4. Good Father

The room was silent except for the soft hum of the air conditioner and the heavy, uneven breaths they shared. Adam’s heart was still pounding against his ribs, his body flushed with heat that had nothing to do with temperature.

And then… his phone vibrated again.

The screen lit up with a familiar name.

Paul & Freya.

Adam closed his eyes for a moment, exhaling through clenched teeth. Of course. Of course, his children would call now.

He answered, keeping his voice steady.

“Paul? Freya?”

“Dad, where are you? You said you’d come back soon,” Paul’s soft voice came first, half-asleep but still holding onto his promise like the serious little boy he was.

“We’re waiting,” Freya added, sounding more annoyed than tired. “Annie says you’re busy, but we can’t sleep. You always read us a story.”

Adam’s gaze dropped to the woman currently sitting on his lap. His shirt was still half open. Her dress slipping in a way that left little to the imagination. Her body pressed snug against his, warm, tempting, undeniably arousing.

How could he explain?

I’m pinned beneath a woman who looks exactly like your dead mother. A woman who has made me hard for the first time in five years. A woman I shouldn’t even want.

No. He swallowed it down.

“I’ll be back soon, sweetheart. I’m sorry I took so long,” he said, forcing gentleness into his tone.

Freya’s little sigh drifted through the phone. “Dad… you sound weird. Are you okay?”

Weird?

How could he be okay with a woman straddling him, her scent clouding his head, her thighs pressed so snug against his hips he could feel how ready she was through the thin layers of clothes?

No, he wasn’t okay.

“I’m fine, Freya. I’ll be there soon, I promise.”

From somewhere in the background, he heard one of the twins’ nannies—Emma—speaking in a hushed, apologetic tone. “Mr. Wilson, I’m terribly sorry. They won’t settle without you. But… if you need some privacy tonight, Annie and I will manage.”

Adam managed a strained chuckle. “It’s fine. I’ll come right back.”

He ended the call with a sigh and looked up… straight into Imogen’s narrowed, sulky gaze.

“You didn’t even mute it.” Her tone was cool, edged with disappointment. “Let me guess. You left it loud on purpose. So I’d hear. So you’d have an excuse.”

She tugged lazily on the front of his shirt, still sitting astride him as if she owned the position now. Her fingers smoothed the fabric down his chest with slow, deliberate motions, brushing the bare skin beneath the gaps in the buttons. The touch made him twitch despite himself.

“You’re looking for any reason to say no to me, aren’t you?”

Adam’s throat bobbed. Guilty heat climbed beneath his skin. His hands rested on her thighs, unsure if he meant to push her away or pull her closer.

Her scent was distracting — something soft, expensive, laced with heat and skin and the faintest hint of whatever perfume clung to her hair. That hair now spilled messily over her bare shoulders, a few strands sticking where sweat met skin. Her lips were kiss-swollen, her cheeks flushed with frustration.

God, she was beautiful.

And dangerous.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “But my children… they can’t sleep without me. I always read them a story before bed.”

Imogen rolled her eyes, but there was no real malice in it. Only the faintest pout curling her mouth — a mouth Adam had tasted not long ago.

“I heard,” she said dryly. “Loud and clear. Your precious twins come first.”

Her hand slipped lower, not seductively now, just practical, redoing the buttons she had so carelessly undone moments ago. One by one. Fingertips brushing skin, but only briefly.

“You don’t need to explain again,” she added, fastening the last button and smoothing the fabric with a practiced flick of her fingers. “I heard the nanny too. Apparently, they’re even giving you permission to enjoy your… privacy tonight.” A smirk curled her lips as she leaned in closer. “Lucky me.”

Adam exhaled slowly. His body still ached with want. His mind still burned with guilt. His heart… he didn’t even know where his heart was anymore.

“I’m sorry, Immie. Truly. But my children… they are my priority.”

Her expression softened, just slightly. “I know.”

She sat back on his thighs, exhaling a sigh of her own. His hands still rested on her legs, feeling the heat through the thin silk of her dress, the faint tremor in her muscles from her own restrained desire.

“You’re beautiful,” Adam said before he could stop himself. “And I… I wasn’t lying about my condition. You… fixed something in me. Without medication. Without doctors.”

Imogen’s brows arched, skepticism battling with curiosity. “Fixed you, huh? I guess I’m just a natural miracle worker.”

Her smile returned, wry but not unkind. She reached for the wet wipes from her bag, pulling one free with a soft rustle of packaging.

Adam didn’t realize what she intended until her hand pressed the cool cloth against his abdomen, wiping away the faint, damning evidence of her effect on him. Her touch was clinical now. Efficient.

“Father of two,” she said under her breath, more to herself than to him. “Claiming dysfunction. How ironic.”

Her soft laugh wasn’t cruel, but it stung all the same. She tossed the wipe into the trash and stood, smoothing her dress down over hips that had driven him mad not minutes ago.

There was something she wanted to ask. He could see it in the way she hesitated, in the way her fingers toyed with the clasp of her purse. But whatever it was, she swallowed it down.

Instead, she stepped closer. Fixed his shirt with gentle hands. Smoothed his lapels. Straightened his tie.

“Handsome,” she murmured, almost to herself. “A little rumpled. But still good.”

“Thank you,” Adam said, throat thick with things he couldn’t voice. For a moment, his mind flashed to another pair of gentle hands, another woman who used to fuss over his appearance with the same quiet affection.

Maya.

Pain twisted through him. He forced it down.

Imogen stepped back. “Go to them. They need you.”

Adam hesitated at the door.

“I… may I come back?” he asked, voice low. “If they fall asleep quickly.”

She smiled, soft but knowing. Without a word, she reached into her small designer clutch and pulled out a sleek black keycard embossed with the hotel’s gold logo. Grand Firenze, Milan. Five-star, discreet, luxurious.

Imogen slid it across the nightstand with a tap of her manicured nail. “Room 1708. In case you forget.”

Her gaze held his, steady, unreadable. “If you want to come back… I’ll be waiting.”

Waiting.

That word twisted something deeper inside him.

He left without another word, but his fingers closed around the keycard like it burned.

Back in his suite, the lights were low, the curtains drawn. Emma met him at the door with an apologetic smile.

“They’ve been restless,” she said softly. “They kept asking when you’d return.”

“I’m here now.” Adam’s smile was weary but genuine. “Thank you, Emma.”

She hesitated, then added with a knowing glance, “If you… need time to yourself later, don’t worry. I and Annie can manage them in the morning.”

Inside, Paul was already dozing, thumb tucked beneath his cheek, hair mussed. Freya sat upright, arms crossed, pout firmly in place.

“You’re late,” she accused.