My Dad's Best Friend (A Touch of Taboo) Read online

  I set the mug down. I can do this. I’ve gone over this a hundred times since the Hendersons first listed him as their dream architect. “I have a client that wants to work with you. It would be a similar deal to how you partnered with my father back when you were still within the company—you’ll have full design control, though the client gets ultimate veto power. I’ll source anything you need, hire the necessary people to get the job done, and oversee day-to-day work once construction starts. They already have the plot of land, and they’d like the house to work with it and disrupt as little of the natural geography as possible.” I glance over my shoulder at the front door. “I have the details in my car, if you—”

  “No.”

  I turn back to him. “What?”

  “No. Which is what I’ve been saying since you first contacted me. I’ve been down that road before and I have no interest working on a residential house with people who have more money than sense.”

  I lift my brows. “You got rich doing exactly that.”

  “Yeah, and I don’t do it anymore.” He takes a drink of his tea. “Your father had a list of architects frothing at the mouth to work with him before he retired. Use one of them.”

  I wish that I could. “The Hendersons don’t want one of them. They want you.”

  “Too fucking bad.”

  “Jonas, they’re dream clients. They’re so starstruck by the thought of you designing their home that they’ll take your input as the word of god. It won’t be like it was before.” Before when a series of tumultuous accounts drove him to break his business partnership with my father. Or at least that’s my father’s side of things. No matter what else is true, it didn’t affect their friendship any. “And it’s only one job. I’m not looking for a partner.”

  “Sounds like you need one if you’re wasting this much energy chasing down someone who doesn’t want to be chased.”

  The sentence stings more than it has right to. I can’t help holding it up against that night at the Christmas party. He didn’t want to be chased then, either. I swallow hard. I won’t beg. No matter what else is true, I have a tiny sliver of pride left and it’s the only thing getting me through the challenges of the last six months. I lift my chin. “Is that your final answer?”

  “Yes.” He says it firmly, a little bite to the word. “I’m not doing it.”

  I take a careful breath and slowly exhale. Okay, another setback. That’s fine. I can figure out a different way forward. I’ll find another architect with similar flare and convince the Hendersons that they’re the best bet. It will take some doing, but I’ll figure it out. I smooth back my hair. “Thank you for your time. I’ll be going now.”

  I manage it one step before a horrible sound blares through the room. It takes my startled brain a few seconds to register what it is—an emergency broadcast. Jonas digs his phone out of his pocket and glares at it. Frustration writes itself across his features, quickly followed by resignation. “Yeah, you won’t be going anywhere. The storm’s bad enough that they’ve stopped the ferries until it passes. They won’t start up until morning, and that’s only if the storm front moves faster than expected, which it’s not likely to.”

  There’s a rushing sound in my ears. I stare at him, waiting for his words to make sense. “I’m sorry, what?”

  Jonas sighs. “You’re stuck here, Blake.”

  3

  “What do you mean I’m stuck here?

  “Exactly what I said. Unless you plan on sleeping in your car.”

  I wet my lips, my thoughts still frantically circling. I can’t stay in this house with Jonas. I can’t. When it comes to him, I’ve already humiliated myself enough to last a lifetime. I can’t stay here. Not when I’m mostly naked and he looks really good, but he’s been very clear that he’s not interested in me. I should have enough restraint to take the rejection to heart, but there’s no reason to spend more time with him than strictly necessary. “I’ll get a hotel.”

  Another of those exasperated sighs. “You can try, but it’s tourist season and even if they have a room, it’s a waste of money and time. You can stay here.”

  “You only have one bed,” I blurt.

  “Yeah, I noticed.” He scrubs his hand over his face. I must imagine the way his gaze rakes my body, because the next moment he’s back to normal. “You take the bed. The couch will work well enough for one night.”

  “Jonas, I can’t just take your bed.”

  “You can and you will. Even if you can find a room to rent, any kind of traveling isn’t safe in this kind of storm. You’ll drive right off the road and no one will find you for hours—possibly days. You’re staying here and that’s final.”

