by Jagger Cole
Next Door Daddy
Jagger Cole
Contents
A Special Present
Synopsis
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Epilogue
Afterword
About the Author
Next Door Daddy
By Jagger Cole
www.jaggercolewrites.com
Copyright © 2020 by Jagger Cole
All rights reserved.
Cover by Mayhem Cover Design
This is a literary work of fiction. Any names, places, or incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. And similarities or resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or events or establishments, are solely coincidental.
All characters in this work are eighteen years of age or older, and all relations of a sexual nature are completely consensual.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
The unauthorized reproduction, transmission, or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal and a violation of US Copyright law.
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A Special Present
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Synopsis
She’s the forbidden fruit, and I’m starving.
Being near her is dangerous. Giving in to temptation could destroy my billion-dollar empire. There’s danger closing in that could sweep us both into it. But the more off-limits I tell myself she is, the more I want her, and crave her.
Lacey wants to break the rules. She wants to push me. But I’m not a man to be defied. And Lacey’s going to find out what happens to bad girls who push it too far.
She’s out of control. I am the control. She needs some firm, hard...rules.
1
Lacey
Halfway across the world, my friends are having the times of their lives. I scowl as I scroll through my Instagram feed at the pictures of Kristen, Petra, and Talia living it up in Ibiza. Bikinis, sun, colorful cocktails, and gorgeous tanned guys all over the place. And here I am stuck in Hawksport. Boring, vanilla, snooty Hawksport.
I glance up from the phone and quickly slam on the brakes, just enough to give a brief rolling stop at the stop sign before I keep driving. Whatever. I know driving and looking at my phone isn’t the greatest idea. But it’s the middle of the afternoon, and I’m in the single most boring town in America where the average age is like sixty. So there’s not even anyone on the roads anyways.
I keep driving my aunt’s Audi, the radio cranked up and the AC blasting. It’s hot on Long Island in the summer, and even with the air conditioning, I can feel my thighs sticking to the leather seats. Besides the cutoffs, I’m also starting to second guess my decision to go driving in a bikini top with my back sticking like glue to the leather.
Technically, I’m not even supposed to be out right now. That’s one of the rules for this shit-show of a summer break from college. Technically, I’m grounded for the whole summer. That’s why I’m joyriding around boring-ville Hawksport and not partying with my friends in Ibiza. Which is so unbelievably unfair. After all, Kristen, Petra, and Talia partied just as hard as I did our freshman year. Probably more. We all pledged the same sorority, and yes, my grades tanked, and my class attendance was nonexistent. But in the world of money and connections I come from, getting into Kappa House is arguably more important for my future than freshman English 101. Southern University however, disagreed, and it took a sizable donation from my Aunt Helen to even get on academic probation instead of being kicked out. So, that’s why I’m in the doghouse this summer.
A loud honk has me gasping and looking up from my phone again. An older woman in a Mercedes screams something and flips me off as I blow through another stop sign. Whoops. I’m almost back home though. My eyes drop back to my phone, and I mutter to myself. There’s a new post from Talia, of the three of them in matching spa robes laughing on the beach, with three absolutely hunky looking Spanish masseuses waiting in the background for them. This is so fucking unfair…
There’s a jarring thud and the crunching sound of my car slamming into something, and I scream. My bare foot stomps on the brake, and the car skids to a stop right before it crashes into a huge wrought-iron gate. My pulse is racing, and my hands are in a death grip on the wheel as I suck in air. There’s a huge dent in the hood of the car, and I glance in the review mirror and grimace at the big, fancy looking mailbox lying on the road with half of its broken post still attached. Shit, this isn’t good.
But then suddenly I realize something else, and it gets so much worse. This isn’t a random person’s mailbox I’ve run over, or whose front gate I almost just drove through. Although, right now, I’m really wishing it was. Nope. The mailbox I just murdered and the gate I barely avoided don’t belong to a stranger. They belong to a man I know very, very well, and I tremble as the realization sinks in.
His name is Logan Kane, and he’s quite possibly the most intimidating man I’ve ever met. If that weren’t enough, he’s also without question, the sexiest man I’ve ever laid eyes on, and that includes magazine models and movie stars. Dark hair, with a little bit of silver at the temples, with these incredible blue eyes, a perfect bone structure in his face, and of course those lips. Not every guy has lips that make you squirm. But Logan’s are the kind of masculine perfection that make you weak in the knees.
He’s forty, single, and insanely wealthy. He’s rich even for Hawksport, which is definitely saying something. This is a town chock-full of finance kingpins, prestigious doctors and lawyers, and corporate CEOs. But Logan Kane has them all beat. He runs Cornwall-Hudson, an insanely huge hedge fund in New York. He made Fortune magazine’s thirty under thirty when he was twenty-six when he launched a tech company that reinvented the software stock traders used. And since then, his wealth and power has only grown bigger.
