Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 46202 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46202 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
I fail.
I can’t stop staring.
She’s mine, I roar in my mind. Only mine. Forever mine.
Except she can’t be.
She’s my best friend’s daughter.
CHAPTER TWO
Danielle
“What are you going to do?” Anna asks.
I swivel in my desk chair, my hands interlaced in my lap, trying to stop the pumping in my chest.
“I don’t know,” I murmur, looking over at my best friend.
Anna’s tall and red-haired, with even more freckles on her cheeks than I remember from when we were kids. She knows me better than anybody, especially when it comes to Damien – especially when it comes to the crush I should’ve let go of a long time ago.
“I almost freaked when Dad gave me the number. I swear, I thought I was going to tell Dad everything.”
Anna frowns. “What would you even say?”
I laugh humorlessly. “No idea. Maybe, Sorry, Dad, but I can’t really take this. The thought of texting Damien makes me feel way too confused because I’ve had a crush on him since I was a teenager. What do you think?”
Anna chuckles lightly, shaking her head. “I’m not sure that would go over too well.”
I pause when a gust of wind causes the house to creak.
For a second, I think it’s Dad coming home, though I know he’s working tonight and won’t be back for hours. My stepmom, Lacey, is out with her friends.
So there’s no reason for me to be so paranoid about them overhearing.
But I can’t help it.
“Are you okay?” Anna says.
I nod. “It’s just the thought of Dad ever finding out how I feel. But it doesn’t matter. I mean, he will never find out, will he? There’s nothing to find out.”
Anna nods. “I think you should focus on what this could do for your career, Dee. This is a massive opportunity.”
I sigh. “I know you’re right. But I can hardly think about marketing. All I can think about is Damien, waiting for a text from me. It’s so stupid. Sometimes, I wish I could go back and wipe away all those times I crushed on him, all those hours I spent staring at his photos online or watching his TV show.”
Anna watches with understanding on her face. But I’m not sure she can understand. It’s not because she’s a bad friend or anything like that. It’s not because she doesn’t want to know how I’m feeling.
But this pulsing inside of me, this confusing and frankly insane need I feel every time I look at him, so much as think about him…it’s not healthy, normal.
It’s weird how badly I want this man, silly thoughts flurrying through my mind like watching him and our children play in the garden. Or smiling at him over our newborn’s head as he sits beside my bed, a content smile on his face, the sort I’ve never seen Damien Drake aim at anybody, ever.
And I think he’s going to aim it at me?
“When are you going to message him?” Anna asks.
I pick a piece of thread on my pants, twisting it between my thumb and forefinger, staring down at it as though it will give me an answer.
“I’m not sure.”
“What’s stopping you?” she asks.
I spin in the chair again, wondering if I could do this instead, spin around and around until my head’s so dizzy I’m incapable of thinking about anything.
I won’t be able to think about Damien’s startling blue eyes, their shade so sharp and bright I can’t help but think of him staring at me, into me, and liking what he sees.
I won’t fantasize about his solid build, six and a half feet of muscle pressing through his chef’s uniform.
And I definitely won’t dwell on his steel hair, the firmness in his jaw, or the possessive fire in his eyes.
No, it’s not there. It’s all in my head.
And if he has flames of passion in his eyes, they’d never be aimed at me.
There are far too many complications.
Dad is a complication.
My inexperience is a complication.
The fact that Damien is twice my age is a problem, not for me, but maybe for him. He probably still sees me as the in-the-way kid. He’d never want anything to do with me.
The age thing doesn’t matter to me. In fact, I like it.
His experienced face. His mature and intense gaze.
The knowledge that he’d be able to support me and that he’s nothing like the immature douches I got to know in high school.
Their petty insults still sting sometimes when I let myself think about it.
“Dee?” Anna says, staring at me.
“Sorry,” I laugh awkwardly. “What did you say?”
She returns my laugh. “Why don’t you text him now?”
My hands move over my belly as though protecting the child – or children – he’s going to put inside of me one day. I try to tell myself this isn’t some absurdly hopeful dream. I try to imagine Dad looking down at my child, his grandchild, knowing Damien’s the father.