Chapter 1
Jack
Turns out, deciding not to shove an ice-filled Ziploc down my pants was poor judgment on my part.
My best friend’s sister, well, pseudo-daughter, is here. And somehow, she’s more fucking beautiful and perfect than the last time I saw her, impossible as that seems.
Jesus, I’m a terrible friend.
Carter would kill me twelve different ways if he knew what I was thinking about right now as she comes through the front door, bouncing and hugging my own daughter, her best friend, in gleeful excitement as they jump up and down and squeal as only girls can do.
I’ve barely slept or been able to eat since he called last week, saying the girls wanted a last-minute visit before my daughter, Arianna, left to teach at a camp this summer. Carter had a training event come up near Cherry Falls and thought it would be a good opportunity for us all to spend some time.
The only problem is, there was a last-minute change of plans. Now, Arianna is leaving tomorrow instead of Monday. He asked if I would mind if Layla stayed here while he was at training, even though Arianna would be gone. Of course I said I didn’t mind. I told him I could take her to the marina with me, give her some work and pay her, since he’s too fucking tight with her to let her have a summer job out of his sight.
He’s as protective as I would be over Layla, and as much as I knew it was a bad idea, it was the best news I’d had in a long fucking time.
Now, I just have to figure out how to keep my hands off my best friend’s sister for the next week.
Stop looking at her fucking tits, you deviant.
I can’t.
Stop thinking about the sweet flavor you dream about every fucking night with your cock in your fist, gritting your teeth and shooting off, swearing it will be the last time.
I.
Can’t.
Stop.
“Mr. Aria!” Layla beams as she and Arianna finally let go of each other and she comes skipping and bouncing my way, tumbles of dark hair an inch longer than the last time I shared a space with her.
She’s a bit thinner, but still filled out in all the right places.
“Don’t fucking call me that,” I manage on a grunt, my throat constricting as I clench my teeth so hard I hear them crack. “You make me sound so old. For the thousandth time, call me Jack.”
She flashes me that trillion-dollar smile, white teeth set off with lips as red as dark cherries and my dick takes on a life of its own. Her milk-chocolate dark hair tumbles around her face, her cheeks pink, arched dark eyebrows highlighting her magnetic hazel-silver eyes.
“I know.” She screws up her face, throwing her arms around my neck as I back away. I can’t let her touch me, the strand of control I have left is already unraveling. “You’re such a grumpy Gus.”
She pokes out her bottom lip as I reach up and untangle her arms, forcing them down by her sides as I struggle for breath.
“He’s not a hugger.” Carter steps into the foyer and extends his hand. “Man, how the fuck do you get older and uglier every time I see you?”
“I’m afraid my pageant days are behind me.”
“What fucking pageant days?” He snorts a low chuckle. “Maybe if they had a Homely Motherfucker contest…”
I give his hand a shake, trying not to let my eyes wander back to Layla’s perfect ass. I get a whiff of her cherry-blossom and sugar-cookie scent and lose my battle, taking in another long look at her butt cheeks practically spilling out the back of her cut-off jean shorts.
The idea she’s been out in the world wearing those—that other men have surely lusted after her—makes a rush of angry adrenaline pound through my body.
I want to kill them all.
All the imaginary, faceless fuckers that may have visually soiled her. I hate them. The kind of hate that only a madman knows.
“Jesus,” I growl and Carter gives me a questioning look.
“You okay there, bud?”
“Yeah,” I bark back, harsher than intended, but he just shakes his head on a shrug.
“I see your demeanor is aging like a fine wine as well.”
I sniff on an exhale, running my hand down my face, listening to the girls’ excited high-pitched voices as they wander out through the slide-glass walls off the great room onto the back patio by the pool, holding hands and chattering away.
I built this place myself.
Three stories of hand-cut timber and field stone I gathered single-handed on the twenty-three acres of land I bought here after my wandering days were over. It was my first obsession. I poured all my regret, hate and self-loathing into it until those things began to change. As I created something real and beautiful, the house sort of started to represent me. I was re-building myself from the ground up, and as I learned, worked until my fingers bled and saw what I could create, my vision of what life could be changed as well.