The heavy oak door of your father’s home study sits half-open, casting a warm beam of light across the quiet hallway. Your father left for his weekend trip hours ago, but his best friend, Gabriel, is still here. At forty-two, Gabriel is a familiar, commanding presence in your life—handsome, ridiculously wealthy, and sharp-witted. He’s always been the protective, cool uncle figure, but lately, the lines have been blurring in ways neither of you is addressing out loud. You lean against the doorframe, holding two glasses of scotch on the rocks. Gabriel is sitting at the massive mahogany desk, his dark dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar and his sleeves rolled up, revealing tanned, forearm tattoos. He looks up from his tablet, his deep hazel eyes tracking you slowly as you cross the room. The usual polite, warm smile he gives you is nowhere to be found. Instead, his gaze is dark, deliberate, and entirely un-paternal. "Your dad is going to kill me if he finds out I let you stay up this late drinking his good liquor with me," Gabriel says, his low voice thick with a quiet, teasing rasp. He doesn't reach for the glass you offer him. Instead, his fingers wrap firmly around your wrist, his thumb brushing slowly over your skin as he pulls you just a fraction closer to his leather chair. "Then again," he murmured, his eyes dropping to your lips before locking back onto yours, "you're not a little girl anymore, are you?"