  I’ve seen the stubborn look on his face before, six years ago in my father’s study when he oh so carefully rejected my advance. I didn’t prevail then, and something tells me I’m not going to prevail now, either. Just like I won’t when it comes to recruiting him for the Henderson account. Frustration boils up within me. “Fine. I’ll stay here tonight—on one condition.”

  “I’m not negotiating.”

  My frustration gains teeth and claws. “Aren’t you?” I head for the door. I realize how ridiculous this is, how he won this argument the moment I changed out of my wet clothes and into his T-shirt. Leaving means abandoning my favorite pair of heels. It doesn’t matter. I’m angry and I’m proving a point.

  Jonas doesn’t grab me. He doesn’t try to get between me and the door. He just brings me short with two words. “Stop, Blake.”

  My body responds to his command even as my brain rails at the fact that he holds even this little amount of power over me. I thought I exorcised it long ago. I turn to face him. “I’ll stay, but we’re going to talk about it.”

  “I already said—”

  I wave that away. “Not about the deal.” Reckless. I am being so reckless. If there’s a chance to convince him to take this job, I shouldn’t be throwing it away by bringing up the one thing guaranteed to make working together awkward. But then, I’ve always had a bit of an impulse control issue and I can only take so much bullshit before it raises its ugly head and gets me into trouble. “About that night.”

  Jonas’s gaze flares hot before he shuts it down. And he does shut down his initial reaction; I’m watching him closely enough not to miss it this time. “There’s nothing to talk about. You were a child and it shouldn’t have gotten as far as it did.”

  I blink. A child. That’s how he saw me? No wonder he broke that kiss, patted me on the head, and sent me on my way. “It was six years ago, not sixteen. I was twenty-two. Hardly a child.”

  “You were too young.”

  But I’m already shaking my head. “You were forty, not seventy. This argument doesn’t make sense.”

  I don’t realize Jonas is moving until he’s right in front of me. I take a step back without meaning to, a pure reflex, and he follows me. So I do it again. We engage in this strange little chase until my legs hit the couch and I lose my balance, landing on my ass on the cushion. Jonas follows me down, bracing his hands on the back of the couch and towering over me. “Listen closely, Blake because I’m only going to say this once.”

  My smirk is pure bravado. “Your high and mighty grandfather sage tone is really impressive.”

  He gives me a long look and I have the sneaking suspicion that he’d like nothing more than to put me over his knee and paddle my ass for mouthing off. The very thought sends a bolt of heat directly to my core. We didn’t get very long alone on that night, barely enough time for a short conversation and an illicit kiss. Not nearly long enough for me to realize I might get a perverse enjoyment out of pushing Jonas’s buttons.

  He makes a rumbling sound that might be a low laugh and might be just a flat out growl. “You father is my best friend and, at the time, he was my boss. What the fuck do you think I was going to do when his precious little princess rubs herself against me and kisses me?”

  “I don’t know, Jonas,” I match his dry tone
. “Fuck her like she wanted you to.”

  The muscles in his arms stand out and I don’t have to look to know that he’s white-knuckling the back of the couch. “You were a baby and you are my best friend’s daughter. Fucking you was never on the menu.”

  “Don’t infantilize me. I knew what I wanted and I went for it. If you’re not into me, that’s fine, but don’t act like I didn’t know exactly what I was doing when I kissed you.” I’m getting angry now, truly angry. “And yeah, you might be friends with my dad, but that doesn’t make you my dad.” I glare. “Unless you want me to call you Daddy, in which case I’ll consider it.”

  “Blake.” Oh, the warning in his tone.

  He’s close to snapping and I’m a bitch because I want to keep mashing that button until he explodes. What will happen when he does? Will he rip off my clothes and fuck me right here on this couch? Will he haul me out of his house and slam the door in my face? I don’t know, and because I don’t know, I can’t stop myself from inciting him. “Jonas.”

  “I might be an asshole, but even I have lines. Fucking the college-aged daughter of my friend and boss under his roof crosses that line.”

