SEDUCING MY BESTFRIEND'S DADDY

Chapter 5

The engine of Alejandro’s vintage Porsche 911 snarled as he tore through the streets of the Gold Coast, the sound echoing off the high-rise buildings like a predatory growl. Inside the cabin, the silence was suffocating, thick with the scent of Emily’s jasmine perfume and the lingering, metallic taste of the kiss they had shared on the balcony.

Emily watched his profile in the flickering glow of the streetlights. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel, his jaw set so hard it looked carved from granite. He wasn't looking at her; he was looking through the windshield, his eyes fixed on a point somewhere in the distance as if he were trying to outrun his own shadow.

He didn't drive back toward the suburban safety of the Vargas estate. Instead, he pulled into the underground parking garage of a sleek, black-glass skyscraper overlooking Lake Michigan.

"Where are we?" Emily asked, her voice barely a whisper.

"The penthouse," Alejandro rasped, his voice sounding like it had been dragged over gravel. "I use it for international clients. Sofia has never been here. Your parents don't know it exists. It’s the only place in this city where I don’t have to be a 'Director' or a 'Father.'"

He killed the engine. The sudden silence was louder than the roar had been. He didn't move to open her door. He just sat there, staring straight ahead.

"Emily," he said, his voice dropping to a low, pained vibration. "If we go up there, there is no turning back. I will have failed every man I promised to be. I will have failed Sofia. I will have failed your father."

"You aren't failing anyone by being human, Alejandro," she said, reaching across the center console. She let her fingers trail over the back of his hand. He flinched at the contact, a sharp, jagged movement, but he didn't pull away.

"I am forty years old," he growled, finally turning to look at her. The shadows of the garage made his eyes look like hollow pits of fire. "I have a daughter who is your best friend. I have a legacy. And right now, I would burn it all to the ground just to feel you against me again. Does that sound like a 'human' to you? Or does it sound like a man who has lost his mind?"

"It sounds like a man who has been starving," Emily countered. She leaned in, the midnight blue sequins of her dress rustling in the quiet car. "And I’m the only one who can feed you."

Alejandro let out a jagged breath, a sound of total, crushing surrender. He stepped out of the car, his movements stiff, and rounded the hood to open her door. He didn't lead her to the elevator; he practically hauled her toward it, his grip on her hand possessive and desperate.

The elevator rose in a blur of silent, pressurized speed. When the doors slid open to the 50th floor, the penthouse was a cathedral of glass and shadow. The city of Chicago sprawled out below them, a carpet of shimmering lights that looked insignificant from this height.

Alejandro didn't turn on the lights. The moonlight reflected off the lake, casting a cold, blue glow over the minimalist furniture and the vast, open space. He threw his tuxedo jacket onto a leather sofa and turned to face her.

"Look at me," he commanded.

Emily stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, the skyline behind her. She looked like a siren born of the city lights.

"I am looking," she said.

"This is the last time I ask," Alejandro said, his voice trembling with a restraint that was visibly fraying. He stood ten feet away, a wall of muscle and suppressed hunger. "Go. Take a car. Go back to the house. I will tell Sofia you felt ill and I dropped you off. We can pretend that kiss never happened. We can go back to the way things were."

"You're lying to yourself again," Emily said, taking a slow, predatory step toward him. "You’ve been thinking about this since the moment I walked back into your house. You’ve been thinking about it every time you see me in the hallway, every time I sit next to you at dinner. You can’t go back, Alejandro. You’ve already crossed the line in your head. Why not cross it for real?"

Alejandro let out a sound—a half-laugh, half-sob of defeat. He closed the distance between them in two strides. His hands found her waist, his fingers digging into the silk of her dress.

"God help me," he whispered, and then his mouth was on hers.

This wasn't the kiss from the balcony. That had been an explosion; this was a siege. He backed her up until her spine hit the cool glass of the window, his body pinning her there. He tasted of the Scotch he’d downed at the bar and the raw, untamed desire he’d been choking back for three years.

