“How could you keep this from me?”
Moira tried not to glare at the glossy photo of her mom, but she couldn’t help it. Her fingers clamped down on the flimsy bit of memory, her thumbs leaving fat prints at the edges.
What he couldn’t understand was why he desired her so desperately—and it was driving him up the fucking wall.
So, for now, repression was his best bet. Repression, control. Ignore his dark desires, his deepest cravings, and wear a mask of indifference in order to get the job done.
It was rather Catholic of him.