Logan moved into the brick, castle-like mansion down the street from my Aunt Helen’s house halfway through my senior year. He’s in impeccable shape, collects European sports cars, alternates running and swimming laps in his outdoor pool every other day, and enjoys single malt scotches and very, very expensive vintage red wines. How do I know all of this? Simple: I’ve been spying on, obsessing over, and straight up lusting after Logan Kane since the day he moved in. It doesn’t help that my bedroom has an almost unobstructed view through a break in the trees to his backyard.
That’s whose mailbox I just ran over while instagramming and driving. I cringe, and I look wildly around. There’s no sign of anyone else on the road. Also, this neighborhood being what it is, all of the huge houses are set back from the road behind walls and hedges. So it doesn’t look like anyone saw. I look back at the dent in the hood of Aunt Helen’s car. That can be explained or lied about.
I quickly put the car in reverse, getting ready to flee the scene. But when the knock comes hard at the window next to me, I scream.
“Turn off the car, Lacey.”
I turn quickly, and when I see who it is, I can feel the color draining from my face. It’s Logan, of course. All six foot four of him. And he’s shirtless in just a pair running shorts and sneakers. His perfect blue eyes captivate mine, and whole body freezes as his jaw grinds. He looks pissed.
I nervously glance at the shifter, and he knocks hard again. “Do not even think about it, young lady,” he growls. “Off. Right fucking now.” I nod quickly and swallow back the lump in my throat. I turn the car off, and Logan opens the door for me. “Out.”
I undo my seatbelt and step out. Logan grunts, and his eyes sweep over me. I’m suddenly reminded that I’m barefoot and in just a pair of cutoffs and a bikini top, and I blush.
“Are you drunk?”
“What?”
He stands back and crosses his big arms over his bare chest. His abs are freaking insane. Forget a six pack, Logan’s got more like an eight or ten pack, which I didn’t even know was possible. A small trail of dark hair teases down his lower abs to disappear tantalizingly under the waist of his shorts. I blush and quickly look away.
“I said, are you drunk, Lacey? I’m trying to figure out how the hell you managed to plow into my fucking mailbox. It’s not exactly in the middle of the road.”
“No,” I shake my head. “I’m not.”
“You sure about that?”
“Yeah, I’m pretty fucking sure,” I mouth back. Wrong move. His jaw grinds tighter, and his blue eyes smolder. He glances past me and scowls.
“Were you on your phone?”
Shit. I glance back, and sure enough, my phone is sitting unlocked on the passenger seat with Instagram open.
“No, I was just… a squirrel ran out.”
I can tell Logan doesn’t believe me for a second. He looks at me sharply with those muscled arms flexing and still crossed over his muscled chest. “Your aunt mentioned you were going to be in Europe for the summer. Why have I seen you hanging around Hawksport since college got out?”
The thrill of hearing that Logan Kane has noticed me is like a shot of something strong. I blush as I smile shyly and look away. “I… plans changed.”
“So now you’re spending it murdering mailboxes?”
He still looks pissed, but there’s a tiny bit of humor in his voice that takes a little bit of the edge off. “I’m really sorry, Mr. Kane.”
His eyes hold my gaze, making me squirm. They drop for a second down to my bikini top, and then all the way down to my feet, and I can see his jaw grind. He looks back up at me, and his face hardens. “Driving without shoes on is a really stupid thing to do, Lacey.”
I wither a little under his gaze, and I nod. “I know. Sorry. And I’m really sorry about the mailbox.”
“It’s fine,” he growls. “I’m sure your aunt and I can work something out.” I tense up, and he definitely spots it. His lips thin as he raises one eyebrow. “Your aunt doesn’t know you have the car, does she?” I’m silent, and he nods. “Because she’s out of the house, and you’re not supposed to be joyriding around.” I’m still silent, and he growls. “I’m right, aren’t I?”
“Yeah,” I mumble. “Mr. Kane, I’m so sorry. Please please please don’t…”
“It’s fine,” he mutters with a sigh. “I won’t.”
I blink incredulously. “You’re not going to tell her?”
“Consider it your one get-out-of-jail-free card,” he grunts. “But try and stay the fuck out of trouble, Lacey.”
I’m nineteen, but still, a grown adult, let alone a man like Logan dropping F-bombs still makes me blush. “I’ll try.”
“Hard.”
“What?”
“Try hard, Lacey.”
I nod quickly. “I will. Thanks, Mr. Kane. And I’m really sorry again.”
He gives me a half smile, half frown. “And don’t forget. You owe me a mailbox.”
I grin, and he raises his brows and gives me the smallest little glint of a smile. “Get home before your aunt does.”
I nod as my heart races. Logan drops his arms from their position across his chest, and I can’t help but let my eyes drink him in. He turns and punches in a code on the keypad by the gate, and they slowly crank open. I tremble as I slide back into the car. Logan turns and looks at me.
“Remember. Stay out of trouble, Lacey.”
