chapter eight
noah
Of course, she likes praise. That makes so much sense.
But she needs to stop touching me like that. Every time her fingers brush against my skin, I feel myself react. I ’ m already hard, and the weight of it is becoming impossible to ignore. My self-restraint is crumbling, and the worst part? I don ’ t know how much longer I can hold it together.
This— this —is not okay. There is no scenario where me being this close to her, feeling the heat of her body against mine, is appropriate. She doesn’t know what this is doing to me. I don ’ t know if I can keep pretending like it doesn’t matter.
Noticing my hesitation, Kira looks up at me, her eyes burning with something I can ’ t quite read. Her fingers trail lower, grazing the waistband of my sweatpants, and I hiss, my whole body reacting against my will.
“ Kira, ” I warn.
Tilting her head, she argues, “What, you can touch me, but I can’t touch you?”
Her han d slides up my chest, following the lines of my tattoos. Each gentle stroke makes heat coil in my stomach, and I ’ m losing control. It ’ s taking every ounce of willpower not to press my lips to hers right now.
We‘re inches apart. I can smell her—soft, intoxicating. The weight of her body pressed against mine is almost too much to bear.
I need to walk away. I need space. But my feet are rooted to the floor.
She darts her tongue out, wetting her lips, and the sight makes my breath catch in my throat. God, what I wouldn’t do to feel that mouth on mine. She laces her fingers into the hair at the back of my neck, pulling me closer. My body reacts before my mind can catch up, and I groan, my hands instinctively tightening around her hips.
No. No, this can ’ t happen. I can ’ t let it. My head screams at me to stop, to think about Jared, to stop making everything more complicated than it already is.
“Kira, stop,” I bark.
She jumps back, startled, dropping her hand. Her eyes are wide, and for a split second, she looks… scared? I regret it immediately. I didn’t want to hurt her, but the reality is, she doesn’t know how far I ’ m teetering on the edge.
My hands clench at my sides before I reach for her, but I stop myself. Taking a deep breath, I exhale slowly, letting my emotions settle before I shake my head, stepping away.
I need to get out of here. I need to walk away before I do something I can ’ t take back.
But I can’t stop the thoughts racing through my head. The way she felt in my arms, the way her body seemed to call to mine. I wanted to turn her around and bend her over the island. What the fuck is wrong with me?
I ’ m thirty-six years old—old enough to be her father. There ’ s no reason for me to be thinking like this. She needed somewhere safe to stay, and here I am, getting lost in fantasies. I ’ m the one who should be protecting her, not… wanting her.
Yanking open my bedroom door, I collapse onto the bed. Nothing like that is ever happening again. I’ll make sure of it. Kira needs a safe space right now, I’m not going to fuck that up for her.
I don’t understand why I can’t control myself around her. It’s been a long time since I’ve gotten laid, that’s it. She just happens to be an attractive woman living in my house who also just happens to walk around half-naked sometimes. Rolling over, I ignore my aching cock, forcing myself to try to sleep.
In the end, I only get a couple of hours. When I wake up, Kira has already left for work. Jared’s gone, too, although I have no idea where he went. He’s starting to worry me with how much he’s partying.
I eat a small breakfast and spend the morning doing some chores. Jared helps sometimes, but the majority of the cleaning falls on me. Or at least it did. Now that Kira’s been staying here, she’s been helping with a lot of the housework.
The scents of grease and oil mix together, invading my nose as I step into the garage. It’s one of my favorite smells. This is my happy place. It’s me and the car, nothing else. I open the garage door, letting in the warm, almost summer air, and move the arms of the lift under the body of the Nova. I had it installed about a year ago, wanting to get serious about getting her running.
I slot the new fuel pump into place, tightening the bolts surrounding it before replacing the fuel tank. Sliding out from under the body of the car, I go to start it. After a couple of tries, the loud purr of the engine fills the space, resonating through my body. Grabbing a red rag off my workbench, I wipe my hands off, trying to remove all the grime.
“Hey, McDreamy!” I’d know that voice anywhere, not to mention the nickname that I haven’t been able to rid myself of since we were in high school. I maneuver around the car. Keith is standing at the entrance to the garage. Looking past him, I notice his old beat-up Chevy parked in the drive.
“Runnin’ yet? ” he asks.
“Soon, hopefully,” I tell him.
I’ve known Keith since we were in elementary school. We’ve always been friends, and he lives across the street. He doesn’t look much different from when we were younger. He still has bright blonde hair, but now a beard covers his face, and he’s filled out a bit. He used to be so goddamn skinny. I chuckle at the thought.
We chat for a bit, talking about work and life. I tell him about the commissioner retiring and how I have no idea who will replace him. He’s a contractor, so he explains his most recent job, a deck for one of our neighbors.
