Page 67 of Dallas Rivals

I drop onto the bench and cover my eyes with a towel. “Nothing. She’s my employee. I can’t keep this going. It’ll only end badly.”

“Or… really, really well.”

“Highly unlikely.”

“You’re always so damn negative, brother. Maybe try giving yourself a break.”

“Her father would kill me,” I mutter. “You should see the way he looks at me whenever we’re in the same room.”

Kill laughs. “Smart man. He knows Walker men only break hearts.”

I can’t help but laugh too. “Speak for yourself. Anyway, I’ve gotta head to the office.”

“But I still have questions!”

“And I still don’t have time.”

“Well, now that you mention it, neither do I. Gotta get to work.”

“Weren’t you driving there already?”

“No, just dropped Giuliana off at her place. You remember her? The Italian model.”

“The one from Milan?”

“No, the one from Rome.”

My brother—always chasing new women, never repeating. “I have no idea who that is,” I say with a laugh. “Bye, Kill.”

“Bye, big brother!”

He doesn’t ask for permission; instead, he reaches out, his hands grasping and probing places he has no right to touch. I writhe in the bed, desperate to escape the invasion of his rough fingers and the sick hunger in his eyes. Panic rises inside me as I shout, “Stop touching me!” The names tumble out next.

“Silas! Luca!” but my cries seem to vanish into the void. “No!”

“Oliver!”

My eyes snap open.

Sweat covers my forehead, my arms are shaking uncontrollably, my breathing’s all over the place.

“Oliver, it’s me, Cala.”

I turn to the left side of the bed. Cala Saint-Clair is there, her big dark eyes filled with worry.

Without thinking, I bolt out of bed and head straight for the balcony.

The cold hits my chest like a punch. The sweat on my skin makes every gust of wind sting.

Hands on my knees, I start my ritual.

Inhale for four.

Hold for two.

Exhale for four.

She crouches in front of me; her hands pressed to her stomach.