Chapter 3
ALEX
“Shit! I forgot about the coffee.” Elijah grins, walking into the kitchen as I lean against the counter, mug pressed to my lips.
I smile over the rim as his eyes sparkle with mischief, taking a lazy tour down my body where blue plaid lounge pants hang loosely on my hips.
“You look sexy in my pants,” he says, stepping up to the counter.
He takes the mug from my hand, setting it aside, then wraps his arms around my waist, pressing his body flush against mine.
I feel him inhale the scent of his soap on my skin.
“And fuck… you smell so good.” He breathes against my skin, his erection pushing into my hip.
Looking all sorts of sexy with his hair still damp and tousled from our shower, I reach up and cradle his face, slowly tracing his jawline before sliding my fingers through his thick hair.
I pull him closer, cover his mouth with mine, and suck on his generous lips.
Moaning, he parts them and pushes his tongue through my lips, triggering a moan from somewhere deep in my chest to match his.
“Daddy?”
What the fuck?
My eyes fly open. Every nerve in my body locks up, frozen solid in Elijah’s arms. My tongue goes still in the heat of his mouth, like it just forgot what it was doing. If he weren’t still holding me, I swear I would’ve collapsed to the floor.
He keeps me steady for a moment, as if making sure I won’t fall apart—physically, at least. Once satisfied, he releases me with casual ease and turns toward the voice.
“Hi, baby,” he says, a calm smile spreading across his handsome face.
Like this is perfectly normal. Like this happens every damn day.
“I didn’t realize you were home, sweetheart,” he adds, strolling over to her without a hint of panic.
Ana.
Oh Jesus.
She’s standing there in silky pajamas that cling to her narrow frame, dark hair tumbling over her shoulders like something out of a shampoo commercial. She glances in my direction and offers a shy, almost apologetic smile.
I can’t speak. My mouth refuses to move—flat out refuses. I can’t even begin to wrap my head around what I’m seeing, let alone find any fucking words.
Elijah brushes a hand over her shoulder and asks, all casual, “Where’s Emilee?”
Oh. My. God.
This cannot be happening.
Her shimmering eyes flick from me back to her father.
“She’s staying with her aunt in Connecticut for the weekend,” Ana says, voice light, airy. “So I came home from school. We’re going to hang out when she gets back on Sunday.”
And there go my legs.
I reach behind me, gripping the counter like it’s the only thing keeping me upright, while my brain scrambles to catch up and make sense of everything happening around it.
Ana and Emilee—best friends. Have been for years. They attend the same prestigious boarding school here in New York City, the kind full of trust funds and absent parents. Most of the students live far away from home. Most of the families are constantly traveling.
Like me.
Which might explain why I haven’t met many of the other parents.
Obviously.
Ana breaks the silence.
“Hi, Mr. J.”
Her voice is soft, sweet—even shy. But that smirk? That says everything.
Emilee’s practically lived at Elijah’s place during school breaks.
And Ana… Ana has been in my home just as often.
She knows me.
She fucking knows me.
Elijah glances between us, clearly sensing something is off. His brow creases as his hand spears through his still-damp hair. He clears his throat and rests his knuckles against his chin.
“Do you know each other?”
His gaze flicks from me to his daughter, clearly expecting an explanation—though it’s painfully obvious I’m not capable of giving one. My tongue might as well be made of stone.
Thankfully, Ana doesn’t flinch.
“He’s Emilee’s dad,” she says flippantly, like it’s no big deal. Like she didn’t just throw a live grenade into the room.
“Dios mío,” Elijah mutters, shoving a hand through his hair again. His eyes flick to me—still paralyzed by pure, undiluted shock.
Well. We can officially add this to my list of fucking firsts: Half naked, standing in their kitchen, just caught—by my daughter’s best friend—sucking face with her dad!
Perfect. Just fucking perfect.
“Elijah—”
“Alex,” he says gently, voice careful, like he’s watching me come undone for the second time in under an hour.
And as if this moment couldn’t possibly get worse, Ana pipes up, a twinkle in her eye, like this is cute or funny or something other than the complete social implosion it is.
“It’s about time, Dad. I’m really happy for you,” she says sweetly. “But next time you two decide to get hot and heavy in our house, could you please keep it in your bedroom? I mean, I don’t blame you—Mr. J is totally—”
“Stephania!” Elijah snaps, cutting her off with sharp precision.
He throws an arm around her shoulders, gently but firmly steering her away—before she can witness the finale of my imminent meltdown.
He leads her down the hallway to her bedroom—which, mortifyingly, I now realize is just one fucking door away from his.
Fan-freaking-tastic.