because of your scandal.
" The words came out sounding hurt and defensive.
"If anything, the scandal was what made me think about kissing you in the first place.
" Her eyes dropped and she huffed out a sigh.
"Otherwise, I'd have thought you'd push me away, that you'd think I was too young for you, but clearly, you were interested in younger women…
" She bit her lower lip, and I watched it flush dark with arousal.
This admission caught me off guard. I had assumed that my past had frightened her, that the thought of being associated with someone who had already been through one highly publicized relationship with a younger woman had driven her away.
"Then why did you leave?"
She shook her head, her auburn hair catching the fluorescent lights of the elevator. "I can't tell you that."
"Can't or won't?"
"Does it matter?"
I studied her face, noting the way she avoided my eyes, the tension in her jaw that suggested she was holding back more than she was revealing.
There were secrets here, layers of truth that she wasn't ready to share.
But she hadn't moved away from me, hadn't demanded that I restart the elevator and end this conversation.
"What if we tried again?" I kept my voice gentle, non-threatening. "What if we had a do-over? Tried that moment again without anyone running away this time?"
"What about my father? What about your staff?" She gestured vaguely upward, toward the floors above us where our colleagues were beginning their workday. "People will talk."
"Only if we give them a reason to talk." I took a step closer, close enough to smell her perfume, the same floral scent that had haunted my dreams for four years. "We're both adults. We can keep our personal relationship separate from work."
"We work together, Duncan. People will notice."
"After hours means no public displays of affection on the clock. No special treatment in meetings. No one has to know what happens between us outside this building."
She was wavering. I could see it in the way her breathing had quickened, in the way her eyes kept dropping to my mouth before darting away again.
"What if there were parts of my life you couldn't accept?" Her voice was small, vulnerable in a way that made my chest tighten. "Things I've done that might make you not want me?"
The question seemed to be masking something, maybe something she wanted to tell me but feared I would reject her for. Whatever had driven her away four years ago was still haunting her, still making her believe that she was somehow unworthy of being wanted.
"Everyone has a past, Ivy." I reached up and touched her cheek, the same gesture I had made in my office earlier that week. This time, she didn't pull away. "As long as you can accept mine, I promise I will never hold yours against you."
Her eyes filled with tears that she blinked away quickly, but not before I saw the fear and hope warring in their depths.
"I don't know if I can do this," she whispered.
"Do what?"
"Pretend that what happened between us was casual. Pretend that I don't think about it every day." She leaned into my touch, her cheek warm against my palm. "Pretend that seeing you again hasn't turned my entire world upside down."
The admission was everything I had hoped to hear and more than I had dared to expect. I moved closer, closing the distance between us until I could feel the heat radiating from her body.
"Then don't pretend." My thumb traced the line of her cheekbone, the same path I had followed that night in her parents' garden. "Don't run away this time."
"Duncan." My name was a sigh on her lips, a surrender that made my pulse quicken.
"Do you want to kiss me as badly as I want to kiss you?"
She nodded, the movement barely perceptible but unmistakable.
I leaned down and captured her mouth with mine, four years of longing and frustration and desperate need condensed into a single moment of connection.
She tasted exactly as I remembered, sweet and warm and perfectly right.
Her hands came up to grip my suit jacket, holding me close as she kissed me back with a hunger that matched my own.
As our lips broke apart, I grunted, "We really shouldn't—" and she cut me off.
"We really, really shouldn't—" But instead of pulling away, she pushed back, leaning into the kiss again, harder this time.
The elevator seemed to disappear around us, the fluorescent lights and mirrored walls fading into nothing as I lost myself in the feel of her lips against mine.
This was what I had been missing, what no amount of work or distraction had been able to replace.
Not just the physical connection, but the sense of completeness that came from holding her in my arms.