Chapter 4 Jack
What the fuck am I doing?
Robyn is not my problem.
The fact she’s here serves nothing more to me than an inconvenience.
Of course Jennifer forgot to cancel on her daughter, or even inform me of her arrival before she fucked off somewhere for a week.
Knowing her, she’ll be back soon to either beg for my forgiveness—which she will never get—or deal with the inevitability of our divorce.
Typical Jennifer.
I don’t want this girl here; she’s got nothing to do with me other than being the child I gained when I married her mother. And if I can count on one hand the number of times we’ve been in a room together for longer than ten minutes, twice is cutting it fine.
Except the girl who turned up at my house isn’t the same eighteen-year-old girl I remember from seven years ago. Christ, she isn’t even the stepdaughter I recognise from the last time I saw her.
Was that two, or three years ago?
When I opened the door to see her standing there, luggage in hand and a small, albeit beautiful smile on her face, I had no idea who she was.
It took me a few seconds to realise who was standing at my door, and believe me when I say I was taken aback by the stark difference in her when I finally realised it was Robyn.
My eyes shamefully roamed her body from head to toe as though it was impossible for me to look away from the striking woman standing before me. Long, red hair cascading down her back and shoulders like a waterfall of fire, perfectly styled in silky loose curls to give that freshly fucked look.
Freshly fucked, Jesus.
What is wrong with me right now?
Her features had changed somewhat since the last time I saw her too; her heart-shaped face was more filled out in all the places it should be, and a lot less emaciated than before. Naturally plump, rosy lips that curved up slightly as she watched me struggle to place who she was.
When I eventually realised who it was standing in front of me, Robyn walked into my house as though she owned the place, gliding past me seductively and smelling of sweet jasmine and honey.
For some unknown reason I had to stifle the groan my body wanted to make, all because of how incredible she smelt.
Even when we were talking, I couldn’t focus properly.
All I could do was stare at her intoxicating blue eyes, so deep they mimicked the shade of cobalt.
Her lengthy black eyelashes circled her round, doe-shaped eyes—so long they curved up towards her thick, impeccably shaped eyebrows when she blinked.
The way she practically floated through the door and into the foyer, swaying her hips as though she were a runway model couldn’t stop me from gawking at her like a piece of meat. Because of course I involuntarily checked out the twenty-five-year-old as she walked past me.
Twenty-five, Jack, exactly.
I was in awe of a woman for the first time in a very long time. Her light blue skinny jeans and white fitted T-shirt melted into the most incredible shape against her voluptuous curves with every move she made.
I need to relax. She’s my stepdaughter.
For the foreseeable future, anyway.
Tattoos covered both her forearms in intricate, yet extremely feminine designs of black and grey flowers with tiny pops of colour here and there.
She’s nothing like the gaunt teenage girl I remember at eighteen—all due to her mother’s weight and body shaming.
Again, something I hated her doing when I was around, which wasn’t often.
She’s taller—somewhere around five-nine, five-ten—heathier, and overall just… happier looking.
Why do I even care if she’s happy?
She’s not your problem, Jack, you can change your mind now and send her on her way.
But I don’t. Of course I don’t. Why? I hear you ask, because I’m a glutton for punishment.
Knowing that the moment her mother finds out Robyn stayed the night, remembering she got rid of her only daughter’s bedroom to get a fucking gym she never used, will drive her insane with thoughts of what happened between us.
Questioning whether I fucked her daughter into the mattress of our marital bed, or whether she fucked me.
Losing her mind over it and rushing back home only to find out nothing happened.
Because nothing is going to happen.
She’s staying one night and then I’m shipping her off to be someone else’s problem.
She can fly all the way back home to her father in London for all I care.
Do I tell her that? No.
Why? I have no fucking idea.
Just like I have no understanding of why I’m letting her stay here.
I place her suitcase on the chair beside my bed and turn to face her, catching a brief look of surprise on her face as her eyes flick up to meet mine, almost as though I caught her doing something she shouldn’t be.
