by Fiona Cole
“We were actually just binging the History Channel together, trading stories about our travels.”
“That’s right. You know, I thought about how much you two have in common, but I figured Arabella would be out gallivanting with friends too much to stay home and get to know you. At home, she appeared to eat and sleep and was off again.”
“I was home more than that. You just weren’t there to notice,” she muttered.
Halting any reaction to that comment before it could start, I kept talking. “I’m much cooler than any of those hipsters.”
“No one says hipsters anymore, Uncle Will.”
I glared at the Uncle Will comment, not missing the slight twitch in her lips. “I’m bringing it back,” I explained.
She gave a thumbs up, finally relaxing her arms from around herself. “Good luck with that.”
Harry watched our banter and shook his head. He scanned the room, landing on the two beer bottles on the table. Thankfully, one was empty, so it could be passed off as both of them being mine. Before he could comment, I quickly suggested dinner.
The night progressed with food and a Marvel movie. Apparently, Arabella got her love of the world from Harry. Thankfully, the tension eased a bit, the sharp-edged jokes becoming less and less. The ones that did come, I did my best to deflect without drawing too much attention as to why I wanted to protect her so much.
Mainly because if someone asked me, I wasn’t sure I could explain. This past week of hugs had built something slowly—something more than physical attraction. It wove its way around us, tying me to her in a way I wasn’t sure I wanted to evaluate too closely. When it prodded my thoughts, I shoved it down as just appreciation for the simple affection.
Yeah, that was it.
By the time we called it a night, my body ached at the thought of going to bed without at least one more hug from her. But having her father in the house made it damn near impossible to ignore everything that was wrong with what we were doing. It made it difficult to explain it away as just a simple hug we didn’t have to explain. Outside eyes gave us another perspective, shining a light on the things we tried to ignore.
So, after setting Harry up on the couch, I forced myself to walk past her room toward mine. My muscles clenched, fighting each step, but I made it to the other side of my door and locked it. What I needed was a lock to keep me inside.
Especially because almost an hour later, I laid awake in bed, staring up at the moon streaking across my ceiling. Harry stopped talking about forty minutes ago, and I assumed he had gone to sleep.
I hoped so because my muscles won out.
I flung the covers back and quietly, but quickly, crept down the hall and tried to stop my knuckles from making contact with the wood door but failed.
Holding my breath, listening for any slight sound from downstairs, I tapped against her door. Part of me hoped she didn’t answer, that she fell asleep hours ago when she made excuses to go to bed earlier. The other part begged and pleaded that she open the door and wrap her arms around me.
In those seconds of waiting, I realized how far down the rabbit hole I’d fallen. Besides the fact that she was my stepbrother’s daughter. Besides the fact that she was nineteen. Besides the fact that she’d be a student at the college I taught at. Besides all of that, I think I was most alarmed at how I couldn’t get to sleep without one more embrace in her arms. Like I needed them to hold me together and patch me up for a little bit longer.
The dependency worried me the most.
But I didn’t get a chance to think about it because the latter hopeful part was answered, and the door flung open.
With the blink of an eye, Arabella’s small body crashed into mine, and I let go of the tension I’d been holding with my breath. I slid my palms around her back and buried myself in her hair, losing myself for the moment in the vanilla scent encompassing us.
For just a little while—just a second—I allowed myself to imagine picking her up and carrying her back to my bed to hold onto all night. As quickly as it came, I shoved it away.
Nonsense. Dangerous, pointless nonsense.
Slowly, I forced myself to relax my grip and ease back. Before I could, she squeezed me tight one more time, turning her mouth toward my ear.
“Goodnight, Will.”
Shivers raced down my spine from the graze of her breath on my skin.
“Goodnight, Arabella.”
And with that, I let go, turning back to my room without looking at her. I was too scared that if I met her eyes in that moment, it’d be like staring into a mirror and facing everything I didn’t want to face.
Like how holding back from her felt like a losing battle.
It didn’t matter.
I had to try.
Eight
Willem
“What the hell is that?”
“Wow, that was an impressive pitch for a man your size.”
“Arabella,” I growled this time.
“A dress?”
“I can see your underwear.”
She rolled her eyes like the teen she was. “It’s not my underwear. Although I guess it could be since I’m not wearing any under it.”
“Jesus Christ, save me.” It looked like a high-waisted bathing suit under a black sheer skirt with red dots all over it. “You look like you’re wearing a bikini.”
“It’s obviously not a bikini. It has sleeves.” She stretched her arms out, fully exposing her bare stomach. The sleeves she spoke of attached to something that looked like a strapless bra, made of the same sheer material as her skirt.
When I continued to gawk, she gave another eye roll and a sigh for good measure.
“Where are you going? School starts in two days.”
“I’m aware, Dad. That’s why a few of us from the bar are heading to Over the Rhine.”
“Where in OTR?
“I don’t know. Amber just said some bars.”
I rubbed a hand over my face, and she snickered, knowing it was a sure sign of my stress. “Just be careful. There’s a fine line between trendy and dangerous down there.”
