Chapter 3
three
Shea
I stare at my flushed face in the foggy bathroom mirror.
Emma chatters behind me, having just gotten out of the shower.
But I’m processing nothing she says. I’m too busy being shocked at myself.
What in the world got into me? Talking to a thirty-six-year-old man like that?
Emma’s dad!
I don’t know, I entered some kind of flow state where I couldn’t stop telling him inappropriate things about myself. My taste in thongs and movies.
It just felt so…good.
Pushing boundaries with that man in a way I’ve never been tempted to push them with anyone else. The way Jason looks at me…makes me feel found, claimed…and restless at the same time. I don’t know why. It’s like my body knows something I don’t.
He asked me the color of the thong.
Was that confirmation that he feels some interest in me, too?
What if he does? What then?
Nothing, dumb dumb.
You have one friend at college so far. This is her dad.
All right. The angel on my shoulder is correct. I definitely need to chill.
No more flirting with the giant man in his mid-thirties.
I should probably start small, like a fraternity pledge. My age. Regular sized.
My mouth turns down into a frown.
“Shea! Are you listening to anything I’m saying?”
“Yes!”
“So you think I should lure Diego to his bedroom tonight and seduce him?”
I turn away from the mirror to face my friend. “Since when do you ask my advice on seduction?”
“Never. But I’m nervous! I really like this guy.”
“Let the night unfold organically. If it’s meant to be, it’ll be.” I frown. “Also, shouldn’t he be taking some of the initiative?”
“Wait for a man to make a move? I’d never get laid if I followed that advice,” she says, with no small amount of disgust.
I shrug. “Not getting laid is a noble pursuit.”
Emma makes a face.
“Girls,” comes a deep voice from the other room, causing goosebumps to break out all over my body, even my tummy. “Sushi is here.”
“Thanks, Dad,” Emma calls. “Be right there.”
I follow Emma out of the bathroom, through the guest room and back into that incredible living room.
I have to stop myself from basking in the glory of it on the way to the kitchen/dining room where Jason is removing containers from a brown paper bag, setting them out on an oval mid-century modern table that begs to be admired.
“Go ahead, Shea,” says Emma, falling into a chair and snatching up a pair of chopsticks. “Gush about the table.”
“It’s perfect for this space.” The praise bursts out of me. “The minimalist pedestal. The tambour paneling. It complements the cabinetry without being too matchy.”
“Thanks,” Jason says with a wry smile, tipping a bottle of beer to his mouth, his throat muscles rippling with a swallow. Now I’m not sure where to look. The gorgeous table or his thick Adam’s apple, the black and gray stubble that adorns it. “I’ll let the carpenter know you approve.”
“You’re the carpenter, Dad,” Emma snorts.
I take a seat at the table, my knees wobbly. “You are?”
He nods, taking a spot to my right. “I’ve got a workshop out back.”
Concentrate on the sushi. Stop staring at his hands and imagining how they look handling wood. They’re probably calloused and rough. Scarred. Not designed to touch skin as soft as mine, right? Yet the feel of those experienced palms is all I crave suddenly.
“You made the furniture. Did you have someone help you design the space?” I ask.
Jason shakes his head. “No, that’s a little fussy for me.
I just bought what I liked.” He pauses for a second, then leans forward on his elbows, beer cradled between those two big bear hands.
“But as the company expands, I’m starting to consider the possibility of bringing designers on board. Make it more of a full-service deal.”
I try to imagine a future where I work for this man, interior designing the homes he builds. Spending all that time with him. Taking directions. Having him sign my paycheck…
Abruptly, I stop picturing that future when my sex starts a slow squeeze, leaving moisture in my panties. My breath is coming too quickly for this casual meal with my friend and her father. Why am I getting so overwrought at the idea of Jason being the boss of me?
“That’s a great idea, Dad. But if you hire anyone but us, we’ll have to kill you.”
He laughs. It’s a deep, smoky sound that stiffens my nipples. At the dinner table.
“That would be nice,” Jason says, nodding at his daughter. But he’s looking at me as he takes a long draw from his beer. “Eat, Shea,” he says, a touch sternly.
Until he gives that command, I don’t realize my dragon roll is sitting in front of me, untouched. A sort of exhilaration rolls through me when Jason demands I start eating. As if he pressed a button, I pick up my chopsticks and take a bite. What is that about?
“So, Dad. I think Shea and I are going to hit up a party tonight. Is that cool? If you give us a spare key, we’ll be quiet on the way back in.”
“Sure.” he responds with a chin dip. “I’ll give you both a spare, since you could be here a couple of days.” In the following silence, his gaze slides across the table and caresses the tops of my breasts. “You didn’t bring any clothes with you, though. You going to a party dressed in pajamas?”
Emma laughs. “Yeah, why not? We’ll start a trend.” She pops a sushi roll into her mouth. “Besides, my party clothes cover a lot less.”
Jason sighs and downs the rest of his beer.
He sets the empty bottle down carefully, lines of tension forming around his mouth. “What about you, Shea? Do you want to borrow a sweatshirt or something?”
Wear this man’s clothes?
My pulse flutters crazily at the prospect.
Also, yes. I’m already nervous about my first party. I’ll feel much better having a layer of protection. “That would be great, thank you.”
He pushes back from the table and stands up. “I’ll go see if I can find something that won’t swallow you whole.”
“Good luck with that,” Emma snorts. As her father leaves the room, she points her chopsticks at his retreating back. “You should go help him or you’re going to end up in an old, paint-splattered construction sweatshirt.”
That sounds kind of amazing. I wouldn’t mind that at all. Knowing I’m wearing something that Jason sweated in. Wore for countless hours.
Wait, is Emma suggesting that I join her father in his bedroom?
“Go help him…look through his closet?” I stammer.
She waves at me impatiently, just as her phone starts to ring. “Go,” she mouths, answering the call and launching into a rundown of our plans with God knows who.
I’m tingling from head to toe as I stand, moving through the kitchen and turning down a hallway that instinctively I know leads to the primary suite. Sure enough, I find myself in the doorway of yet another masculine design masterpiece, watching Jason search through a closet full of clothes.
“Need some help?” I murmur.
His back muscles ripple at the sound of my voice.
He glances behind me to determine if I’m alone, his thick chest rising and falling.
I’m positive he’s going to tell me to leave. But then, “Come in here.”