His hands were everywhere—mapping the curve of her hips, the bare skin of her back, the frantic pulse at her throat. He was a man possessed, a man trying to memorize her through touch alone.

"Emily," he groaned against her neck, his breath searing her skin. "You have no idea... you have no idea what you’ve done to me."

"I know," she gasped, her head falling back as his lips found the sensitive cord of her neck. "I know because I feel the same way."

He pulled back for a second, his eyes searching hers, his face a mask of beautiful, tortured intensity. He looked at her not as Sofia’s friend, but as a woman who had brought him back to life.

"I should be better than this," he whispered, his thumb brushing over her lower lip, which was swollen and red from his kiss. "I should be the man who protects you from people like me."

"I don't want protection," she said, her voice steady and clear. She reached for the buttons of his white dress shirt, her fingers moving with a confidence that made his breath hitch. "I want you."

One by one, the buttons gave way. She pushed the fabric aside, exposing the broad, muscled planes of his chest. He was older, yes, but he was powerful—a man built of iron and refined by age. She leaned in, pressing her lips to the center of his chest, feeling the frantic, heavy thud of his heart.

Alejandro’s resolve snapped like a dry twig. He swept her up into his arms, her sequins catching the moonlight as he carried her toward the master suite.

The bedroom was a sanctuary of navy blue and dark wood. He laid her down on the king-sized bed, the silk sheets cool against her skin. He stood over her for a moment, silhouetted against the city lights, unbuckling his belt and discarding the rest of his tuxedo.

When he joined her on the bed, the weight of him was a comfort and a threat all at once. He was heavy, warm, and utterly overwhelming. He kissed her again, his hands tangled in her dark hair, pulling her closer until there was no air left between them.

"If this comes out," Alejandro whispered between kisses, "it will destroy everything. You know that, don't you?"

"Then let it burn," Emily replied, her arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him down. "We’ll be the only ones left standing in the ashes."

The hours that followed were a blur of shadows and skin. In the darkness of the penthouse, the world outside—Sofia, the Gala, the expectations of society—ceased to exist. There was only the heat of Alejandro’s touch and the realization that Emily had finally achieved the impossible.

She had broken the titan. She had brought the Great Alejandro Vargas to his knees.

But as the first hints of grey light began to creep over the lake, the reality of what they had done began to settle like ash. Alejandro was sitting on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands, his back a map of tension and regret.

Emily reached out, her hand resting on the small of his back. "Alejandro?"

He didn't turn around. "You need to get dressed," he said, his voice cold and distant once again. "The sun is coming up. Sofia will be wondering why we aren't back."

"Alejandro, don't do this. Don't pull away now."

He stood up, grabbing his trousers from the floor. "I’m not pulling away, Emily. I’m waking up. What happened here... it can never happen again. We have to find a way to forget this night ever existed."

Emily sat up, the silk sheet clutched to her chest. A cold knot of anger formed in her stomach. "You really think you can forget? After this?"

He turned to look at her then, and for the first time, she saw the "Director" back in his eyes. But behind the mask, there was a lingering trace of the man she had seen in the dark—a man who was now terrified of his own shadow.

"I have to," he said. "For Sofia’s sake. For yours."

He walked out of the room, leaving her alone in the glass sanctuary. Emily looked out at the city, the skyscrapers rising like tombstones in the morning light. He thought he could end it here. He thought this was the finale.

He was wrong.

According to her plan, this was only the beginning. She had her way to make him fall completely, and if he thought a single night in a penthouse was enough to satisfy the hunger she had awakened, he was gravely mistaken.

She began to dress, her movements slow and deliberate. She would play his game. She would be the dutiful guest. She would be the perfect "best friend." But she would make sure that every time he looked at her, he would taste the Scotch, feel the silk, and remember exactly how it felt to lose his soul in the dark.

The hunt wasn't over. It had just become much more interesting.