I fight the smirk on my face from the realisation of what I caught her doing, and point to the door to the far right of the bedroom.
“The ensuite is through there. Fresh towels are in the cupboard under the sink if you want to shower before bed.”
Neither of us look away from the other. Even as I speak, she doesn’t look to where I’m pointing.
Again, she performs the same action she did downstairs—she bites her lip, trapping it between those perfectly straight teeth of hers, and my eyes flick down momentarily to watch the skin redden further from their assault on it.
Clearing my throat because I clearly have nothing better to do than gawk at my stepdaughter, I meet her gaze. “The bedding is practically fresh. I changed it last night.”
“Jack?”
“Yes, Robyn?”
“Are you sure this is alright? Me staying here for the night?”
I watch her mouth move as she speaks; those pillowy soft lips of hers have me transfixed, thoughts running through my mind that shouldn’t be, and my blood rushing to one…
very prominent place. I have to suppress another groan and eyeroll at all the things I’m thinking because first of all, what the fuck is wrong with me that I’m reacting this way to her of all people?
And secondly, why is such a simple thing like watching her lips move being translated into something I find sexual?
Probably because you’re imagining what they would look like wrapped around your cock, weirdo.
“Yes, Robyn, why?” I’m blunt, but I have to be. I can’t have her thinking she’s welcome here for longer than one night. She needs to go before I act on something I know I shouldn’t.
Because if this were anyone else, I’d have fucked her the moment she stepped through the door.
But I can’t, because I’m still married to her mother.
Not to mention the fact that she’s half my age. I’m literally old enough to be her father.
“You just seem a little… off. I mean, I don’t really know you well enough to make a judgement like that but if this makes you uncomfortable, I can leave.”
There you go, there’s your out.
Tell her to leave.
People change their minds all the time.
This house is rarely hot, but I feel as though I’m overheating under her stare. I slide my hands back into the pockets of my black trousers and fist the silk pockets, only to give them something to do and calm myself.
“It’s late.”
“Yeah.” She smirks. “You said that already.”
“I’ve had the day from hell where work is concerned.
It isn’t a problem for you to stay here and rest for the night.
” Silence stretches between us yet again as I’m sure she’s weighing out her options on whether to leave or not.
I take one step closer to her, and I lift one shoulder indifferently, because regardless of whether she stays or leaves, I don’t care.
“But if you want to go, Robyn, you know where the door—”
“I’ll stay.” She finally speaks, cutting me off. She removes her bag, and it’s her turn to step closer to me.
An intense, yet sweet waft of jasmine and honey swirls around me again as she bends to the side and tosses her bag onto the bed. My bed. I wonder how she would look sprawled out on my—nope. Not going there right now.
Robyn looks up at me, her gaze trailing down my neck to my chest, and as it does, all the little hairs on my arms stand at attention.
She points to the right before she looks into my eyes once more.
“Shower’s in there, you said?” I nod, only because I don’t trust my voice, or words to respond. “Thanks.”
The corner of her mouth ticks in the tiniest of smirks before she walks away from me and towards the bathroom door, curving her slender fingers under the fabric of her white top and lifting it higher with every step she takes.
Heat begins to rush up my chest and neck as I watch her delicately remove the T-shirt—that’s more like a second skin—from her body, and toss it to the wood flooring, revealing just a slither of black and grey flower tattoos before she walks into the bathroom and closes the door behind her.
I release a heavy breath, dropping my head back between my shoulder blades and fisting the silken fabric inside my trouser pockets once more. “It’s one night, Jack. It’s the alcohol that’s making you feel this way, that’s all,” I murmur to nobody but myself.
The sound of the shower turning on has me tilting my head towards the sound for the briefest of seconds.
No.
As I make my way out of the bedroom and down the hallway and the stairs towards my open plan living area, I can’t help but remind myself that I haven’t actually had anything to drink… at all.
It’s just one night, that’s it, I tell myself once more.