Forbidden Daddy (Daddy Knows Best Book 3) Read online

  I hadn’t been digging for information. I was just heading out to do some grocery shopping when I ran into her returning from class. It was a Friday night, and I asked if she had any plans. Cynthia had laughed and shook her head.

  “Just a hot date with my bio textbook,” she said. “I don’t really date much.”

  “Really?” The question had slipped out of my mouth before I realized it. It was rude to ask, but I was just so much in shock. In my mind, Cynthia was perfect dating material. She was mature and smart and driven and gorgeous. Why weren’t all the college guys lined up to date her?

  Her cheeks flushed a bright red, and she had looked at the ground. It was one of the few times I saw her lose her composure. She recovered quickly though with a little laugh.

  “I’m just focused on school,” she said. “I’ve never had time for a boyfriend.”

  After that day, I was only more intrigued by her every time I saw her coming and going. To think that she was single put strange ideas in my head. I wasn’t just attracted to her. I felt protective of her. She deserved the best, and the more I thought about it, the more I was convinced that most men didn’t deserve Cynthia.

  So it was with a sense of relief that I noted her pattern of no dating continued unbroken.

  I stand up from my desk and wander over to the window. My home office is towards the back of my house, so I watch her roll over the gravel towards the back door where she locks up her bike.

  I hesitate for only half a second. Then I turn on my heel and rush to the kitchen, where a trash bag is waiting by the back door to be taken out. I’m done with work for the day. It could be pure coincidence that I’m taking out the trash now. I just so happen to be checking off that small chore when she gets home.

  It’s not a coincidence, and I know it. Being able to avoid self-denial is a grim skill that comes with age.

  I’m just stepping out the door when the front of her wheel catches on a rock, and she goes tumbling off her bike and onto the ground. My heart picks up its pace in worry, and I sigh with relief as she pulls herself to her knees. She didn’t fall hard, and she seems more worried that someone else saw, as she turns towards the sidewalk.

  My lips curve into a smile. She wears a helmet every time she gets on the bike. It’s bright blue and adorable and so like her to always be safe. She’s a pre-med after all, she’s aware of how injured she could get while on a bike.

  I should turn back and go into my house. I should pretend I didn’t see it. But a small wicked part of me entices me to step forward.

  “You ok?” I ask. “That was quite a fall.”

  Cynthia whirls around, and the bike she had just propped up falls to the ground again. Her mouth is open in surprise, and her eyes go wide as the helmet totters low on her head. I smile and set the trash bag down before walking across the gravel until we’re standing only a few feet apart.

  “Oh yeah, I’m fine.” Cynthia brushes at her jacket and gives me a shaky smile. “Just embarrassed by my clumsiness, that’s all.”

  I shrug. “It’s not your fault, I need to clean up the driveway of the bigger rocks.”

  I take a step even closer and nod down at her knee, my eye catching on her shapely leg beneath her jeans. “You might have a nasty bruise.”

  “Oh, it’s fine,” Cynthia says. “I barely feel it.”

  She demonstrates by leaning from foot to foot and shaking out her leg.

  “Good,” I say. “Although as your landlord, I’m contractually obligated to bring you over disinfectant and band-aids later.”

  It’s forward, and I feel the edge of flirtation creeping into my voice, but I can’t help it.

  To my surprise and delight, Cynthia looks up at me and a soft smile lights up her face.

  “You would accuse me of not owning my own band-aids?” She shakes her head in mock offense. “I’m pre-med, remember?”

  I let out a soft chuckle. The both of us are tiptoeing around new territory. I’ve never been even slightly flirty with her, and now that I have started and she’s reciprocating, I want to continue.

  “You’re not a doctor yet,” I say. “You might need medical assistance.”

  Cynthia bites her bottom lip, and I feel a surge of longing in the pit of my stomach.

  “Last I checked, you’re not a doctor either.” She cocks her head, and I am overcome with a desire to reach out and brush my thumb against her lip. I keep my hands firmly placed at my sides.

