Caught With My Best Friend's Dad Read online

  Well, I’m old enough to know that a family’s more than a paycheck, and a father should have done more than order his secretary to send birthday cards a month too late. Sure, it was hard after Mom left, but they weren’t in love anyway. Not the kind of love that I always imagined—full of passion and desire and happiness.

  I wonder if Mr. Cavanaugh could make me as happy as I’d make him?

  It is so the wrong thought to have while admiring the way he carries the heavy and bulky luggage into my room. His biceps flex. His shoulders ripple. He might be a little greyer than before, but he hasn’t lost an ounce of strength. Instead of fading, it concentrated—bulked up in his thick arms, strapping chest, and skilled hands.

  He might have built a house with those hands or played a concerto on the piano. He’s gifted like that. Would his hands feel as warm stroking the rest of me as they did guiding me into the room, pressed against my lower back?

  “I can move those, Mr. Cavanaugh,” I flash him a smile.

  He heaves the luggage out of the center of the room. “No sense in you lifting this. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “I’m stronger than I look.”

  “Pint-sized strength.”

  I mock insult and cross my arms. My breasts push up. It’s a new trick I learned at school, and it usually helps argue my point for me.

  I’m sure it moves Mr. Cavanaugh, but not enough to stop protecting me from even the smallest of dangers—from heavy luggage to riding alone in an Uber. But he always watches over me and Kimmie. Back when we were kids, Kimmie used to die of embarrassment every time he’d walk us to school in the rain with an umbrella over our heads. He always made sure we had something to eat after classes. And he even helped us write our resumes for our first jobs. If he was as kind and caring back then, he’s only more eager to help me out now.

  Unlike Kimmie, I never minded being taken care of. And secretly? I’m glad she’s out with her boyfriend tonight. I really missed Mr. Cavanaugh.

  And I also missed how much he spoils his favorite girls. A shiver teases my spine. Nothing would be more fun than catching up with the one man who still flutters my heart and steals my breath.

  I drop my purse on the bed. “So…are lights still out at eleven?”

  His smile crinkles around his eyes, but the grey in his eyebrows make him look all the more distinguished. “I think you girls have outgrown a bedtime.”

  “Yep, I’ve pulled one too many all-nighters.”

  “Just studying, I hope.”

  I give him a coy shimmy of my shoulders that might pass for a shrug. “For the most part.”

  He groans, as if he doesn’t want to hear any of my stories. Not that I have many.

  Or any. At all.

  This college bookworm is also a college virgin. I don’t have anything fun or naughty in my past to share and entertain him.

  But I let him think that I do.

  It makes him shake his head and clench his strong jaw. His lips go thin, but I could make him smile. Part of me wants to. Part of me wants to earn more than just a silly grin.

  That’s the side of me that’ll get in trouble.

  I flop onto the bed and breathe deep. The comforter puffs under me, and a lilac scent plumes up, clean and fresh.

  “Uh-oh,” I say, resting on my elbows.

  Mr. Cavanaugh frowns. “Something wrong?”

  “Come here.” I pat the mattress, and a delicious thrill clenches deep inside me. “Did you feel this?”

  Mr. Cavanaugh never took a timid step in his life. He approaches the bed with absolute authority. As if he’s towered over a waiting woman hundreds of times before. And he probably has. A man like him—as handsome, powerful, and experienced as him—probably had his way with so many women. Lucky, beautiful women who opened their legs and welcomed a thick cock so big and hard they’d never want to leave his arms.

  I can see it so clearly. Him over his chosen conquest. Eyes wild. Back tensing. Thrusting hard, but not rough. Just enough that his woman knew she was getting fucked and fucked perfectly. Maybe he comes inside of her too. Maybe she gasps and welcomes all of him inside.

  Maybe I need to stop fantasizing about being taken by my best friend’s dad.

  Even if it’s the only fantasy I’ve ever had.

  “What is it?” he asks, running a hand over the sheets.

  I snuggle my shoulders into the comforter, propped up good and cozy on the pillow. “Feel it. Come here.”