“I’m telling you, man, she was hitting on me. She even invited me to stay for drinks!” he exclaims.
“And did you?”
“I couldn’t. I had the girls that night.”
I nod, laughing.
My phone goes off in my pocket, and I pull it out.
Jared: I won’t be home tonight. Staying over at Jake’s
I’m not surprised. He’s over there more than he’s home.
I shoot him a short response, letting him know it’s fine with me.
I invite Keith for dinner, but he mutters something about having to take the girls to town before leaving.
It looks like it’ll be Kira and I for dinner then. We haven’t spoken since last night. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I should have stopped it sooner. I shouldn’t have touched her to begin with. She’s way too young, and I’m pretty sure Jared has a thing for her. The way he looks at her and touches her. The thought makes my stomach twist. There has to be something between them.
After a quick shower, I get started on dinner. Tonight ’ s menu features homemade chicken fettuccine Alfredo. The aroma of garlic, cream, and seasoning fills the kitchen, making my stomach growl. The garlic bread is toasty in the oven, and I’ve set the table for two. Kira should be home any minute. She usually gets off work at five, and it ’ s already fifteen minutes past.
I should apologize. Last night was inappropriate. I shouldn ’ t have let things go that far. I need to reassure her that it won ’ t happen again. The pasta slides onto two plates as I scoop it from the pot. By five-thirty, I begin to feel a knot of concern tightening in my chest. Maybe she got held up at work.
I pull out my phone and shoot her a quick text.
Noah: Dinner’s getting cold.
By six-thirty, my concern turns to irritation. She hasn ’ t replied. Wouldn ’ t she have told me if she was going to be late? I dial her number. No answer. My stomach tightens. Something doesn ’ t feel right.
I pack up the food and toss it in the fridge, then grab my keys. I try to avoid imagining the worst. The drive to the store is short, though the speed I ’ m driving at seems to make it even shorter.
When I arrive, her car isn ’ t in the parking lot. My pulse quickens, but I force myself to stay calm. Maybe she ’ s with Jared and his friends. Still, something feels off. I don ’ t think she ’ s fond of his friends. I redial her number—straight to voicemail. Where the hell is she?
I text Jared, but he doesn ’ t respond either. I hesitate for a moment before deciding to head back home. She ’ s probably fine. I tell myself that over and over, but it doesn ’ t stop the dread gnawing at me.
The drive back feels like it takes an eternity. My fingers tighten on the wheel, the silence in the truck amplifying my thoughts. When I finally turn onto our road, I see her white Pontiac Grand Am parked in its usual spot.
Relief floods through me. I exhale sharply, slamming the truck into park and jumping out. My feet hit the ground, and I move quickly toward the front porch.
“Is your phone broken?” I ask, throwing the door open. She’s there, sitting on the couch in the living room. Relief washes over me. She’s here. She’s safe. That relief, however, quickly turns into irritation when I remember that I’ve been looking for her for over an hour, and she hasn’t responded to any of my texts or calls.
“ Um, no? ” she responds, raising an eyebrow. She looks upset, a frown playing on her face. I hesitate for a moment but choose to ignore it, pressing on.
“I texted and called you, but you didn’t answer. Where were you?” I question, moving toward the couch. She stands to face me, tilting her head to look at me. I stop feet away from her, her face hardening.
“You’re not my dad. I am an adult, and I don’t have to tell you where I am at all times,” she retorts, with a clear attitude in her tone.
“Trust me, I am well aware that I am not your father, but you do live under my roof, and that means I deserve to know when and if you’re coming home.”
Staring up at me, her hands on her curved hips, she laughs, “You’re kidding, right?”
She can be a real brat when she wants to be. She’s always been like that. She won’t take anyone’s bullshit. But this isn’t bullshit. This is valid. She needs to tell me if she isn’t coming home.
“Something could have happened to you. All you had to do was text me.”
“I’m sorry, Daddy , I’ll be sure to tell you next time,” she mocks. My eyes widen, heat rising in my chest. “And not that it’s any of your business, but I had to stay late at work. I didn’t even see that you called.” I must have just missed her when I drove to the store. I feel like an idiot. She tries to turn away, but I grab her by her wrist. She twists back to look at me, anger in her features.
“Don’t call me that,” I say, my voice low.
Her eyes are dark as they bore into mine. This is about more than just this argument. She’s mad about something else. Defeated, I let go of her.
“Just go to your room.”
“Gladly,” she says, stomping up the stairs. I can’t help but appreciate the curve of her ass as she disappears up them. She’s hot when she’s angry.
No, she’ s not.
Pulling my eyes away, I sink onto the couch.
What am I doing?