“I was just wondering about your parents,” I say, sticking with part of the truth, at least. “I’ve met none of the Brotherhood’s family, other than your father when I was twelve. Do they ever come to the estate to visit?”

“Not during the first year. The new Brotherhood needs time to settle in without the influence of legacy members. I guess you might call their absence a tradition.”

“So you don’t see your parents at all?”

“Not until after the auction, but we do keep in contact via phone and email.”

“You must miss your family.” A pang shoots through my chest, and I suck in a breath and hold it for several seconds to staunch the ache threatening to creep in. “A day doesn’t pass that I don’t miss my parents.”

His expression softens, the furrow between his brows smoothing out in sympathy. “I don’t think I ever told you how sorry I am for what happened to your parents. You were so young.”

“I miss them.” I swallow past the lump in my throat. “Sometimes I think I see them—my mother, especially. It happens at odd times. I’ll come around a corner and think I see her sitting at the kitchen table, scribbling in her journal and sampling the baked goods the chef made for the day. Other times, I can almost imagine my father behind his desk, papers piled high in front of him.”

“They’ll always be with you, Novalee.” He reaches across the table and takes my hand, and I wonder if that simple gesture of comfort and companionship go against the rules. As his warm fingers entwine with mine, I can’t bring myself to care.

If I could visit Faye or Elise, they would hug me and offer their shoulders to lean on. But they aren’t here. Liam is, and he cares enough about me to want to give comfort. If I didn’t love him before, I do now.

“Your move, my sweet girl.” Giving one last squeeze of my hand, he lets go, and my attention returns to the board.

But my heart isn’t into winning. Because he’s right—the sooner the game’s over, the sooner I can feel his mouth on mine again. Recklessly, I move my queen into the path of his castle.

Liam shakes his head. “I thought you wanted a fair game?”

“I guess I want you to kiss me more.”

His hand halts above the conquering piece, and he watches me intently, his hot gaze an ember that flares brighter than the sun. The rope of tension snaps between us. Abandoning the game, he scoots his chair back with a crook of his finger.