  A dozen thoughts crash through my mind as Mr. Cavanaugh hesitates over the mattress. Slowly, he leans down, and his weight squeaks over the mattress springs.

  My skin practically buzzes. I roll onto my side and watch as a gorgeous, powerful man rests beside me.

  “I don’t feel anything,” he says.

  Strange, cause I’m feeling a lot of things I’m not supposed to like. “You don’t?”

  “No, but if it isn’t comfortable—”

  “No, Mr. Cavanaugh. That’s just it. The bed is perfect.”

  “Oh.”

  I hum a teasing melody as I stretch. My shirt rides up over my tummy. I don’t bother pull it down, not while my skin burns so hot near his body.

  He smells of spice and freshly sawed wood. Probably from his newest construction site. I breathe deep.

  Why is it that no boy has ever smelled as good as him? None of my boyfriends. None of my friends. But lying next to him? It’s masculine and strong, what safety smelled like. And family. And comfort.

  Maybe warm sawdust, spicy leather, and a tinge of Irish Spring soap is how love smells?

  “My dorm bed is hard as a rock,” I pout. “Do you know how that feels?”

  “Yes.” Did he just adjust his pants? “I definitely know how that feels.”

  Mr. Cavanaugh’s phone buzzes in his pocket. Clearing his throat, he checks the screen.

  “Kim says not to wait up,” he says. “She’s staying at Colby’s tonight, and she’ll be home first thing in the morning.”

  “Oh. Hm.” I nibble my lip, simply thrilled by how close I can snuggle to him. “Do you think she’ll be gone a lot?”

  He must think I’m upset because he immediately consoles me. I let him do it, loving how his hand squeezes my shoulder. I’m so tiny compared to him. His hand nearly rubs across my back with a single brush.

  “Ains, you know she can’t wait to see you, right?”

  Yes, but I don’t want him to take his hand away. “So, she just leaves you and me all alone?”

  “I’m used to being alone since Kimmie went to college.”

  My heart breaks for him. “You’re alone?”

  “Not…bad alone.”

  “There’s a good alone?”

  “I’m used to it. You girls grew up, and now I just focus on my work.”

  I heave a breath. “What about…you know?”

  “What?”

  “A girl…a woman?” My eyes are wide, but I’m not flirting, just…surprised. “You have to have a girlfriend.”

  He doesn’t blush, but the subject makes him hesitate. “I’m not interested in dating. I’m a man who wants one woman and one woman only. And she has to be…”

  Me? “What?”

  “Perfect.” He looks away. “It’s hard to explain.”

  It really isn’t. “I understand. I’d love to find that one man for me.”

  “You? You’re so young and vivacious though, Ains. You should be out, having fun, meeting guys.”

  “So they can all chase after the same thing?” I shook my head. “I’m old enough to look for the real deal too, Mr. Cavanaugh. Someone who loves me. Who wants me. Someone I could start a family with…especially since…”

  “Since?”

  “Since my family is so…” I don’t mean for my voice to quiver, but suddenly I like how close he is. He gives me the courage to say it. “Absent?”

  “You know Mitch loves you.”

  “You can’t love emails and a text message.” I shrug. “A family should
be together. Close. Something that brings you joy and endless memories. Like what you and Kimmie have.”

  He nods. “Yeah.”

  “I want that some day.”

  His eyes narrow as if it’s the first time he’s seen me. “A girl like you will find that.”

  “When?”

  “Very soon, I’d imagine.”

  His hand heats more than my arm, but he pulls it away. Mr. Cavanaugh glances at the bed and pushes himself up. Yeah. My fault. I shouldn’t have let myself talk like that. I miss his closeness already.

  So I pop off the bed too and loop my arm around his. My smile brightens him up. “Thank you, Mr. Cavanaugh. You always know exactly what to say.”

  “I suppose so.” He swallows. “Are you hungry?”

  “Yes! What should we make?” I tug on his shirt sleeve, re-creasing the strict fold in the dressy material. “If you could eat anything right now, what would you eat?”

  “That’s…a tough question.”

  I lean into him. “Is it? There’s gotta be something you’re craving. Something you just shouldn’t be allowed to taste.”

