2. Dane
2
Dane
I tap my pen against the edge of Eric’s desk and force myself to look at the stack of documents in front of me instead of letting my eyes wander toward the living room. It’s late; we’ve been at this for hours, poring over spreadsheets, contract clauses, and financial forecasts. Normally, I can do this in my sleep. But tonight, I’m restless, my focus shattered by the soft glow of the TV flickering through the open doors.
Eric leans back in his chair, letting out a low groan. “Long day, huh?” he says, massaging the back of his neck. “We can tackle the rest tomorrow if you want.”
I clear my throat. “No, it’s fine.” My voice sounds rough, a touch too clipped. I try to relax my grip on the pen. “We might as well get the framework done now, while we’re both here.”
He nods and flips a page, scribbling a note in the margin. My mind drifts almost immediately—back to the living room, where Sienna is curled up on the couch, channel surfing. An endless circle of static and light, but it mesmerizes me. Or rather, she mesmerizes me.
I can see her out of the corner of my eye every time I steal a glance from my seat. Her long legs tucked beneath her, the subtle curve of her shoulders. She’s grown so much since I first met her—she was just a little kid back then, all wide eyes and pigtails. Now, she’s eighteen, a young woman with confidence and a certain grace. It’s unsettling how sharply that realization hits me.
I feel a knot form in my stomach. It’s not right. I’m her father’s best friend. I’ve watched her grow up—at birthday parties, holidays, and countless family events. Yet I can’t stop my heart from pounding every time I catch sight of her. It’s like my chest constricts, and heat throbs at the base of my spine in a way that I shouldn’t be feeling. Not for her.
Focus, Dane. I snap my attention back to the papers, scanning a paragraph about projected earnings. I try to engage my business mind, the one that usually steers me so well through multi-million-dollar deals, but my concentration fails. Sienna’s image lingers at the edges of my thoughts.
Eric shifts in his chair, glancing toward the open door. “I’m happy she’s back home,” he says, following my line of sight. My pulse jumps, but I try to appear casual. “She’s been gone for just a few months, but it feels like ages. You know how it is.”
“Sure,” I manage, my voice steady enough. “College can really change a person. She seems…more mature.”
Eric smiles, pride lighting his eyes. “She does, doesn’t she? It’s like she’s blossomed overnight.”
I clamp my jaw shut, nodding once. If only he knew the effect she has on me, the storm of conflicting emotions raging beneath my carefully maintained facade. Part of me wants to push all of these thoughts out of my head, to remind myself that this is Eric’s daughter, that she’s off-limits. But another part of me—one I can’t fully control—wants to watch her, to unravel every detail about her, to see how she smiles, how she tilts her head, how she tucks her hair behind her ear.
Eric’s phone buzzes, pulling him out of his seat and away from the desk. “I’ll be right back,” he says, stepping out into the hallway to take the call.
The moment he’s gone, I shift my gaze to the living room without restraint. Sienna is flipping through channels, the remote balanced precariously on her thigh. The lamplight dances over her face, highlighting the softness of her features. She yawns, covering her mouth with a delicate hand. My heart thuds a little harder, imagining her tired eyes fluttering shut, the way she’d look if she fell asleep right there on the couch.
She leans her head back, exposing the curve of her neck, and a bolt of desire hits me, fast and punishing. I’m not proud of it, but I can’t deny it, either. A wave of possessiveness rolls through me—this fierce longing to protect her, to claim her in a way that’s absolutely forbidden.
I glance at the study doorway, making sure Eric is still out of sight. Then I let myself stare for a few seconds longer. I realize my hand is clenched into a fist on my thigh, nails digging into my palm, as if trying to tether me to my seat. If I don’t, I might lose any shred of common sense and walk out there, sit beside her—maybe too close—and see if she notices the tension in my shoulders or the way my eyes linger.
When Eric returns, I swivel my chair sharply back to the documents. My pulse is rapid, and I hope he doesn’t notice my shallow breathing. But he’s too busy typing on his phone to pay me any real attention.
“Let’s wrap this up,” he says, his tone decisive. “We’ll handle the details tomorrow, but I want to go over the main points one more time. Sienna’s heading back to campus in a couple of days, and I’d like to spend time with her while she’s here.”
I swallow. “Sure.”
We talk about business, about next steps, finalizing deals, expansions, revenue. I fight to keep up, nodding in the right places. Finally, we conclude for the night. By the time we’re done, the clock on Eric’s desk reads close to midnight.
Eric rubs his eyes. “I’m beat. I’m not as young as I used to be.” He stands up and picks up the stack of papers. “I’ll walk you out.”
