The stepdaddy’s secret

Vaelora’s POV I heaved a breath for the nth time as I tried to concentrate on my drawing. I stood before the canvas with my brush hovering only inches away from the fabric but even then, I couldn’t make a single stroke. I guess it was also fueled by the silence of the house, which I hated. Even though Marcus, my stepfather, had been gone for three days on a business trip to Chicago, his presence still saturated every corner of the estate and his lingering scent here was messing with my mind. I closed my eyes and tried to focus on the landscape I was supposed to be finishing. Instead, my mind conjured the sharp line of his jaw and the way his brow furrowed when he looked at my work. I was haunted. Suddenly, the sound of the door opening made my heart skip as I knew exactly who was back. He was home early today. I didn't turn around when I heard his footsteps approach the studio. I couldn't. I needed a moment to rearrange my features into the cold mask I had learned to wear as the years rolled by and our attraction grew deeper. When he entered the studio, my back straightened. "You’re working late, Vaelora." His voice was deep and exactly how I last remembered it. When I finally dared to turn around, I gripped the palette so hard the wood dug into my palm. Marcus stepped into the room, looking breathtakingly handsome as usual even when he didn’t need to try. He had shed his suit jacket, leaving him in a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The fabric strained against his broad shoulders and the top two buttons were undone, revealing his hard chest. He looked exhausted with faint dark circles under his piercing eyes, yet he still radiated an aura of absolute authority. Ever since my mom eloped with her lover when I was just ten, Marcus had taken absolute care of me like his own daughter, so where were these feelings coming from? "I didn't expect you back until tomorrow," I said, my voice sounding breathless to my own ears. "The meetings ended sooner than anticipated," he replied as he strolled more into the room and took a look around, trying to make sure everything was fine. The air between us charged instantly as he drew even closer to me. It was an invisible current, a tension we had spent years pretending didn't exist. It was there in the way his gaze lingered a second too long on my paint-stained collarbone and the way I found myself leaning unconsciously toward his warmth. "How was Chicago?" I asked, turning back to my painting to hide the flush creeping up my neck. "Productive and loud," he muttered with a tired sigh. He walked closer, stopping just behind me and I could feel the heat radiating from his body. "What are you working on? You haven't moved that brush in five minutes." "Just a study of light," I lied, quickly reaching for a charcoal sketchpad that lay open on the stool beside me. I tried to flip it closed but I wasn't fast enough because Marcus was already there. He noticed the movement, his eyes narrowing as he spotted the edge of a drawing I hadn't intended for anyone to see. It was a raw sketch of a woman’s face, tilted back in a look of pure, flirty defiance that tied back to me in some sort of way. "That doesn't look like a study of light," Marcus said softly. He reached for the pad and my breath got stuck in my throat. I held my breath as my heart hammered hard against my chest. We usually maintained a respectful distance of at least three feet every time but tonight, he was getting closer than we have ever been in a long time. "It’s nothing. Just a messy draft," I stammered, my fingers trembling slightly as I tried to pull it away as his cologne filled my senses. "Let me see, Vae." The use of the nickname made my knees weak and before I could protest again, he stepped into my personal space and reached past me to steady the sketchpad. In the process, his hand brushed firmly against my shoulder. The contact was nothing like I had ever experienced or imagined. A physical jolt shot through me, causing my breath to come out in a jagged gasp. I felt him stiffen instantly but his fingers didn't pull away. Instead, they lingered, causing the heat of his palm to seep through my shirt. I was so lost in the feeling that for a moment, my eyes fluttered shut and my imagination ran wild. Catching myself, I quickly opened my eyes but his eyes were already boring deep into mine. His eyes held a hunger that mirrored my own and suddenly, the whole room seemed to melt away. His gaze dropped to my lips as the moment grew so intense I almost dropped my brush. But then, the moment was ruined as he quickly pulled away as if I had stung him. Marcus stepped back and I watched as his expression snapped back into a cold look. He acted like nothing had happened but with the heave of his chest, I knew he was affected as well. "Your painting is… nice," he said, his voice sounding strained. "But you should get some sleep because you’re overworking yourself." He didn’t wait for a response. He turned and took long strides out of the studio like he couldn’t risk being around me anymore. I remained frozen as my heart hammered against my chest and my cheeks reddened as I realized what had just happened. These feelings were exciting but there was no way something good was going to come out of it. Marcus knew this too, hence the respected distance. As my phone buzzed with a text, I quickly forced a smile to my face and picked up my phone.