Chapter 2

The phone kept ringing.

Dominic stepped back so fast Aria almost lost her balance. His hand dropped from her face like it burned him. He turned toward the house without looking at her again.

“I should get that,” he said, voice rough.

She stayed on the patio long after the sliding door closed behind him. The cicadas still sang. The night still smelled like cut grass. Nothing outside had changed. Everything inside her had.

She pressed her fingers to her cheek where his thumb had rested. The skin felt hot. She could still hear the way he said “Say that again.” Low. Hungry. Almost broken.

When she finally went inside, the kitchen was empty. The phone sat quiet on the counter. Dominic’s bedroom door was shut.

Aria climbed the stairs on unsteady legs and locked herself in her room.

She didn’t turn on the light. She sat on the edge of the bed in the dark and tried to breathe normally. It didn’t work. Every time she closed her eyes she saw the look on his face when the word slipped out. The way his pupils blew wide. The way his hand had hovered near her skin like he didn’t trust himself to touch her again.

She lay back against the pillows and stared at the ceiling. Her body felt restless, too warm, too aware of every brush of fabric against her skin. She shifted her legs and the soft friction made her bite her lip.

It was wrong.

She knew it was wrong.

Her hand still slid under the waistband of her shorts.

She was already wet. The first slow circle of her fingers made her hips twitch. She turned her face into the pillow to muffle the sound that tried to escape. In her mind it wasn’t her own hand. It was his. Larger. Rougher. The same hand that had brushed her hair back earlier.

“Daddy,” she whispered into the dark, barely louder than a breath.

The word alone made her clench. She moved her fingers faster, chasing the pressure building low in her stomach. Images flashed behind her eyes. The way his shirt had stretched across his chest at dinner. The low warning in his voice. The heat of his palm near her face.

She came quietly, thighs shaking, one fist pressed hard against her mouth. The pleasure left her hollow and ashamed and still not satisfied.

For a long time she lay there breathing hard, staring at nothing.

Down the hall, Dominic stood under the shower with both hands braced against the tile. Cold water pounded his shoulders. It didn’t help. He was still hard, aching, furious with himself.

He had almost kissed her.

Worse. He had wanted her to say it again. He had wanted to hear that soft, wrecked little “Daddy” while he did things no stepfather should even imagine.

He shut the water off and stood dripping in the dark bathroom, jaw clenched so tight it hurt. Sleep did not come easy.

Morning arrived too bright and too ordinary.

Aria came downstairs in an oversized T-shirt and the same soft shorts. Dominic was already at the stove, back to her, scrambling eggs like nothing had happened. The smell of coffee filled the kitchen.

“Morning,” he said without turning around.

“Morning.”

She slid onto a stool at the island. He set a plate in front of her a minute later. Their fingers didn’t touch this time. He was careful about that.

They ate in silence. The only sounds were the scrape of forks and the quiet tick of the clock on the wall. Every time she glanced up he was already looking somewhere else. The air between them felt stretched thin.

When she reached for the orange juice at the same moment he did, their hands brushed. Both of them froze.

Dominic pulled back first. He cleared his throat.

“I have some work calls this morning. I’ll be in the study if you need anything.”

“Okay.”

He left the kitchen. She listened to his footsteps fade down the hall, then the soft click of the study door.

Aria stared at her half-eaten eggs and tried to ignore the way her pulse still hadn’t settled.

She spent the morning pretending to unpack. Mostly she just moved the same clothes from one drawer to another and listened for any sound from the study. Around noon she heard the door open. Footsteps came down the hall and stopped outside her room.

A soft knock.

“Come in,” she said.

Dominic stood in the doorway. He had changed into a dark gray shirt, sleeves rolled again. His hair was still slightly damp from a second shower. He looked composed. Controlled. The only giveaway was the tight line of his mouth.

“I’m heading to the store for a few things,” he said. “Do you need anything?”

She shook her head. “I’m good.”

He lingered a second longer than necessary. His eyes flicked over her bare legs before he forced them back to her face.

“All right. I won’t be long.”

She listened to the front door close, then the sound of his car starting. Only when the engine faded did she let out the breath she’d been holding.

The house felt too big without him in it.

She wandered downstairs and ended up in the living room. A paperback novel sat on the coffee table, spine cracked. One of his. She picked it up without thinking and caught the faint scent of his cologne on the pages. Something low and warm twisted in her stomach again.

She was still standing there when the front door opened sooner than she expected.

Dominic walked in carrying two paper bags. He stopped when he saw her. His gaze dropped to the book in her hands, then lifted slowly to her face.

“You’re reading that?”

“Just looking.” She set it down too quickly. “It smelled like you.”

The words left her mouth before she could stop them.

Dominic went very still. The grocery bags hung forgotten in his hands. Something dark and careful moved through his expression.

“Aria.”

Just her name again. Soft. Warning.

She should have apologized. She should have left the room. Instead she stayed where she was, heart beating hard against her ribs, watching the way his throat worked when he swallowed.

He set the bags on the entry table without looking away from her.

“We need to talk about last night.”

Her mouth went dry. “Okay.”

He stepped closer. Not close enough to touch. Close enough that she had to tilt her head back to hold his eyes.

“What happened on the patio cannot happen again.” His voice was steady, but the muscle in his jaw flexed. “You’re my stepdaughter. I’m married to your mother. That is the end of it.”

She nodded once, even though every part of her wanted to argue.

Dominic’s eyes dropped to her mouth for the briefest second.

“Say you understand.”

“I understand.”

The silence that followed felt heavier than any words. He was still standing too close. She could see the rapid pulse at the base of his throat. She could smell the clean soap on his skin mixed with the faint outdoor air he had brought in with him.

His hand lifted like he might touch her face again. Then he curled his fingers into a fist and let it drop.

“Good,” he said, quiet. “I’m going to put the groceries away.”

He turned and walked into the kitchen.

Aria stayed in the living room, pulse racing, the ghost of that almost-touch still burning on her skin. She pressed her thighs together and tried to ignore the fresh ache between them.

From the kitchen came the sound of cabinets opening and closing. Ordinary sounds. Safe sounds.

Then his voice, low and rough, carried just far enough for her to hear.

“And Aria…”

She held her breath.

“Next time you call me that,” he said, “I might not stop.”