I follow him, gathering my briefcase. We enter the living room just as Sienna flicks off the TV. She sees us and stretches her arms above her head in a languid motion that makes my throat go dry. She stands up, crossing the room toward us.
“Hey, Dad,” she says, covering another yawn. “I’m heading to bed. Goodnight.”
Eric gives her a quick hug. “Sleep well, sweetheart.”
Her gaze shifts to me, and for a second, I think I sense an echo of the tension swirling inside me. But it’s gone too fast, replaced by a sweet smile. “Goodnight, Dane,” she says softly.
I clear my throat, nodding once. My entire body feels like it’s buzzing, and I pray I’m hiding it better than I feel. “Goodnight, Sienna.”
She heads down the hall, her footsteps light on the wooden flooring. I can’t help but watch her go, eyes following the sway of her hips until she disappears. My heart pounds, heat crawling up my neck. I have no business looking at her like that.
Eric walks me to the front door, yawning again. “Drive safe,” he tells me, opening the door wide.
“Thanks,” I say. “I’ll be in touch tomorrow.”
He closes the door behind me, and I step out onto the front porch. The night is cool, and the moon casts long shadows across the driveway. I inhale, trying to calm the tumult inside me. I should just get in my car and leave. That would be the logical, respectable thing to do.
But I don’t move. My feet stay glued to the stone steps, a desperate need churning inside of me. Sienna probably in her bedroom by now, maybe brushing her hair or slipping into pajamas. The thought sends a fresh wave of want surging through me.
I descend the steps and walk around the side of the house. The landscaping is meticulous—bushes pruned, flowers neatly planted. I feel a pang of guilt as I slip into the shadows, like a trespasser in my best friend’s yard. My heart drums in my ears, adrenaline spiking.
Then I see it: a golden rectangle of light along the back of the house. Sienna’s bedroom. My pulse thrums with an unfamiliar blend of shame and raw excitement. This is wrong. So, so wrong. Yet I can’t tear myself away. The curtains are drawn, but I can make out her silhouette on the other side. A shadow crossing back and forth as she moves around.
I step closer, hiding behind a tall shrub, feeling like some depraved voyeur. But I can’t stop myself. My eyes strain, trying to catch every detail. Her figure passes by the window again, arms raised, likely pulling a shirt over her head. My pulse leaps, molten heat pooling low in my stomach. My hand grips the top of the shrub so hard, it pricks my palm.
Why am I doing this? I should be mortified. I should walk away, forget the addictive pull of her presence. But the thought of not seeing her—of denying this twisted, obsessive desire—feels impossible. She’s a flame, and I’m a moth driven mad by its glow.
For a moment, she pauses by the window, maybe adjusting the curtains. My breath catches. If she looks out now, she’ll see me. The thought of being discovered, of having to face her or Eric, is both terrifying and oddly exhilarating, making my body harden instantly. But the blinds remain partially closed, and I remain invisible in the darkness.
Eventually, the light goes out, plunging her room into darkness. I linger a little longer, hoping for any sign of her—maybe the soft glow of a bedside lamp, or the faint flicker of her phone screen. But it stays dark. She’s gone to bed.
Sighing, I run a shaky hand through my hair. My conscience screams at me, telling me I’m crossing every line. But I can’t deny this fierce, possessive longing that’s burrowed into my chest. Sienna. Every time I think her name, my head swims.
I circle back around the house, each step feeling heavier than the last, as though the guilt has turned my legs to lead. When I reach my car, I slide behind the wheel and sit there for a moment, forehead pressed to the steering wheel. Part of me wants to back away from this, to let the rational side of my brain take over and remind me that this is Eric’s daughter, that I’m too old for her, that I have a thousand reasons to keep my distance.
And yet, I know the truth. I’m not sure I can stop. I’m not sure I even want to. She’s become an obsession, a precious thing I can’t look away from. Something about her draws me in, makes me ache with a longing so intense it feels like a physical compulsion.
I start the engine, the car’s rumble loud in the still night. As I pull out of the driveway, I glance once more toward her bedroom window. Nothing but darkness, and the reflection of the moon. But even that is enough to set my heart racing, reminding me of her silhouette and the quiet hush of that room.
I drive away, headlights carving tunnels into the night. My thoughts stay with Sienna. It’s reckless, dangerous, and wrong in every sense of the word. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t shake the image of her from my mind—her shy smile, her gentle laugh, the curve of her body. She’s all I can think about. And in the pit of my stomach, I know that tonight is only the beginning of something I’m helpless to resist.