  “I could think of something.”

  “Well…now’s the time to do it.” I stare into the bright blue of his eyes. “Kimmie isn’t home. We can be as bad as we want.”

  His eyebrows rise, questioning. Or teasing? Sometimes I can’t tell. “Why’s that?”

  “Because Kimmie’s always on a diet, remember?”

  He breathes deep and nods. “Right. We can eat whatever we want now.”

  “Anything you desire.”

  My heart pounds, but he’s quick to answer, putting more space between us. “Spaghetti”

  I’m left alone but hotter than ever. I ran my fingers through my blonde tangles. “Yeah. That sounds good.”

  “Do you want to wash up first?”

  Yes—because I’m suddenly a much dirtier girl than I thought, even without the airplane grime on me. “Do you mind?”

  “I’ll have dinner on the table for you in twenty minutes.” He points down the hall. “Remember were we keep the towels?”

  In the linen closet next to Kimmie’s room. Nothing ever changes in the Cavanaugh house. Not even my feelings for him.

  Mr. Cavanaugh heads downstairs. Suddenly, I can breathe again, as if all the air in my chest pops like a balloon. But all the thoughts of him just puff it back up again. It always used to be hard to breathe around him, but never like this. I never had the tingle deep inside me. The quiver in my lip. The tightening of my nipples through my shirt.

  Oh, he probably saw them peeking out at him!

  Does he like that? I hoped so. Did that make me horrible?

  Or just…a woman?

  Parts of me slickened a little too much. I do need a shower. I grab a towel, but I skip past the guest bathroom. I don’t know why I do it. Maybe I just like trouble. Maybe I can’t get his scent out of my head. But I dart into Mr. Cavanaugh’s room to use his master bath, and the thrill nearly knocks me to my knees.

  This is a man’s room. No pinks or purples here, no dorm bunk beds or lamps and posters. Just black sheets tucked under a khaki-toned comforter. Cherry furniture frames the walls, and the curtains stay drawn through the day. There’s something so authoritative about it. A maturity the boys in college don’t have.

  He couldn’t really be sleeping here all alone? A bed like this deserves a couple—a woman tucked against her man, panting and cuddling as she recovers from an absolutely animalistic claiming of her body.

  I bet he sleeps naked. It’s not the first time I ever pictured it, especially since he used to swim in the backyard with us when we were kids. His trunks had stuck to his skin when wet. It didn’t take a vivid imagination to realize Mr. Cavanaugh was a larger-than-life man…and most of it he kept tucked in his pants.

  I sneak into his shower. A springy, manly scent wafts from the tub. His soap. I let the water cascade over me and rub the bar against my hands, my chest, and lower. The bubbles tickle my skin.

  Is this how he showers? Alone and frustrated? Does he touch himself in the quiet? Stroke his cock and pleasure himself while the water warms his muscles?

  Does he think of me?

  Yep. That does it. I’ve officially lost my mind.

  I flip the shower to cold and let it wash away all those thoughts and feelings.

  Desires.

  I absolutely cannot think this way about Mr. Cavanaugh. Not if I’m spending an entire summer in his house.

  But I’ve had a crush on him since I was thirteen. What’s another three months? The answer is obvious. It’ll be a total disaster.

  I can’t stop imagining his touch, remembering his hug, and that’s the sign for me to get out of the shower before the ache sears through me completely. I hop out of the tub and wrap myself in a towel. No. His towel. Warm and soft, just like his embrace.

  I struggle to tuck it around my chest, but the material still leaves a gap over my thigh. Indecent. Sexy. It makes me feel like a real woman.

  And that’s the problem.

  “Ains?” Mr. Cavanaugh’s voice calls to me. I freeze in the middle of his bedroom as he stands in the doorway.

  The towel is too short and my voice too hushed.

  I take a breath.

  So does he.

  The towel nearly drops…and I can’t blame gravity for all of it.

  I clutch the top and push my legs together. That does nothing, only enhances the swell of my hips. Mr. Cavanaugh notices. At least, I think he does. His eyes trail over the tiny towel, my bare arms, the swell of my smooth thighs.