  Flirting is one thing. Taking action is entirely another.

  I shrug and give her a smile. “Well, let me know.”

  “I will.” She moves to crouch down and grab her bike, but I beat her to it. I prop it up and push the handlebars towards her. When she grabs them from me, one of her hands brushes over mine. I think I hear her breath catch when we touch, but I know I could be imagining it.

  “Bye,” Cynthia says. Then she wheels the bike over to the back of the duplex and vanishes inside the door.

  I turn and scoop up the trash bag and slowly walk over to the bin.

  I need to get myself under control. Every other time I’ve talked to Cynthia, I’ve managed to keep my composure, but today I almost slipped. Everything about her seems to draw me in and tempt me to hold her in my arms.

  I shake my head as I return to my quiet house.

  For my entire adult life, I’ve taken pride in having a tight grip on my emotions. I never act on instinct or let myself get carried away by desire. But something about Cynthia Lannon makes me want to slip up.

  I need to get it under control.

  Chapter Three

  Cynthia

  I yank my bike helmet off my head as soon as I’m in my apartment. I can’t believe I just flirted with my landlord, while wearing my baby blue helmet. I toss the helmet on my couch and run my fingers through my hair.

  Did I look ridiculous? Or was he flirting back?

  I’m no expert, but it felt like he was flirting with me as well.

  I press my hands over my cheeks and feel my burning skin. He could probably see how hard I was blushing. So mortifying.

  I’ve had a crush on Nate ever since I moved in, but I’ve always managed to hide it. At least, I think I’ve been hiding it pretty well. As soon as he mentioned coming over to give me a band-aid, I just couldn’t hold back from smiling.

  Because let’s be honest, I would love it if he came over to clean my scraped knee and plaster a band-aid on it.

  I shiver just thinking about his large hands on me.

  Then I yank my jacket off and head towards my kitchen. It’s never going to happen. He probably thinks of me as a little kid. He was just being nice and since he’s single, maybe he just flirts with all women.

  That must be it. He’s just a bachelor, tossing out little compliments and dazzling smiles to whoever he crosses paths with.

  I sigh as the image of his face cracking into a grin flashes through my mind. It’s that thick beard. I wanted to reach up and run my fingers through it.

  I put some water on to boil so I can make pasta. I need to get back on my schedule. Dinner, then studying for the anatomy exam tomorrow. I can’t let a guy – especially a guy who is so not in my league – knock me off course. Usually I’m good at focusing, but as spring arrives and the end of the year approaches, I find myself getting distracted.

  With Nate, it’s more than distraction. It’s the desire. Yes, I’m a virgin, but I still have certain urges and needs. And seeing Nate brings all those urges to the forefront.

  I frown as I stare at the pot of water as it heats up. I’ve been living like a nun for too long. I try to remember the last date I went on. It’s depressing how hard it is to recall. College girls should be able to remember recent dates. It wasn’t recent though. It was sometime early in junior year. I grabbed pizza with a guy from my Yoga elective. He talked about sports teams the whole time, and I was bored out of my mind. I didn’t even consider a second date.

  Even more depressing is trying to recall the last
time I kissed someone. It was sophomore year. Becca managed to convince me to go to a party on campus. She told me I was working too hard, and I needed to live a little. She promised me it was so fun to find someone at a party and just release all inhibitions. I was younger then, and I suppose I was less cynical, because I dressed up nice and went with her.

  A guy started chatting me up, and despite my reservations, I tried to partake in the conversation over the blaring music. Becca gave me a thumbs up and vanished to find her own conquest. An hour later, I was alone with the guy in his dorm room. He didn’t even bother with a preamble, he just went in for the kiss. I guess that’s the norm for college hook-ups.

  He was a messy kisser, and after about ten seconds, I was over it. I pulled away, stammered some excuse and left his room.