  He’s right, and I know he’s right, but that doesn’t stop me from saying, “We’re not under his roof now.”

  Jonas pulls back the tiniest bit, staring down at me like he’s sure I’m joking. I should be joking. If sex was a bad idea at that Christmas party six years ago, it’s an even worse idea now. If I want him to say yes to working with me for this account, fucking him will muddy the waters irreparably. And if I do and then he says yes and it gets out…

  Our industry isn’t particularly large. I’ve never worried overmuch about image or tried to play a role to get me ahead. But even I can’t deny that reputation matters.

  Why would it get out?

  I shut down the little voice, because I can already see the answer written all over Jonas’s face. The rejection. He sure does like telling me no, and he confirms it when he shoves back. “No.”

  “Okay.”

  “I mean it, Blake.”

  “I get it. Really, I do.” My body might be a little slower to come to terms with it. A steady heat pulses through me and I feel simultaneously too light and far too anchored in my skin. I push to my feet and try not to hold it against him when he takes a measured step back as if determined to preserve the distance between us. “I think it’s best I, uh, go to bed.” It’s not late, but the alternative is staying in his presence a moment longer than strictly necessary. I’ve already proven I have garbage self-control when it comes to this man. There’s no need to press my luck any further.

  “Yeah,” he says slowly, and he really needs to stop watching me like that because it’s getting the wires crossed in my head. “Do you need anything out of your car?”

  “My bag. I—”

  “I’ll get it.” He’s gone before I can argue, leaving me blinking after him. I have the sneaking suspicion that Jonas just ran from me, but I can take a hint. Eventually. I have a healthy self-esteem, but I have no desire to keep throwing myself at a guy that’s rejected me twice. No matter how sexy he is or how he watches me like he wants to consume me whole. I look at pumpkin donuts the same way, and I don’t want to fuck them.

  Jonas returns a few moments later and, from the way his white shirt is plastered to his chest, it’s still raining hard outside. The fabric clings lovingly to the curves of his pecs and the… No. No, no, no. I am not going to stand here and ogle him, and I’m certainly not going to let my eyes linger at his hips to see if there’s a cock imprint on his jeans.

  Instead, I snag the bag out of his hands and flee upstairs.

  4

  It takes all of five seconds in Jonas’s bed to realize I’ve made a horrible mistake. The feeling starts when I brushed my teeth in his bathroom with the spare toothbrush, and only gets worse when I pull back the sheets and the scent of him hits me. He must have more than his fair share of pheromones or something, because just that hit has my thighs shaking. I almost march back downstairs and demand to take the couch, but it would mean another interaction with him, and I’m not certain I can do it without making an ass of myself. Again.

  I grit my teeth and climb into his bed.

  Oh, fuck, it’s amazing. The sheets are flannel and instantly banish the chill of the room. It would be positively cozy if I wasn’t so horny that I’m about to come out of my skin. Every shift of my body has the sheets rubbing against my bare legs, my arms, and sends another hit of Jonas’s intoxicating scent straight through me.

  I bite my bottom lip hard, but it does nothing to dispel the lust weaving its way through me. I should just close my eyes and count my exhales until I drift off, but I’m too restless. I’m a night owl by nature. If I were home, I would still be up for hours yet. Obviously, that’s not an option here. Better to close my eyes and will myself to sleep until morning and my escape from this house.

  Easier said than done.

  I twist one way and then another. It’s a lost cause. I’m too rattled to go to sleep like this. I know what will help take the edge off, but masturbating here with Jonas under the same roof feels even more reckless than anything I’ve done so far.

  It’s not like he’ll know.

  I can be quiet. I mean, sure, it’s the exception, but I can do it this once.

  Maybe I’m a liar, but it’s too late. I snake my hand down my stomach and drag my fingers through my pussy folds. I’m so wet, I’m half surprised that I’m not making a mess of his sheets. The thought is simultaneously funny and so hot, I can barely stand it. I spread my legs more and tease myself, tracing my opening and spreading my wetness up and around my clit. It won’t take much to get me off, but I’ve always liked to savor my orgasms. Hard and fast does the trick in a pinch, but it doesn’t really accomplish the same thing one that I build slowly will.

