9. Odette
9
ODETTE
He’s standing in the doorway.
A man I haven’t seen in ten years. A man I’ve never been able to forget.
And now, here he is — tall, blond, piercing blue eyes, with broad shoulders and muscles in all the right places — standing before me, as if he’d stepped out of a memory and into my life again.
At first, I think I’m imagining him, a trick of the light or my mind playing cruel games. But no. He’s real. He’s here. His blonde-gray hair is slightly tousled, his broad frame leaning against the doorframe like he’s been watching me for a while. And those eyes — those intense, piercing blue eyes I remember so well — are locked on me, full of something I can’t quite place.
My mind scrambles to make sense of this impossible reality. This man knows every inch of my body, yet I didn’t even know his name, until now.
Duncan Templeton.
The villain in Chloe’s and Caleb’s story.
Fuck me.
A thick silence settles between us as I wipe the tears from my cheeks, trying to pull myself together. My lips part twice, but the questions die on my lips. Then again, there isn’t anything to be said. Not really.
He’s off-limits, in more ways than one.
Duncan doesn’t move, just watches me with those intense eyes, his expression unreadable. But then his gaze softens, and there’s a flicker of recognition in his eyes that makes my stomach flip.
“That was beautiful.” His voice is deep and warm, yet somehow sharper than I remember. “It reminds me of... June Ehrenberg.”
Coming from him, the name jars me. I lift my chin, meeting his eyes with a clarity I hadn’t expected. “She was my mother.”
His brows lift slightly, surprise sparking in his eyes. “I didn’t know that.”
“No one knows that.” I shrug it off like it’s no big deal, even though on the inside it feels like anything but. This is what happens when I’m open, vulnerable, and raw. And since I can’t help myself, I add, “I’m the stain on the Ehrenberg family name. Don’t bother cashing in on that secret. They will deny it.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
That look in his eyes, the one I couldn’t place? It morphs into pity, an emotion I detest being on the receiving end of.
I stand, the bench scraping against the hardwood floor, and pull out my phone to check the time. “I’ll be out first thing in the morning.”
His brow furrows in confusion. “Why?”
“Because you came here to be alone, and I’m in the way of that.”
“That’s not why I’m here.” His tone is gentle but firm, and I hate that even more.
“Fine. I came here to be alone, and that’s clearly not happening.”
“Stay.” There’s something earnest in his expression that catches me off guard.
I let out a weary sigh, slipping my phone back into my pocket. crossing my arms. “What did Chloe tell you about me?”
“Not much.” He shrugs, a hint of a smile teasing his lips. “Just that you needed to get away from the holidays.”
I gesture vaguely at the room, at the Christmas explosion around us. “Does this look like getting away from the holidays to you?”
He chuckles, the sound warm and unbothered. “I know. It’s a lot. My usual decorator wasn’t available this year, so I tried someone new. Maybe they went a little overboard.”
“ A little ?” I deadpan. “There’s mistletoe in every doorway, and your tree has more lights than Times Square.”
He grins, the kind of grin that could disarm a brick wall. “It’s festive! Don’t tell me you don’t feel the holiday cheer.”
I want to scream I hate Christmas , and maybe stop my foot while I’m at it. Instead, I groan as I lower the piano lid over the keys. Playtime’s over. No sense in prolonging the inevitable.
“I’m the guest here. I’m imposing. I’ll leave.”
The thing is, I need a glass of water to take my sleep aid with, but it means I have to walk past him to get to the kitchen. Whatever. As I do, his hand reaches out, closing gently around my wrist. A sharp, electrifying jolt races through my body, leaving me breathless. I glance down at where his palm rests on my wrist, at his thumb brushing lightly against the fabric of my sweater. Goosebumps pepper my skin, and my heart stumbles over itself as I slowly look up, meeting his eyes.
Something passes between us, weighted and unspoken, tethered to a decade of silence. His gaze softens, his expression raw and sincere.
“Stay,” he repeats, his voice quieter now, almost a plea.
The tenderness in his tone chips away at my resolve, and I hate how much I want to say yes. But this is the man who left me without a note or a goodbye, just an empty bed and ten years of unanswered questions. And now he wants me to stay?
I swallow hard, my throat tight. “Why?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
He doesn’t answer right away, but his grip on my wrist doesn’t falter. His touch is steady, warm, like he’s afraid that letting go might mean losing me again.
“I’d love to spend more time with you,” he eventually says, and the sincerity in his voice guts me.
Then, with his unoccupied hand, he brushes the hair from my face. More goosebumps pepper my skin in the wake of his fingers. “Nice to meet you again, Odette.”
I draw in a sharp breath. “Is it?”
“It is,” his gaze lowers to my lips, “and it’s feels good to finally put a name to the face that has haunted my dreams for the last decade.”
My heart stops, and for a moment, I can’t breathe.
What do I even say to that? That I’ve dreamt of him too? That I’ve thought of that one night more than I care to admit?
Doesn’t matter, he’s off-limits , my subconscious screams.
I don’t think so , my traitorous body answers.
The only two places he’s actually touching me are on my wrist and neck, but it feels like he’s touching me everywhere . Maybe it’s because of the intense way he’s looking at me, like no time has passed at all. Like he’s dying to lean in and take a taste. Like he wants to loose himself in me.
Maybe I want him to.
Truth is, if he made a move, I’d let him. And I won’t stop at just a taste. I’d loose myself in him too. But once the lusty haze clears and reality sets in, I’d hate myself for it. Because now that I know who he is, it would feel like a betrayal to my best friends.
Then, there is Aurora.
Our daughter.
Knowing what I now know, that makes everything feel impossibly complicated.
Still, my voice trembles as I say, “You left me, Duncan.”
“I know.” His eyes lift, and our gazes lock once again. “I shouldn’t have.”
My heart stutters, my pulse booms in my temple. “What?”
“Shouldn’t have left you,” his thumb slides over my lips, his eyes filled with regret.
Oh, fuck.
I look away, my walls going up. “This doesn’t change anything.”
“Maybe not,” he says softly, his thumb sliding over my lips, “but you should still stay.”
And damn it, the worst part is — I want to.