Trapped with My Best Friend’s Dad by Flora Ferrari

Chapter Five

Rayla

We sit on the porch, looking over the lake together.

Our plates lie on the table between us, our sandwiches finished, and now it’s like we’re waiting for the other person to speak. Tension moves through me as my gaze flits over the lake, the setting sun turning the water a burning orange color, my heart slamming heavily in my chest every time I sneak a look over at Roman.

He sits with Tanker in his lap, casually moving his hand over the small dog’s fur. The little fella is curled into a tight ball, making soft purring noises.

“Is he a cat?” I joke because it’s the only thing I can think to say.

Roman’s lips twitch, but it’s not a smile. It’s not even a smirk. It’s more like the suggestion of a smirk. “He likes to think he is.”

There’s another pause, one in which I can’t help but let my eyes roam over his arms. They bulge in his shirt, and his forearms twitch as he moves his hands over the dog. Every part of him is massive, heaving, brimming with iron strength.

Whenever I imagined what Roman Robinson looked like, it was never as this… as this beast.

I try to beat down the surging need flurrying around deep inside of me, making my sex ache and my belly tighten. But the more I fight it – reminding myself he’s Millie’s dad, she’d hate me if she knew I was lusting after him – the stronger the urges become.

It’s like a deafening chorus inside of me, roaring through me until everything else drifts away and becomes unimportant. But I can’t allow that. I can’t let my best friend become freaking unimportant in my mind.

She isn’t. No, no way.

It’s just that everything seems unimportant when I think about what it would feel like to have Roman’s arms wrapped around me, holding me from behind, pressing his rock hard chest against my back.

His big hands sliding down my chest and palming my breasts, squeezing them together, causing my nipples to harden and for shivering aching need to sizzle up and down my body.

Biting my lip, I glance at him again. His gaze is firmly fixed on the lake, on the forest, as though he’s going out of his way to ignore me so he doesn’t have to address the fact I keep staring at him like a weirdo.

Can he feel how badly I want him, or does he just think I’m a nervous dorky kid?

Heck, that’s what I must seem like to this silver-haired giant, even if I’m twenty. He must think I’m so immature.

I bet he’d never dream of looking at me like that.

Which is good, I assure myself. It’s what I want.

He turns and his lip twitches again, the corner of his mouth quirking upward. “What are you thinking about, Rayla?”

My heart hammers even harder when his eyes settle on me. He has this way of looking at me like I’m the only person in the world, like nothing else exists, like the lake and the forest and the world could fall away and he wouldn’t care.

Or perhaps I’m projecting, wishing, dreaming a dream I know makes me rotten to my core.

Millie, Millie, Millie, I sing in my mind, trying to make myself remember my loyalty.

“I was just wondering…”

I trail off, scrambling for something reasonable to say. It’s not as though I can tell him I was wondering what it would feel like to sink against him, to feel his powerful arms hugging me close. It’s not as though I can tell him how badly I want to be with him, even if I know it’s wrong.

“Why you never revealed yourself to the public,” I finish, my voice far more frantic than it has any right to be. “Why did you choose to keep your identity a secret? And, heck, how did you do it?”

“I never wanted fame,” he says, a musing tone in his voice. “I never saw the advantage of it. And remember, when I started writing, I never dreamed my books would become so popular. All I wanted to do was… empty myself, I guess, get rid of this gnawing feeling inside of me. And I did, many times, with many books. But then the writer’s block came and—And you didn’t ask about that, did you?”

He smirks, wider this time, the blazing orange sunset shimmering across his eyes.

“I’ll listen to anything you tell me,” I whisper, and immediately wish I could snatch the words back.

He tilts his head, looking closely at me, and then returns his gaze to the lake. It’s like he finds it easier to gaze at nature than at me.

Maybe my gaping is making him uncomfortable.

“When I first started to get some success, I knew people would want to interview me, want to know who I was. So I decided to preempt it all and put certain defenses in place. I hired a private investigator and they reverse-engineered the system, making me difficult to find, both online and off. I couldn’t stand the idea of being known, of being… Fuck, I don’t know, of being distracted.”

“Distracted?” I ask.

He sits up, waving his hand, passion flaring in him. “From the work. The work’s all that matters. That’s what I thought, anyway, before I had Millie. And before…”

Once again his eyes return to me, glimmering with something I find impossible to read. His massive body seems like it’s expanding, like any second he could erupt, tearing out of his skin like a werewolf.

Before what?I want to cry. Before you met me? Is that what you were going to say?

“What about you?” he asks.

“What about me?”

“What’s your passion? What are you going to do when—”

“When I grow up?” I say, unable to stop the snappy tone from tinging my voice. “Is that what you were going to say? Because I’ll have you know I’m twenty, almost twenty-one, so I’m very much a grownup.”

He chuckles. “No need to get feisty. I was going to say when you graduate, not when you grow up. I can see you’re a grownup just fine.”

My cheeks burn and I feel a blush spreading over me, down my neck, and over my body. I feel it colonizing in different parts of me until every inch of my skin is burning and alive to the tiniest of sensations. The light breeze caressing my neck feels like a lover’s kiss, softly stroking up and up, creeping closer to my chin, my lips.

I push the crazy thought away, focus on the moment, on his question.

“I want to be an actor,” I tell him. “I know how ridiculous that sounds. Who doesn’t want to be an actor, right? The odds are stacked against me. But that’s my dream, my goal.”

“Not a singer?” he asks. “You have a lovely voice.”

I tell myself he’s just being nice. He doesn’t mean anything by that.

“It’s one thing having a little section in a play,” I murmur. “But it’s completely different to, you know, be a singer. No, I’ll be an actor. And if I have to sing here and there, well, I’ll give it my best shot.”

My words come out stumblingly, feeling as though I have to drag them from deep inside of me, haul them out and make them work. I’ve always found it difficult to talk about myself, about my dreams, my desires.

“Are you okay?” he asks, still staring, pinning me in place.

No, because I want him, I want him more than I’ve ever wanted anyone or anything. I can’t stop thinking about how badly I want to crush my body against his, how badly I want to wrap my arms around him and hug him close and never let go. But letting go would mean facing just how traitorous these thoughts are.

“It’s just weird talking about myself, I guess. I try to do it as little as possible.”

“You shouldn’t be so humble.” A wolf’s growl enters his voice. “There’s no need for it, not when you’re as talented as you are.”

His compliment purrs over my body, making my skin hot, ready for his touch.

“Anyway.” He stands, Tanker hopping down and waiting at his feet. “Thanks for the sandwich. I’m going to write… or try to write.”

I want to ask him about his writer’s block, how it’s possible for somebody as talented and prolific as him to suddenly stop. But then he turns and strides into the house, ducking under the doorframe so he doesn’t bump his handsome silver-haired head. Tanker pads at his feet, and then the door closes behind him.

Sighing, I sit back, interlocking my fingers in my lap.

But what right do I have to sigh, to be disappointed that he’s left me out here alone?

We mean nothing to each other. Millie would tear my eyes out if she knew what I was thinking, how badly I wanted to climb atop her father.

At least I know he’d never want me, not in a million years.

At least I know this is all going to stay firmly imprisoned in my mind.