  His gaze overheats, tickling my skin in perfect goosebumps.

  Does he know just where he makes me warm? Does he know I’m more wet now than I was when in the shower?

  “I…” My words soften as Mr. Cavanaugh’s slacks tighten. The material pulls ever-so-slightly against his left leg. “I remembered that your bathroom was nicer. I hope you don’t mind.”

  His voice roughens, but he clears away all but the throaty rasp. “No. You’re welcomed to use it.”

  He stares. If he keeps looking at me like that, he might burn the towel right up.

  Would that be so bad?

  Yes. Definitely yes.

  “I just searched the pantry,” he says. “Forgot to buy spaghetti.”

  “For what?”

  “Dinner. Is there anything else you’d like?”

  Who could eat now? My tummy trembles. Everything inside me clenches hard, and I’m aching in places no one has ever seen or touched.

  Would he like to see it? If anyone could make that ache stop, it’d be him.

  “I want whatever you want,” I whisper. “And I mean that, Mr. Cavanaugh.”

  He looks away. I stare at the bulge in his pants. It’s obvious that he likes what he sees, which makes me all the more surprised at his soft command.

  “Ains…you should get dressed.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “The towel is a little thin. Wouldn’t you be more comfortable if you were in your clothes?”

  No. I don’t know. I can’t think around him. Can’t breathe. Can’t do anything but tremble over my own words.

  I step closer, stopping just inches from him. He doesn’t move.

  Does he want to touch me? The hardness in his pants grows. How does he fit all of that in those trousers? The tightness must be uncomfortable. He shifts his weight. Exhales a sharp breath.

  I hate this guilt. I could make him feel good. Take the stress away. Ease that desperate feeling.

  His fingers brush a rolling droplet of water tickling my arm. He wipes it away. A layer of goosebumps takes its place.

  “Cold?” he asks. I nod. “Poor thing. You’re all wet.”

  So very wet. “Can you help me?”

  “I shouldn’t.”

  I can’t believe I had the courage to ask the question. “Why?”

  Mr. Cavanaugh leans close, his words low and dangerous. “You’re a beautiful little g
irl, Ainsley.”

  I glance at the swell of my cleavage. “Am I that little, Mr. Cavanaugh?”

  He chuckles then at a joke I don’t understand. “You’re too little. So young. So…soft.” His fingers remain on my arm. “Be a good girl now, Ainsley.”

  “How do I do that?” I step onto my tip-toes, staring at his lips. “Can you show me?”

  Mr. Cavanaugh’s hands grips the towel, but just as my heart pitters harder against my chest, the downstairs door slams closed

  “Dad? Ainsley?” Kimmie calls from the foyer. “I’m baaaack!”

  She shouts it like a teasing threat.

  And maybe it is. I freeze, nearly trapped in his room wearing nothing but a towel.

  If Kimmie saw us…if she even knew I stood here almost-naked, practically begging for her father?

  Oh, God. She’d never forgive me.

  Mr. Cavanaugh steps away, clearing his throat before softening his voice to call for my best friend.

  “I’ll be right down, sweetie. Ainsley’s just getting out of the shower.”

  I brush past him, head down, body in a complete tremble. I nearly slam the door to my room, but I glance up just as he crosses to the stairs.

  Our eyes meet.

  The heat reignites in me.

  Somehow, someway, I know that this could be it. What we’ve both been looking for. What’s right for us.

  But first I have to prove how perfectly we’d fit together.

  Chapter Three

  Stone

  “Kimmie, what are you doing home?” I check the screen of my phone again, wondering if I misread her text.

  “I needed to grab my laptop. Colby’s mom is having me design the logo for her new bakery and she wanted to see the mock ups.”

  “Ah, I see.” I cross my arms over my thundering chest and pray to God my daughter doesn’t happen to glance down to notice the lingering swell in my pants. Lying on the bed next to Ainsley was playing with fire, but catching her in my bathroom, watching as her towel threatened to fall . . . someone may as well have handed me the nuclear codes. This entire thing has the potential to explode into something bigger than either of us expected.