I shove a hand through my hair and pretend to be immensely interested in a display of purses on a nearby table.
It’s okay. They’re just thoughts. Thoughts are okay, as long as you don’t act on them. With time, this insane lust will dull. It always does. The important thing is to lock it down. Now.
“Jacob?” she says, her sweet voice wrapping around me. “Are you okay?”
I nod. “Yes. Fine. Just distracted with…a work thing,” I finish lamely. “Let’s try on your new clothes.”
Six
Jacob
We follow the assistant towards the back of the boutique, the wooden hangers clicking together softly as she rolls the cart laden with clothes. The private dressing room is hidden behind a heavy gold velvet curtain, and when we step through, we’re cocooned away from the rest of the store. The assistant wheels the rack behind another curtain, and I take a seat on the leather sofa against the far wall. Full-length mirrors line the space, reflecting the soft, flattering glow of the recessed lighting. A bottle of champagne sits in an ice bucket, two flutes ready and waiting beside it.
“Wow,” Camryn says, turning in a slow circle as she takes in the luxurious, private space. “You’re going to ruin me, Jacob. I’ll never want to shop at the mall again.”
My blood goes hot at the thought of ruining Cam, and I smirk at her. “Good.” I reach for the bottle of champagne. The cork is already popped, condensation running down the chilled bottle. I pour each of us a glass and hand one to Camryn, nerve endings firing as our fingers brush. Her eyes snap to mine, and I’mdesperate to know if she felt that, too. If she’s just as swept away by these taboo feelings as I am.
I need a cold shower. Maybe the cold champagne will be enough. I sink back against the sofa, the leather creaking softly beneath me, and take a long sip. I can feel Camryn’s eyes on me as I swallow, and she takes a small sip of her own champagne. Then she gives me a little smile and disappears behind the curtain.
While she’s changing, I do my best to think fatherly thoughts. Because that’s what I am to her, isn’t it? I was married to her mother, and for a few years, she was my stepdaughter. Even though I’m not technically her stepfather anymore, that’s who I am to her, right? That’s my role in her life.
And yet, here I am, leaning forward, listening to the sounds of her undressing, the soft thump of fabric hitting the floor, the slightly labored breathing as she pulls something on.
And now I’m thinking about my stepdaughter’s underwear. Are they lacy and sexy? Simple? Or are they a little sweet, with a cherry print and a bow front and center?
Oh, yes. Very fatherly. I’m doing an excellent job on that front. Christ.
I hear the purr of a zipper, and then Camryn steps out from behind the curtain, wearing the little black dress I chose for her.
The dress clings to her, the neckline dipping just low enough to give a teasing glimpse of cleavage. The fabric hugs her waist, flares perfectly over her hips, with the skirt ending just above her knees.
“Turn for me,” I say before I can stop myself. I take a sip of champagne, hoping it’ll dislodge the grittiness there.
She obeys without question, grinning playfully at me over her shoulder as she turns in a slow circle, letting me see the dress from the back. It’s cut low enough to give me a glimpse of creamyskin, and the way the fabric stretches over her glorious ass is borderline obscene.
My cock twitches, hardening quickly against my thigh. I take another sip of champagne, hoping it’ll douse the fire racing through my veins, but it doesn’t.
I’m going to have to take a handful of those ice cubes and shove them down my pants.
“How does it look?” she asks once she’s done turning, her cheeks a little pink.
“It’s almost perfect,” I manage, and her blush deepens. I stand from the sofa and set my champagne flute down. I step behind her, close enough that I can smell the warm, floral scent coming from her skin. I adjust the thin strap of the dress where it’s slipped slightly off her shoulder, and when I feel how warm, how smooth her skin is, it’s like an electrical current goes through me. “There,” I say, slipping the strap back into place. My fingers graze her arm as I take my hand back, and a blush spreads across her chest.
I shouldn’t be doing this. I shouldn’t be standing so close, shouldn’t be touching her and marveling at the feel of her skin.
“Now it’s perfect,” I say, and she lets out a shuddery little breath.
“I agree.” She’s biting her lip as she ducks behind the curtain, and I sit back down on the couch. No more touching. That was a mistake. I hear another rustle of fabric. Hangers scrape softly on the rack, and I down the rest of my champagne. I’m just pouring myself another glass when the curtain slides back and Camryn steps out.
Fuck. Me.
She’s wearing a pale blue silk blouse that clings to her in all the right places, the exquisite tailoring highlighting her curves. She’s left the top two buttons undone, showing just a hint ofcleavage. The blouse is tucked into a pair of dark-wash jeans that are molded to her hips.
She does a little twirl and then strikes a pose, one hand on her hip. “What do you think of this?”
What do I think? I think I’m going to hell.
I think if she keeps looking at me like that, all playful and confident and gorgeous, I’m going to do something we’ll both regret.