I don’t trust my words, so I just nod and watch as he turns and jogs up his long curving driveway. The gates close, and I realize I’m panting like I’m the one that was just running. I glance down, and I can feel the heat in my face when I realize my nipples are insanely hard and visibly poking through my bikini top. I quickly start the car and back up. I drive off up the street to my aunt’s house before she comes home. And I don’t think my heart stops racing until I’m in my bedroom with the door shut.
2
Lacey
I do manage to stay out of trouble, but it’s not for long. First, I lie to my Aunt Helen when she gets home about the car.
“What?!”
“I don’t know what happened, Aunt Helen!” I pout, laying it on thick. Sometimes, I’m frighteningly good at this not telling the truth thing. “I know I’m not supposed to leave, but I really needed tampons, so I drove downtown.” I’m actually not on my period, and I’ve got plenty of tampons under my bathroom sink anyways.
“And it was a construction truck?”
I nod. “Yeah. They were backing up as I came out of the store, and I think a ladder sticking out of the back of their truck hit the car.”
“Did you get a license plate?” I shake my head and she grumbles to herself. “See, this is why we don’t need those damn Mexicans in this country!” Oh, it’s worth mentioning that besides being a permanent grouch, my aunt is painfully racist. I could point it out to her as I have before, but it only gets her mad at me. Trust me, after living with her for most of my life, I know it’s not like she’s going to change at all.
I came to live with Helen and my Uncle Ron when I was eight, after my parents died. Ron was my dad’s brother, and a wonderful uncle. But he passed away when I was eleven, it was just me and Helen after that. To say that we get along like water and oil most of the time would be an understatement. It got worse though when Helen took up with Roger less than a year after my uncle Ron died. Helen is just a mean, racist grouch. But Roger is a real piece of work.
Currently, Roger is being held without bail by the Southern District of New York for securities fraud, money laundering, and tax evasion. Up until two years ago, Roger ran an investment portfolio. Except in actuality, it was more of a pyramid scheme, with a big dash of insider trading and outright fraud.
After he was arrested, Helen under direction of Roger’s legal team “separated” from him and moved here to Hawksport. She changed her last name from Millhouse back to her maiden one of Teague, bought the huge house we currently live in, and did her best to stay under the radar. The one good thing Roger managed to do was get her and I both struck from the investigation, which means we’re off-limits legally speaking. And so far, it seems like media hasn’t really gotten wind of her being here.
“Well, this fucking town is going to shit with all of these immigrants anyways,” Helen mutters. “Did you see the terrorists that moved into that new build on Shore Road?”
I know the Middle Eastern family of four she’s talking about, though I’ve never met them. I want to point out to Aunt Helen how unbelievably unlikely it is that the family who just bought a five million dollar house and who drive luxury cars are secretly jihadist just based off of skin color. But again, it’s not like she’s ever going to change. Instead, I just don’t bother answering at all.
“Well anyways. You do remember that I’m leaving tonight?” She looks at me sharply. Of course I remember. Helen’s flying down to the Virgin Islands for a girls’ week with some of her friends. “You know the arrangement for this summer, Lacey. You stay right here at home. No friends, no parties, no sneaking out. Got it?”
“What friends?”
“Let’s skip the lip,” she mutters. “Do I need to get a babysitter while I’m gone?”
“For a nineteen-year-old?” I say tightly.
“Well if the shoe fits, Lacey. I’m going to go pack before my driver gets here. I do think you should spend the week looking at
those tutor applications. See if there’s one that stands out to you.”
I groan to myself. Like Roger, Helen thinks that you can fix any problem by throwing money at it. She also thinks I got put on academic probation because college was too hard for me. It really wasn’t in the slightest, I just never went to class.
“Yeah, I’ll look,” I lie.
Three hours later, and I’ve got the big house to myself for a week. I’m also bored as hell. I scroll through Netflix and start a few things. I order delivery. But a few hours after that, I’m back to square one. In my bedroom, I go to the window and look out, and my heartbeat quickens when I see Logan out on his back patio overlooking the pool.
True to form, he’s sipping what must be scotch, dressed in a button-up white dress shirt open at the neck, jeans, and a tailored jacket. I watch as he finishes his drink and heads inside. Part of me hopes he’ll come back out for a swim, but then I roll my eyes at myself. Jesus, thirsty much?
Instead, I watch the gates to his driveway swing open, and his sleek black Maserati pulls out and speeds off. I pout. Of course he’s going out. It’s Friday night, he’s single, fabulously rich, and devastatingly good looking. He’s probably got a waiting list a mile long of women ready to sleep with him, dinner date or not. I’m well aware of the jealousy inside of me, and of how stupid it is, but I can’t help it.
I yank my phone out and reluctantly bring up my text messages. Right there at the top is my text chain with Brad. Well, mostly it’s just Brad texting and me responding with one-word answers if I even respond at all. Brad and I went to high school together here in Hawksport. He was an entitled asshole back then, and I’m pretty sure it’s only gotten worst since then. But Brad is also the only person even remotely close to my age range in this town who’s not in Europe or Asia for the summer. We bumped into each other my first week back, and after I was dumb enough to give him my number, he’s been texting me to hang out ever since.