  On impulse, I grab the pillow and roll over. It’s crossing so many lines to be fucking myself with my fingers while my face is buried in Jonas’s pillow, but I’m too turned on to care. Besides, I can muffle any sounds I make this way. It totally makes sense.

  I tease my opening and press two fingers in. It feels good, almost too good, so I trail my fingertips over my clit and back down again. I’m making little whimpering sounds now, but I can’t help it. I have to lift my hips a bit to get a better angle to fuck myself with my fingers, and the sheet slides off my ass. The bite of the chilly air only heightens my pleasure.

  This just feels so dirty. I shouldn’t be doing it, so I want to do it more. I have been so good for so long. It’s not my fault that wild abandon sneaks through the cracks sometimes. I’m usually very careful to let off steam on a regular basis, but there hasn’t been time since I took over my father’s company. I’m working long, stressful hours in between collapsing face-down on my bed and sleeping like the dead.

  I just need one little orgasm to get myself back under control. It’s such a simple ask. No one but me will ever know.

  A creak of a floorboard is the only warning I get that I’m no longer alone. I open my eyes and freeze. Jonas is standing in the doorway, his fist raised to knock, the door hanging wide open. I must not have closed it all the way…

  Why the hell am I thinking about that right now?

  I should be moving, should be scrambling to cover myself, should definitely remove the two fingers I’ve penetrated myself with, but the look on his face freezes me in place. He’s staring at me like he can’t decide if this is dream or reality, but he really wants it to be reality.

  I clear my throat. “Did you need something?”

  “My toothbrush.” His voice is lower than normal, low enough that the faint rumble in it threatens to curl my toes.

  Apparently we’re just going to pretend he can’t see what I’m very clearly doing. “Um, go ahead.”

  But Jonas doesn’t walk to the bathroom. He slowly makes his way to the side of the bed and stares down at me. “Blake,” the quiet censor in his tone nearly makes
me come on the spot. “You couldn’t wait five minutes before you started fucking yourself with your fingers in my bed?”

  How am I supposed to answer that? I’ve been trying to make my peace with him rejecting me—again—and there’s no frame of reference for whatever’s happening right now. It’s like my brain skips and all I can do is blurt, “You weren’t going to do it.”

  “Mmm.” His face is in the shadow cast by the open door, which means my body must be clearly outlined by the light. Jonas exhales slowly. “Well, don’t stop on my account.”

  Surely I didn’t hear him correctly.

  Except he’s sinking down onto the mattress behind me, and holy fuck, this is happening. Desire overcomes whatever brakes I have left and I begin to move again. I can’t see him, but I can feel him watching me.

  Jonas tsks. “You’re doing a terrible job of it, baby girl.”

  The endearment lashes me like fire and I moan. I can’t help it. “Think you can do better?”

  “Oh, I know I can.” His voice changes a little, that dry tone going deeper yet. “I’m going to touch you now.”

  “I might die if you don’t.”

  His rough chuckle sounds as strained as I feel, and then it doesn’t matter because the mattress gives beneath his weight as he moves and he’s smoothing his hands over my ass. He slides my shirt higher up my back. Exposing me. “Better,” Jonas murmurs. He squeezes my ass as if measuring me, his rough palms dragging over my sensitive skin. “This gets to be too much, then you tell me to stop and I stop. Got it?”

  Stop? Is that a joke? I’ve been waiting six years for him to touch me and I’m a little afraid that I’d bite off my own tongue before I uttered the word. Still, he’s obviously waiting for an answer, so I clear my throat. “Got it.”

  “Good.” He drags his thumbs over the lower curve of my ass, using that tiny pressure to guide my legs wider. “What a little slut you are, Blake. Rubbing all over my sheets and playing with your pussy. Were you going to fuck my pillow next?”