  I explained to Becca that casual hook-ups just were not my scene. She respected that, and while she continued to try and get me to date, she never dragged me to any more parties.

  Before that fiasco, I did have a very brief fling my freshman spring. It was a senior who was also pre-med. I admired his brains, and I was totally enamoured with the fact that he was already in medical school. In retrospect, it’s obvious that I was conflating my obsession with going to med school with my attraction to a guy.

  We set up coffee dates to talk about the pre-med life, but they always segued into something that felt like dates. I remember when we kissed outside my freshman year dorm for the first time. He was so tall and dashing, and my stomach was in knots. It was my first real kiss. Before that, there had just been a few pecks on the cheek in middle school.

  I was so nervous I couldn’t breathe, but I also remember being wild with excitement.

  For weeks, I was floating on cloud 9. He would come over to study with me, and then we would make out on my bed.

  Then, he wanted to move too fast. I told him I wanted to take it slow. He wasn’t into that.

  I was humiliated. Becca told me it wasn’t my fault. She said it was the classic result of dating an older guy. The only plus side was that he was graduating soon.

  After that, I was way more cautious when it came to men. I never wanted to let myself fall too hard and get hurt again. Plus I learned a hard lesson about guys who aren’t cool with taking it slow. I assume most college boys are like that, so why would I even bother?

  I’m not a freshman anymore though. I feel more comfortable in my body and confident in who I am. In fact, I think I might be ready. I wouldn’t need to take things slow. But I also don’t want to have sex with just anyone. I’m not going to hurl my virginity away. I have standards.

  The water starts to boil, and I dump the pasta in and set a ten minute timer.

  It’s not that I fear intimacy. Ok, sure, it’s a little scary, but I do want to have that closeness with someone. I just don’t want my first time to be with some random guy in a dark dorm room. I want something special, as cliche as that is. I want the fireworks.

  I picture Nate again and my breath catches. He would be special, I just know it.

  Not that it will ever happen. I have a crush, but I’m never going to act on it. He’s way too old, and I don’t think he’s interested in anything serious.

  I’ll go to medical school next year, and I’ll find someone there. Someone who is smart and mature.

  I have not spoken with Nate a ton, but from the conversations we have shared, I know he’s intelligent. And it goes without saying, he’s way more mature than all the college guys I interact with on a daily basis.

  I stir the past and frown into space. Maybe I’ll find someone who is just like him in med school. A guy with a bear and nice arms and a bright smile, but this hypothetical guy will be twenty years younger. And he’ll be totally understanding when I explain that I’m a virgin because I was studying too hard and maybe being a little too picky.

  I glance out my window towards Nate’s house, and I feel a pang of regret in my stomach. I don’t like this hypothetical guy from the future as much as I like Nate. Maybe when he’s flesh and blood and right in front of me, I’ll be all about him. But for now, I just feel a little lonely. And when I was standing in the driveway, smiling up at Nate, I didn’t feel lonely at all.

  The timer goes off, and I strain the pasta, then add some tomato sauce. I round off my meal with some spinach mixed with carrots and peppers.

  I sit down and eat while the sun starts to set outside my window. I wonder what Nate’s doing in his house. It’s big, but he lives alone. He’s clearly put a lot of work into the house as well. He once mentioned that he was so good with fixing issues in my apartment because he spent so many years working on his house to make it the way he wanted.

  I respect that about him. He has crafted the life he wants for himself. He owns his own house, and he has a good job, and he’s designed the life that suits him. I have the same goal. I want to be a doctor, and I spend every second working towards that objective and life.

  I consider Nate’s situation. He’s set up his perfect life, and he’s still single, so that must be what he wants. If Nate wanted to be in a relationship, he would have one. I know he must have his pick of women. If a guy like Nate wants a girlfriend or a wife, he could get one with ease. I mean, look at me, I talk to him for thirty seconds, and I’m a giggling mess.

