Nathan
It’s a bright, crisp Friday afternoon, the kind that pretends summer isn’t already slipping into fall. I’m ten minutes early to pick up Jasmine.
I’ve come straight from work after a spectacularly useless day spent watching the clock like a teenager counting down to his first date. Even Zayn, who notices only his wife, had commented on my inattention.
Admitting defeat, I showered, shaved, and dressed at the office.
The penthouse is quiet when I step in, the way it always is when Jazz isn’t filling the emptiness. I tug at my cuff, a knot of anticipation tightening in my chest.
Sophie comes into the living room, barefoot and grinning, an oversized T-shirt hanging off one shoulder. She spots me and lights up. “Jazz, hurry up. Dad’s here!” she shouts over her shoulder, then turns back with a teasing smile. “Don’t let anyone steal our girl, Dad.”
I frown, and she giggles. “Believe me, she looks good enough to steal.”
My jaw tightens. Sophie’s teasing, but something sharp and territorial flashes through me anyway.
I don’t want anyone looking at Jasmine tonight. I don’t want anyone touching her. Hell, I don’t even want to imagine what I’d do if someone tried.
She’s not mine. But God, I want to keep her.
Sophie straightens my collar. “You hate weddings and parties. But you’re doing this for Jazz.” Her blue eyes glimmer with curiosity. “You’re such a sweetheart, Dad.”
I grunt as she kisses my cheek, not meeting her eyes. It’s bad enough I have this sudden awareness of Jasmine as a woman. I can’t bear to imagine my stepdaughter’s horror if she knew about the filthy fantasies I have of her sweet best friend.
A beat passes as Sophie pulls back. Right on cue come the heels on hardwood. And then—her.
Jasmine steps into the room like she owns it. Chin high, shoulders back, confidence wrapped around her like silk. Not just ready for this night but daring the world to look away.
Daring me to ignore her.
Her dress is emerald green—sexy but elegant, with a slit that flashes just enough thigh to short-circuit my brain. The neckline is modest, but on her it doesn’t need to bare much to drive me mad. Her hair is done up, wisps framing her face, and her mouth—Christ, it’s painted a bright, sexy red that makes her golden-brown skin shimmer and glow.
The color of ruin.
My ruin.
I stop breathing.
When her gaze locks on mine, it hits like a live wire—challenge, awareness, invitation.
I agreed to this. Told myself it was harmless, that she needed my support, that I could enjoy her lovely company for one evening.
But I didn’t imagine her looking like sin in silk. Didn’t imagine the sharp, clean jolt of want that nearly knocks me over. Sophie’s warning echoes in my head—don’t let any guys steal her away—and something cold and primitive grips my gut.
Her in someone else’s arms? Laughing at some boy’s joke? Another man’s fingers on her skin?
The very idea makes me want to punch something, to take her in my arms and steal her away.
It’s the most dangerous thing I’ve felt in more than two decades. Something happened that morning between me and Jasmine, and there’s no closing that door.
But I can’t have her.
I won’t let myself. I’m simply doing her a favor.
I clear my throat. “Ready to go?”
Jasmine smiles, slow and radiant. “Lead the way, Mr. Grayson.”
I hold out my hand, jaw tight, every cell strung high.
