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This is it.
And whom am I kidding? This is harder than anything I’ve ever fucking done in my life.
I look down at my feet, and shuffle them against the carpet. I raise my hand to the door, and then retract it for a moment.
Just fucking knock, I tell myself, but my body is having a hard time believing what I’m saying.
Then I take another deep breath, raise my fist, and rap my knuckles against her door. My heart starts to gallop, but I steady my breathing and convince myself to calm the fuck down. This is what I do for a living. I advise people all the time on financial decisions.
I just need to view Eliza as another Stackford Capital client, not as someone from my past.
At first I don’t hear anything, and my mind begs me to leave. It puts up a good argument too. Just as I nearly convince myself to come back some other time, I hear the steady click of a woman’s heels approach the door. Then, the lock clicks back, and the door swings open.
There, standing in the doorway, is Eliza.
She’s grown up, and even more beautiful than I remember her. Time has favored her, that’s for fucking sure. My heart kicks in my chest as the light bounces off of her long, blonde hair that cascades down her face like some untouchable, holy waterfall.
Her face is delicate, but confident, and I watch as her eyes take me in.
I’m immediately overcome by her scent—heavy with violets, and oak moss, and musk. It’s like taking a seductive walk into unfamiliar woods.
She looks me up and down, and for a moment, I wonder if she even remembers who I am.
Then a smile slowly registers across her face. It’s an undeniable moment of recognition.
“Hello, Daddy.”
Chapter Six
Eliza
“Hello, Daddy,” I smile at him, stepping aside as I invite him in. He tries to hide his surprise at my words, but I can see it in his eyes. He wasn’t expecting me to call him daddy. But then again, who is? “Come in,” I continue, and he steps inside my apartment with a confident strut, almost as if he’s trying to hide the way I threw him off.
I close the door behind us and steal a glance at his body as I do it. Old habits die hard, I guess. I remember him being quite handsome when I was younger and … Jesus Christ, he was a piece of forbidden sin, but I guess back then I wasn’t mature enough to appreciate the kind of man Derek really is.
With a face capable of making a woman’s heart stop beating for a few seconds, his body is exactly the kind of thing capable of turning up the heat in the blink of an eye. And when I say ‘turning up the heat’ what I really mean is ‘turning up the wetness’. Yeah, that might be a crass way of putting it, but sometimes being straightforward is the best policy.
I mean, just look at him! His muscles fill up his tailored Tom Ford suit perfectly, and I can’t help but wonder how cut he is under all these clothes. He looks impressive in a suit, but I bet that’s nothing in comparison to how he must look wearing nothing but hardness between his legs. God, I can’t believe I’m thinking about my stepfather’s cock.
As he turns up to meet my gaze, I snap my eyes back to his and, for a fraction of a second, a question dances in my mind: is he still fucking my stepmother? They got divorced a while back but, if I were Wanda, I don’t know if I’d be able to simply forego a man like Derek. But what the hell, that’s none of my business. I’ve tried to forget all about Wanda during my time in Europe, and it isn’t like me to be thinking of her right now.
“So, how does it feel to be back? You’ve been gone for a long time,” Derek asks me, his deep rumbling voice like a spell.
“Oui, c’est vrai,” I reply in French. Derek’s probably thinking that I’m still the same silly girl I was just when I left but, even though I partied hard these past few years, I’ve also matured and learned a few things along the way.
“Oh? Très fancy,” he laughs, unbuttoning his jacket and then taking it off. He throws it on top of my couch, and my eyes dart back to his chest, taking in the way the fabric of the shirt hugs his firm pectorals. “I guess you did more than party while in Europe. Picked up some French?”
“And Italian. And Spanish. Oh, I did much more than just party,” I reply with a chuckle, wetting my lips with the tip of my tongue. “A lot more,” I add with a heavy whisper, and the smile he offers me tells me right away that he knows exactly what else I’m referring to besides partying.