  Since he doesn’t have a relationship, he must be committed to being single. He likes it that way. Which means my stupid crush is just that much more unrealistic.

  I finish my meal and wash my dishes. Then I settle down at my desk and open my book. I’ve spent my entire college career prioritizing my studies over everything else. It’s silly to get distracted now.

  I’m happy with my choices. So what that I’ve never had sex so I’m lusting after my older neighbor? I’m going to medical school. And I’m going to finish my final semester of college on a high note.

  I flip through my notes and force myself to focus. The exam is tomorrow, and I’m determined to ace it.

  I push aside all my little fantasies and musings about Nate and bury myself in the mechanics of the human lung.

  Chapter Four

  Nate

  After a meal of grilled chicken and vegetables, I pour myself a glass of whiskey.

  That’s another great thing about being a bachelor: I keep the alcohol I want on hand, and I can indulge whenever I want.

  I settle into a chair and flip through the television, trying to find something to watch. Nothing holds my interest.

  I keep thinking back to earlier, in that moment Cynthia smiled up at me. Something primal deep within me stirred. It was all I could to not take her right there in the driveway.

  My life has settled into the routine I always wanted. I wake up when I like, and I work as long as I like, and my house is arranged exactly as I like it, and I travel when I wnat to, and when I feel like it, I fuck whatever women I like.

  So why does it feel like something is missing? I flick my TV off and slouch further into my couch. I run my hand through my hair until it’s sticking on end and examine the golden liquid in my glass.

  I haven’t been this attracted to a woman in a long time. I wonder if Cynthia has even the faintest clue what she does to me. There’s no way she feels the same attraction back. Sure, she might think I’m nice and decent-looking, but why would a girl that young even consider me a contender? I’m old enough to be her father.

  And yet, I keep imagining what it would be like to hold Cynthia in my arms. To peel away the layers of her clothing and examine her complex combination of innocence and sensuality.

  I sigh and take a gulp of my drink.

  Being this deeply enthralled by a woman leads down a dangerous path. I know that better than anyone. When I was in my twenties, I met a woman with golden hair and a dazzling laugh. Lianne was everything to me. I was obsessed, and I told her I would do anything for her.

  We got married way too young. We were both twenty-two on our wedding day, we had only known each other a few months, and we had not even grown i
nto ourselves. I didn’t even know who I was or what I wanted to do with my life, and I actually thought it was a good idea to handcuff myself to another person, who was just as young and clueless.

  I try not to judge myself too harshly, but when I think about what an idiot kid I was, I scoff in derision.

  Lianne and I were two fools rushing headlong over a cliff when we didn’t know what the future held for us. It only took a year for everything to go to shit.

  After the courthouse wedding, we moved into a tiny apartment in Manhattan. The infatuation of our early days started to wear off as we learned more about each other. Lianne didn’t like that I was pursuing the new world of computers and software. She thought I should go into business or banking. Practical, reliable jobs that had clear paths.

  When I not only refused to do that, but also made it clear that I didn’t like the city life and wanted to try and move away at some point, Lianne was shocked. She loved living in the city and staying out all night. I thought that was fun and spontaneous when I first met her, but it was taxing to actually live like that.

  Lianne wasn’t an awful person though. She was smart and ambitious and funny. It was just that we weren’t compatible. We wanted different things from life.

  After a year, we were arguing non-stop. We could barely be in the same room with each other, and I was sleeping on the couch every night. It was the darkest time in my life. My friends told me to just break up and move on. They assured me it wasn’t the end of the world. They didn’t understand what it’s like to fall that deep in love, and then fall out of it so abruptly.

  We came to the decision to get divorced together. It wrecked the both of us. We felt like failures, but we were also too unhappy to stay married.

  Even with a marriage of only a year between two people with very few assets, the divorce was a nightmare. I shudder over the thought of couples who divorce after decades and have to divide up a house and bank accounts. It was hard enough to get the paperwork taken care of and move out of our rented apartment.