SEDUCING MY BESTFRIEND'S DADDY

Chapter 8

The aftermath of the morning’s events left the Vargas estate feeling like a powder keg. Alejandro had retreated into his suite, the heavy mahogany door a silent barrier that signaled his utter withdrawal. For the rest of the day, he was a ghost in his own home. He skipped lunch, sent the housekeeper away when she offered tea, and refused to acknowledge the presence of anyone—especially Emily.

By the time evening rolled around, the air had cooled, but the tension had only thickened.

Alejandro finally emerged for dinner, but he was not the man Emily had touched under the table. He was the Director again, wrapped in a black turtleneck and tailored trousers, his expression so frigid it felt like he had brought the Chicago winter into the dining room. He sat at the head of the long table, a stack of documents to his left and his phone to his right.

"Sofia," Alejandro said, his voice clipped and professional. "I’ve been reviewing your summer schedule. I think it’s time you took your internship at the firm more seriously. Starting tomorrow, you’ll be coming into the office with me at 7:00 AM."

Sofia blinked, her fork midway to her mouth. "What? Dad, I thought we agreed I’d start in July. I wanted to spend June with Emily."

"Plans change," Alejandro snapped, finally cutting his steak with a precision that was borderline aggressive. "And as for you, Emily."

He looked at her then. It was the first time their eyes had met since the bedroom incident. His gaze was like a slate of gray ice, devoid of the lust she had seen earlier. He was trying to re-establish the boundary, to bury her under the weight of his authority.

"I’ve spoken to your father," Alejandro continued, his voice devoid of warmth. "We agree that you’ve been given a bit too much freedom this summer. While you are under my roof, I expect you to adhere to a strict 10:00 PM curfew. No late-night 'library visits.' No wandering the halls. If you cannot follow these rules, I will personally drive you back to your parents' house."

The silence that followed was deafening. Sofia looked between them, her mouth hanging open. "Dad! She’s a guest! You’re acting like a drill sergeant."

"I am acting like the adult in this house," Alejandro growled, his eyes never leaving Emily’s. He was challenging her, daring her to speak, trying to use fear to regain the control he had lost.

Emily didn't flinch. She felt the sting of his words, but she also felt the underlying desperation in them. This was a man drowning, trying to build a wall of rules to keep the water out.

"I understand, Alejandro," Emily said softly, her voice smooth and deferential. "I wouldn't want to be a distraction. I’ll make sure to stay in my room. Unless, of course, you need me for something... official."

Alejandro’s jaw tightened so hard a muscle pulsed in his cheek. He looked down at his plate, the "Director" mask cracking just enough for Emily to see the raw, unadulterated frustration beneath. He was trying to punish her, but he was only punishing himself.

The house went dark early that night, the curfew enforced by a heavy silence. Emily sat in her room, the clock ticking toward midnight. She knew he was awake. She could feel the vibration of his presence in the wing across the hall.

She rose from her bed, but she didn't reach for the white lace nightgown. Instead, she chose something far more subtle: an oversized, thin gray t-shirt of Sofia’s that she had borrowed. It was soft, worn, and when the light hit it just right, it was completely transparent. She didn't wear anything underneath.

She stepped out into the hallway. The 10:00 PM curfew had passed long ago.

She walked toward the master wing, her bare feet silent on the floorboards. She didn't go to the library this time. She went to the gym—the one Sofia mentioned he had been using at 5:00 AM to burn off his "stress."

She heard the rhythmic 'thump-thump-thump' of a heavy bag before she reached the door.

Emily pushed the door open. The gym was lit only by the moon and the dim blue light of the equipment monitors. Alejandro was there, shirtless, his skin slick with sweat that shimmered like oil. He was punishing the heavy bag, his fists wrapped in white tape, each blow landing with a sound like a gunshot.

He didn't stop when she entered. He hit the bag harder, his breathing a series of ragged, animalistic growls.

"The curfew is for the house, Alejandro," Emily said, leaning against the doorframe. "I didn't realize the gym was off-limits, too."

Alejandro landed one final, devastating hook that sent the bag swinging wildly. He leaned his forehead against the leather, his chest heaving, steam literally rising from his shoulders.

"Get. Out," he croaked, not turning around.

"You're working so hard to stay away from me," Emily said, stepping into the room. The blue light caught the thin fabric of her shirt, outlining the dark circles of her n*pples and the curve of her hips. "Does it work? Does hitting a bag make you forget what I feel like?"

Alejandro turned around, his eyes wild and bloodshot. He looked at her, his gaze dropping to the sheer fabric of her shirt, and the "Director" died right then and there. The mask shattered into a thousand pieces.

"I told you," he whispered, his voice trembling with a terrifying intensity. "I told you I would ruin you."

"Then do it," Emily challenged, walking right into his personal space. She could feel the heat radiating off his body, the smell of salt and raw effort. "Stop hitting the bag and hit me. Touch me. Ruin me. Just stop pretending you don't want to."

Alejandro grabbed her, his hands—still wrapped in the rough white tape—clamping onto her waist with a force that made her gasp. He lifted her off her feet, slamming her back against the padded wall of the gym.

"You think this is a game?" he hissed, his face inches from hers. "You think you can just walk in here and play with a man who is trying to save your soul from himself?"

"I don't want my soul saved," she breathed, her legs wrapping around his waist, pulling his sweating, hard body flush against her. "I want you to take it."

Alejandro let out a sound of pure, unbridled agony. He didn't kiss her. He bit her lip, his tongue demanding entry as he claimed her mouth with a ferocity that was almost violent. His hands roamed over her, the rough tape of his wraps scratching against the thin fabric of her shirt, creating a friction that made Emily’s blood boil.

He was no longer the father. He was no longer the friend. He was a man who had finally stopped fighting the inevitable.

"Fine," Alejandro growled against her skin, his hands sliding under the hem of her shirt. "You want to be ruined? I’ll make sure you never forget the day you met me."