“We’ll be fine. Xander is coming too and promised to keep an eye on us.”
I fucking bet he did. He probably planned to keep an extra close eye on Arabella.
“Call me if you need me.”
“Will do. Don’t wait up.”
And with a swoosh of fabric and red hair, she was gone.
It’d been two weeks since the night Arabella hugged me the first time, and we walked our own dangerous line every day.
On the nights she worked, I went in for a beer fifteen minutes before she got off and drove her home. In that time span, I’d grow more and more agitated watching Xander flirt with her. By the time she got off, I was ready to shut out the world and be alone.
We’d come home and almost as soon as we walked through the door, we were in each other’s arms, holding on tight, one of us whispering our promise.
Just for a little while.
When we finally let go, we’d get changed and meet on the couch to watch a movie or a travel show. Between commercials, we’d share stories of our own adventures. We’d start with a couple feet between us, but by the end, we’d made our way together. Her tucked close to my side.
We knew it was wrong, but it was as if we didn’t speak of it, we could ignore just how wrong it was.
Watching her walk out to go be with friends—especially Xander—had me on edge. It’d be the first night she wasn’t home with me, and while I wanted her to have her fun and be independent, I missed her.
Also, fucking Xander was there.
Just the thought of him dancing with her and possibly taking her home had jealousy burning up my throat.
After the third show of me staring at the screen, taking nothing in, I grabbed my phone. I considered calling Tessa to take my mind off of Arabella. Maybe I needed to remove the temptation or put my desires elsewhere to save us from the edge.
Before I opened my
contacts, I opened Instagram. Just out of curiosity, I tapped Arabella’s profile and saw the red circle around her picture. Holding my breath, I tapped the image. First to come up was a meme. Next was a picture of her sitting on the iconic white buildings of Greece looking out over the water with the hashtag, Santorini Saturday. I almost gave up when her final story was a video of her dancing with one of the blondes from work. The camera shifted closer and bounced for a bit before flipping to selfie mode, and Xander’s face filled the screen, turning it on him coming up behind Arabella to dance with her.
Without thought, I closed the phone and shot up, grabbing my keys and heading out.
I recognized the bar and hoped they hadn’t moved since the video had been posted. Otherwise, I might as well slap on a robe and curlers and hunt down my child like a crazy person.
Fuck. I’d already delved headfirst into crazy. But walking into Japp’s, I didn’t care.
I especially didn’t care when I spotted her red hair piled on top of her head toward the back. Amber and Gia sat on one side and Arabella on the other. The other two stood out, but Arabella’s vintage confidence blended in with the old-time design.
My steps slowed, and I hesitated. She almost smiled and looked more relaxed than I’d seen her. She looked happy.
I stopped, ready to turn back when Amber saw me.
“Oh my god, Dr. Deander,” she squealed.
Arabella’s head whipped my way. Even though her eyes widened, her mouth softened to an actual smile. More than the smirk she gave everyone else, but less than the laugh I knew she was capable of.
The girls waved me over, and every second of my thirty-three years weighed on me as I loomed over this young table. I assumed the other girls were over twenty-one since they had a colorful drink in hand except for Arabella. The two blondes who looked freakishly similar also had matching glassy eyes and flushed cheeks.
“Hello, ladies.”
“Hey, Dr. D. Can I call you Dr. D?”
“Sure,” I laughed. Looking around the group, I noticed one missing. “Where’s Xander?” I asked Arabella.
“Probably picking up that chick that followed us from Motor,” one of the blondes answered, rolling her eyes.
“Oh my god, how lucky are you, Bella, to have Dr. D as your uncle,” the other cut in before I could ask anything else.
“So lucky,” she deadpanned. Neither of the girls heard the sarcasm in her voice.
“I mean, if you ever wanted to do a sleepover, I’d totally be down,” one of them said, looking up at me and swaying in her seat.
“You’re such a slut, Amber,” the other giggled.
I wondered if Arabella knew she was openly scowling at the two girls.
“Do you want to dance, Dr. D?” Amber asked, completely unperturbed by her friend’s insult.
“Oh, no, thank you. I appreciate the offer. I just happened to come down here for a drink. It’s a coincidence I ran into you. I don’t want to interrupt Arabella’s night out before school.”
Arabella’s head tipped to one side, and I wondered what was going through her mind. Did she think I was a stalker? I kind of felt like one. She left for a night out, and there I was showing up too.
Her face looked like a placid lake, showing zero emotion beyond curiosity.
“Oh, Bella is having fun. You’re totally not interrupting. I never knew she was such a good dancer.”
“I didn’t know either,” I admitted.
Her gaze dropped to the clear liquid in her tall glass, which I hoped was water, and doubt hit me harder than before. I’d have expected her to lift her chin higher and make some comment about how she was the best damn dancer there. Instead, she looked away, and I missed her curious stare from moments before.
Despite that, I still wasn’t ready to leave.
“I’m just going to grab a drink at the bar. Enjoy your night.”
She glanced up, but her dark golden eyes gave nothing away.
