Trapped with My Best Friend’s Dad by Flora Ferrari

Chapter Three

Rayla

I walk toward the trunk of the car, letting out a satisfied breath. This must be the place. When the guy at the rental place said it was a little ‘out of the way’ and gave me directions, I couldn’t have guessed just how out of the way it would turn out to be.

As I was driving down the bumpy country road, I became convinced I was going in the wrong direction.

Even though Millie had warned me, it still felt difficult to believe.

I stop at the trunk, putting my hands on my hips and looking over the glittering lake, with more pine forest on the other side.

I can’t complain too much, because this place is beautiful, every part of it summer bright and inviting, causing a smile to spread across my face.

Then suddenly there’s a dog running at me, a tiny cute squat dog with a patch over his eye. He leaps over to me with his tongue hanging out, jumping up on his hind legs as he puts his forepaws on my leg.

I laugh and lean down, stroking him behind the ear as he jostles around in excitement. “What’s your name, little fella? Where’s your owner? Where did you come from?”

He whines and runs in a small circle, his excitement getting the better of him, making his small silver tag rattle.

Standing, I look over at the lake, wondering if his owner is walking him around the edge or through the forest, but everything looks untouched, as though the scenery hasn’t seen a human in a while.

“Come on, Tanker.”

I flinch when the man’s voice strikes me. It’s deep and intense, husky, the sort of voice that is difficult to ignore.

“I’m sorry,” I say without thinking, turning to address the man. “I didn’t think anybody would be near the cabin. In the cabin. Around the cabin.”

I’m rambling but who the heck could blame me?

The man who approaches me is like something out of a cover of a magazine. Six and a half feet tall with throbbing muscles… muscles that look as though they’ve been recently worked out if his tense arms and pulsating veins are anything to go by. He’s got wide-shouldered and wears a sweat-stained T-shirt, showing me the outline of his ripped torso.

His eyes are bright and blue, piercing me, and his hair is the color of steel – catching the sunlight as he steps forward, his expression intense.

“Tanker, here. Here, boy.”

The dog turns and pads over to the man, sitting at his feet and letting his tongue loll out.

Looking past him, I let my eyes skim over the cabin.

It’s built over part of the lake, on stilts, with an inviting wooden exterior and lots of windows to make the summer light bounce and shimmer. The front door is open… meaning that this man is either an intruder, a lodger, or—

I let out an involuntarily gasp, and then immediately feel like the biggest dork idiot ever.

“What is it?” the man says, taking a step forward, Tanker lightly padding at his side.

“Nothing. I just… I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting anybody to be here.”

A light smirk touches his lips. I wonder how old he is. Forty, forty-five? Whatever the case, he’s so ripped and he looks so freaking dominating and carnal and hot, I don’t care.

I must look like a dorky twenty-something nothing to him.

“I was about to say the same thing.” He nods to the car, to the stuff piled up on the backseat. “Looks like you’ve packed half your life. Are you planning on moving out here?”

“No, I’m only here for a week. I’m Millie’s friend. Rayla. And I’m guessing you must be Roman? Are you?”

I need to stamp down on this silly excitement thundering through me, making my heart hammer in my chest, my skin tingle. My mind is doing silly things, like imagining what it would be like to have his arms wrapped around me, to collapse against him and rest my cheek against his chest and feel how solid he is.

“Yes, I’m Roman,” he says, making my belly tighten, a fierce ball of tension squeezing down.

Crap.

I’ve just been fantasizing about my best friend’s dad. That is not cool, not even close to being okay.

“Did Millie not mention we were coming?” I ask.

He waves a hand. “She might have. I’ve always found fiction easier to remember than reality. Where is she?”

“Her flight was canceled. She’s coming down tomorrow. She didn’t say you were going to be here though.”

“It was a last-minute decision, wasn’t it, boy?” He leans down and pats Tanker on the back of the head, not an easy feat for a man as huge as him and a dog as little as Tanker… but he moves athletically, easily, more like a fighter than a writer. “This place helps me think. The city doesn’t.”

“Oh.” I bite my lip, unable to stop my eyes from moving over the tight ropes of his arms, the tension which seems to swell inside of him with each moment. “So should head back to the airport or…”

He chuckles, shaking his head. The laughter doesn’t seem to reach his eyes. The thought that I’ve made him angry works its way into me, followed by another gut-punch sinking feeling that I’ve displeased him. But I shouldn’t want to please this man in any way.

So what if he’s hot. Super hot. Hotter than anybody I’ve ever laid eyes on. And so what if he’s sending crazy thoughts surging through my mind, like wondering what it would be like to claw onto the front of those gym shorts and rub, and keep rubbing until his manhood swells in my hand.

“It’s not your fault I’ve crashed your trip,” he says. “Come on in and I’ll show you the guest room. I don’t mind, honestly. I can always drive back tomorrow morning if I’m cramping your style too much.”

I nod, even if the thought of him driving back to the city makes me want to scream…

Stay, stay, stay, don’t leave. Don’t ever leave me.

I push the thought deep down where it belongs…

But even that is wrong. It doesn’t belong deep down inside of me or anywhere remotely near my mind. It’s the sort of thought I’d never dream of having about my best friend’s dad – before I laid eyes on him, before I drank in his hulking form and his bulging muscles, and that way he has of looking at me…

What way? A voice whispers. You’re imagining it.

I know I must be imagining, wishing the intensity of his eyes into existence, and yet there’s a part of me that can’t deny the tingles that move over my whole body as he consumes me with his gaze.

“Need help with your bags?” He strolls over to the car without waiting for my response, bringing with him his musky manly scent, my gaze flitting to the firmness of his arms. “Rayla?”

“Um, yeah, sure. Thank you.”

We carry the bags in together, Roman grabbing my suitcase as though it weighs nothing, causing the muscles in his arms to press against his skin, delicious outlines that cause even more traitorous desires to surge up inside of me.

The cabin is beautiful inside, far more rustic than I’d imagined it. Every surface is sleek wood and there are rugs everywhere, with gorgeous landscape paintings dotted all over the walls. The exposed rafters give it a super intimate and homely appeal.

Walking ahead of me – with Tanker trotting loyally at his feet – Roman leads me to a door at the very end of the hallway. He opens it and nods inside, revealing a four poster bed carved with various animals running up and down it, with rugs laid over each other on the floor. There’s a door to an ensuite off to the side too, completing the inviting look.

But the best part is the large window at the end of the room, which overlooks the lake, giving me a glorious view of the glittering water and the pine trees all around it.

“This is beautiful,” I murmur, wandering over to the window. “Really, really beautiful.”

“Yes.” Roman’s voice is deep and husky, making me think he’s going to leap at me for a crazed second. “It really is.”

He’s talking about the view, of course, and not about me. Because there’s no tension simmering between us, no want, no need, or anything. It’s all in my head and I need to beat it down, to tame my desires before they have a chance to flare up and cripple me.

At least Millie will be here tomorrow, quietening this insane desire spiraling through me.

I turn as Roman drops my bags onto the bed and makes for the door. “I’ll get the rest. And then I’ll leave you to settle it.”

There’s that word again.

Leave.

I almost call after him to come and stand by the window with me, to wrap his arm over my shoulder and hug me close to him as we take in the scene. I almost ask him if I can rest my cheek against his chest, just for a little while, to hear his heartbeat hammering against my ear.

But then he’s gone, and I know it’s for the best.

I can’t let myself want this man. It can only lead to disaster.

Tomorrow, I reassure myself. Millie will be here tomorrow.