Even years afterward, his mother’s soft voice always managed to settle that aching place inside and let him know it would all be okay. It was odd to have such a deep connection with one parent and feel completely ostracized from the other. His father had spent most of his time with Cal and Tristan, leaving Dalton behind. What Dalton rarely admitted to anyone was how much he enjoyed spending time with his mother alone. She was always telling him adventurous stories or making up elaborate games. She’d bake cookies with him in the kitchen, build pillow forts in his parents’ king-size bed, or share her love of old musicals while she sang along in her off-key voice. She taught him to enjoy every moment of life and make the most of it. She taught him about being happy with who you were.

Until she left. And he realized she’d been lying to him the entire time.

Because he hadn’t been important enough to her.

His feet hit the top step and his eyes stung.

Silly. A grown man missing his damn mommy.

He buried the emotions deep and walked into his room. The mansion could easily hold twenty guests without anyone ever bumping into someone else, so when the terms of the will had been satisfied, Dalton had decided to keep staying in the family home. No need to get a crap apartment when he usually enjoyed his brothers’ company and got home-cooked meals from Morgan. He loved the goofball dogs, too, and the brothers had gotten into a habit of inviting Sydney and Brady, the company architect, over on Sunday afternoons for dinner.

Dalton’s room was decorated in navy and earth tones, with simple, masculine furnishings that showed off an array of treasures he’d carved out. From the handmade trunk at the foot of the bed to the chest of drawers and burl wood poster bed, he’d filled it with major pieces that soothed him. Old basketball trophies, a signed Mets baseball including a signature from Mike Piazza, an old prom picture with his first real crush, Andrea Bellows, dressed in red satin with her boobs hanging out in magnificent glory. A tattered, thin volume of Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass. There was a remnant of the first surfboard he’d finished and varnished on his own under the tutelage of a surfer god in California.

The walls were filled with photography, including a bunch of family pics that were his favorites. His maternal grandfather and grandmother on their wedding day, dressed in vintage clothes and staring solemnly at the camera. His mom sitting at a pre-K table during his first Mother’s Day tea, holding up a plastic cup and a lopsided cupcake while he grinned toothlessly beside her. The official family picture every Easter, with his brothers miserable in their stiff new suits.

The en suite bathroom had a spa shower, a TV, and a sauna, and was finished with rich Italian marble. But his true private oasis called to him.

He opened the French doors and stepped outside onto the balcony. The quiet of the night folded around him, and he lifted his head up to the sky with a smile. Since his room was located on the upper level, he felt removed from the rest of the house and closer to the stars. The temperature had dropped, and the air hung ripe and still. The clarity of the night struck him full force, a dark wave of inkiness streaked with hundreds of bright points scattered messily across the sky.

He walked around the two Adirondack chairs toward the telescope. The tension in his shoulders drifted away as he set up the lens and swiveled the scope to do an overview. He’d always had a fascination with stargazing, but his lighthearted hobby had become more serious as he got older. Something connected him to the bigger world when he stared out at the universe, and the idea of so many galaxies looking over him made him feel at peace. Kind of like when he worked with wood on a project he loved. Energy buzzed within him, warming his blood. His Orion SpaceProbe telescope was top-of-the-line, and since it was a perfect late spring evening, he easily found Rigel, the brightest star of Orion, and then traced the Horsehead Nebula, located at the east end of the belt. Dalton got lost for the next half hour, enjoying the clarity of the sky and allowing his thoughts to wander like a shooting star.

Working around Raven was a constant, taunting reminder of how much he wanted her. Oh, sure, he’d always wanted to drag her into his bed, from the moment he first saw her. He recognized lust and figured he’d be able to scratch his itch or he’d move on. But this was becoming more than he’d originally planned. Their conversation was more satisfying than some of his sexual encounters. The way she both challenged and teased him was better than physical foreplay. She made him ache to know more and plumb those secrets that glittered in her eyes.

He respected her limits and her pronouncement that she only wanted a serious relationship. But her body screamed a different song, one he longed to play. He’d never felt so attuned to a woman’s physical and mental presence. Sure, he’d experienced similar feelings on a lighter scale, especially during some more serious affairs, but not on this level.

Not like if he didn’t kiss her, he’d die.

His brothers’ teasing words simmered in his brain again. They were right, of course. He never held back when he wanted a woman. Problem was, nothing ever lasted past a few nights. Maybe a week or two.

Maybe his brothers had been right all along. Maybe he didn’t have the emotional capacity to love like they did. Maybe he’d killed all those feelings after his mother died and he realized she’d been having an affair. Maybe all those awful fights and cold silences between his parents had sunk into his DNA and he was stunted. Who got to his age without falling in love at least once?

Something had broken with his mother’s death. He’d always known his emotions were a bit fragile—like he was born with a vulnerable part he needed to protect at all costs. That was the primary reason he avoided love. His gut screamed that he wasn’t the type to handle it and would eventually either screw it up or blow it up. Why invest everything in an ideal that didn’t last?

The thoughts pounded and caused a slight headache. No, he was just living his life. Why on earth would he want to settle down to eventually get trapped in a hurtful relationship? It could lead to a disaster. His way was easier. No one got hurt because he refused to allow deeper feelings to blossom before it was too late.

But this thing with Raven needed to be explored. She haunted him, and until he delved deeper into the mystery, he wouldn’t be able to move on.

Maybe she just needed more time with him. Maybe if he opened up a bit to her probing, she’d trust him a little more. He’d take it slow and easy, making sure he respected the boundaries of their working relationship. For now. Denying themselves this type of connection due to an imaginary future husband she hadn’t yet met was ridiculous.