I promised myself just one beer to make my reasons look valid, and then I’d head home.
I chatted with the bartender, the entire time keeping my eye on Arabella. A few glances over let me know she kept her eyes on me too. However, so did the girls with a lot less subtlety.
I’d almost finished my beer when a Black Keys song came on, and all three stood up, moving to the small dance floor. At first, I tried not to openly stare, but soon my glances grew longer. One song bled into another, and I learned first-hand, that Amber was right, Arabella was a good dancer.
Her body swayed with the beat in an effortless sexy way. The sheer material of her skirt like a curtain you wanted to shove out of the way to watch the full show of her strong legs. The smooth skin of her stomach flexed with each roll and twist. Her tits bouncing with her arms lifted high.
I fought to look away—to not stare, until she turned, her eyes locking on mine and any lack of emotions before vanished. Instead of placid curiosity, fire burned across the space between us. Her eyes demanded I watch her—watch the show she put on. For me.
Her lips parted, her tongue peeking out to slick across the rosy bottom curve. Her hands slid down her body, back up past her breasts and around her neck. My hands clenched, aching to follow the same path.
The songs bled together, and even from my perch on the stool, I could see the sheen to her skin, desperate to taste it.
Maybe it was because we were out of the house. Maybe it was because we were just tired of pretending. Maybe it was that the ten feet between us made it feel safe, but all pretenses fell away, and we let the desire we both held back flood the room.
“Would you like another, sir?” the bartender asked.
Would I? Yeah. I could sit there all night watching her. But then Xander stepped into view, coming up behind her, and I swear, the music scratched. She faltered for a moment but met my eyes again and started dancing. Almost like a challenge. A challenge I couldn’t answer in the middle of a public bar.
A challenge, I shouldn’t ever answer.
“No, thank you.”
I dropped a ten into the tip jar and walked past Arabella to the back. I tried not to look at her, tried not to issue my own challenge as I passed, but failed. Our eyes locked, and the half a second froze time, and a million wants and needs tore between us.
I rounded two corners before I found a semi-private corner to catch my breath. I should have gone into the bathroom rather than walking past. I should have walked out the front door and not looked back, but I wasn’t ready for it to end just yet.
“I thought you left,” her soft voice brought my eyes up.
“Just taking a piss.”
She stood three feet away, and I tried to use crassness to hold her back. A useless effort since she closed the distance with slow, measured steps. The world shrunk to a bubble around us, the thump of the music beyond nothing but an echo matching my heartbeat.
“Why are you here, Willem?”
Less than a foot away, and I did my best to swallow it down and choke out part of the truth. “I just wanted to check on you and have a drink out. Been a while since I’ve been down here.” Her trademark smirk called bullshit. “Have you been drinking?”
“No. Just having some fun with friends.” While I stood leaning against the wall, hoping it would hold me in place and stop me from taking her like I craved, she prowled closer, chin high, sexual strength pouring off every inch of her as she cornered me. “Want to dance?”
“Arabella,” I warned.
“Come on.” Her hands slid to my hips before moving up my chest. “Just for a little while.”
Her fingers scraped across my shoulders and down my arms as she swayed side to side. My hands remained pressed to the wall, my willpower the only glue keeping me steady.
When she turned and pressed her ass against my groin, the first fracture formed in my weak resolve. She dropped low and straightened her legs first before rolling her back up.
In this darkened hallway, she danced for me like she hadn’t danc
ed for anyone else. My own private performance. She stood and looked over her shoulder, that perfect lip that taunted me even before she arrived, buried under her straight teeth.
Crack.
Any strength I had to hold back, broke.
She thought she was stronger than me. That she would be the one to control the situation.
She had no idea what I was capable of, but I was damn well ready to show her.
I gripped her hips and switched our positions, slamming her against the wall.
She winced when her back hit the wall, but I couldn’t step back. “Did I hurt you?” I asked, looking her over, down her body, growing harder to find her nipples pressing against the thin material of her top.
“No,” she answered, leaning up to my ear to whisper, “I liked it.”
“Fuck.” My hands fisted against the wall, caging her in, maybe some small semblance holding me back.
Some pinch of sanity telling me not to fuck a nineteen-year-old in the back hallway of a bar. Her hands rubbed up and down my chest, over my shoulders and around my neck, pulling me in for what we’d done almost every day, but making it so very different.
Her hug was anything but comfort and everything like a tortured sexual tease. Her soft tongue flicked my ear before whispering, “Just for a little while.”
Without pushing her back because I didn’t want to part from her, I growled, “We’re leaving.”
“What?” she almost shrieked, jerking back, hurt marring every part of her face.
She didn’t understand.
But she would.
My inactive hands snapped into action, one gripping her hip hard and the other framing her jaw, not giving her a chance to look away. “We’re. Leaving. Now follow me and get in the car. We’re going home.”
“But—”
I pressed my hard cock against her stomach, grinding on her, leaving no room to miss what I wanted. “Now.”
With that last order, I walked away, praying she followed.
With every step, I knew with certainty that this was a mistake. With every step, I knew I didn’t care.
