Page 5 of Indebted

I swallowed the lump in my throat. If he was here to lecture me, I was so not in the mood. Those broken glasses and spilt champagne weren’t even his. No one got hurt and I was pretty sure the guests were still going to contribute to his holier than thou cause.

Under his gaze I felt like a moth, pinned. It rubbed me the wrong way.

The tension in the room rose, and the urge to fidget rose right along with it.

The silence between us hung in the air like a physical presence. In public Justin had been all smiles and words of encouragement, but here, alone with me, the nice man seemed to have faded, perhaps he didn’t even exist. Instead, I stood with a man that had my body humming and my mind traveling to places it had no right traveling to. He looked like bad decisions and wicked intent. Like he’d have no problem bending me over and spanking me. And enjoying it.

The dim lighting only added to his allure.

He exuded money and masculinity, and I shouldn’t have found it attractive.

“What?” I snapped when I couldn’t take the silence any longer, my body on pins and needles.

Those piercing eyes of his skimmed over me, taking in me and all my frumpiness. My breasts tingled under his stare, my nipples hardening.

It’s the cold of the cellar, I told myself, crossing my arms over my chest.

He couldn’t possibly have noticed, but the way his jaw clenched, told me perhaps otherwise.

A perverse curiosity peaked, one I stamped down immediately.

No, Katie. Don’t even go there. He’s your stepdad.

He’s fair game, a voice sounding suspiciously like Zoe whispered in the back of my mind. There was no blood relation between Justin and I, only a convoluted relationship that spanned less than three years when he’d been married to my mother. And nearly a twenty-year age gap.

The Adam’s apple in his throat bobbed, his fingers curling into fists at his side. “I wasn’t expecting to see you.”

Like I’d planned this?

“I didn’t realize this was your house. Trust me, if I did, I would’ve passed on the shift. I don’t want to be here anymore than you want me here.”

A frown marred his forehead. “Have I indicated that I didn’t want you here?” He took a step deeper into the cellar, stealing the oxygen from my lungs. His suit looked almost black in the lighting. Again, I was drawn to the cut, how it hugged his broad shoulders, tapered in at the waistline, and clung to his powerful thighs. He stood a head taller than me, making me feel small, helpless…trapped.

My heart hammered in my chest, heat gathering in my face and between my thighs.

I’d always known Justin was a looker—I’m sure it was part of the reason my mom was so adamant about marrying him—but I’d never had this kind of response to a man before. Like all my senses were zeroed in on him and dialed to 11.

It was humiliating. The culmination of going too long without having an orgasm. It was the only explanation for my reaction to a man I abhorred.

“Katie?”

Shit. I’d gone off in my head. Justin was less than a foot away, concern in his eyes. His scent tickled my nose, something spicy mixed with the faint accent of chlorine.

I thought of the lap pool outside.

I thought of Justin in nothing but low slung boardshorts swimming laps under the sun. Skin wet and glistening, hair slicked back—

My breasts grew heavy, a throb settling between my legs. I could feel myself growing wet and it only fueled my irritation higher.

I needed to get out of here. The air had grown thick. The only escape behind Justin.

“What, Dad?” I laid the sarcasm on thick. I was uncomfortable and had no idea what to do about my rampaging hormones. My defense mechanisms kicked in. And unfortunately, the best defense was an insulting offense. Piss him off and make him walk away. It didn’t sit well with me, but I had to remind myself that it was what he and my mother had been best at—walking away. “Don’t pretend that you give a shit about me.”

Arms caged me in, and I fought a thrill as Justin leaned into me.

“I do give a shit about you, sweetie. You were the one that shut me out after the funeral.”

“Ha. That’s rich.” They’d shut me out first, and yeah, it sounded petty, but I could still remember how I’d felt at eighteen, when I’d been standing at my high school graduation with no one in the audience. “Don’t like it when the shoe is on the other foot, do you?”