Page 12 of Silver Foxed

“Thanks for doing that. I appreciate it.”

“It was no trouble.”

She moves toward the island where our wine glasses sit almost empty. “Do you have a preference for our next bottle?”

I set my now perfectly folded dish towel on the counter near the sink, making sure it’s evenly lined up with the straight edge of the basin before turning back to her. She clearly saw what I’d done, and she’s smiling wider because of it but doesn’t say anything.

“I should probably call it a night,” I say, knowing that if I drink more wine with her, I’ll end up forgetting that I shouldn’t want my friend and boss’s daughter. But when her face falls at my words, I can’t help but think that allowing myself to be interested in her and not judging myself for it could really be a good thing.

“It’s still fairly early,” she says, looking at the microwave’s digital clock. “Unless your bedtime is nine pm?” When she finishes her sentence, the tease in her voice is evident. She traps her plump lower lip between her bottom teeth and grins at me.

Maybe Alex is the devil in disguise, here to test my resolve.

“I’m not that ancient,” I say, unable to stop myself from grinning back at her. “I simply don’t want to intrude on any more of your evening.” That last part is a white lie. I most certainly do want to intrude on her evening. I also want to intrude on certain parts of her. Certain parts I couldn’t help but imagine while I masturbated in the shower earlier, like that lovely ass of hers.

“Oh, hush.” She takes a step toward me. “You know you’re not. I enjoy your company.”

“I enjoy yours as well,” I admit.

She sighs a breath of relief that sits like a warm drink in my belly. “Then don’t go to bed. I was thinking of using the hot tub, and you could join me. My parents installed a brand-new one with lots of powerful jets. It will help you relax, Mr. Serious.”

I chuff, failing to keep images of Alex in a bathing suit out of my mind. “I am relaxed.”

Her hand comes up, and like at the dinner table, she smooths the pinched skin of my brow. “Whatever you say, Mr. Serious. But honestly, you have to enjoy a soak before you leave.”

One corner of my mouth lifts as she pulls her hand away. “If you insist.”

“I do.”

I exhale a resigned but amused breath. “Alright, then. I’ll join you.”

She does the little excited bounce she likes to do, making the tops of her generous breasts jiggle. My cock stirs to life, and I’m hit with the realization I agreed to be in a hot tub with the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. The one I am trying not to be attracted to. God, I’m such an idiot.

“I’ve already got my suit on under my dress,” she says.

My eyes drag down her sundress-clad body like I have X-ray vision. When I meet her green gaze again, instead of blushing or trying to act like I didn’t look, I hold eye contact and own what I just did. I think I can at least be an adult and stop pretending like I don’t find her good-looking. There’s no harm in that, right?

“Why don’t you go change and I’ll get the hot tub ready?” Her own gaze peruses my body now, as if me ogling her gives her permission to openly do the same to me. Which, in fairness, it does. And I can’t say I mind it.

“Sounds good.”

She walks past me, our arms brushing as she slips by. The brief sensation sends a shiver up my spine. When I turn to watch her go, she’s glancing over her shoulder at me with that devilish grin on her face. “See you out there, Mr. Serious.”

When she’s out of sight, I turn to the island and adjust myself for what seems like the millionth time in the last few hours. Then I grab my wine off the counter and down the remaining liquid in one gulp. This may be the second-dumbest idea I’ve had today, the first of which was to stay overnight.

Though the raw excitement in my gut feels as if it’s trying to tell me otherwise; that maybe, just maybe, this could be a smart decision.

Well, a fun and memorable—albeit stupid—one, anyway.

Chapter seven

Alex

As the cool night air caresses my skin making goosebumps erupt along my arms, I carefully place two fresh glasses of wine on the smooth surface surrounding the sunken hot tub.

I make sure I space them near each other in hopes that Elijah will sit next to me. Is it a cheap move? Yes. But I want to see what he will do. I want to know if what I felt during our dinner together is real or if I’m making it up in my head because I want him to like me. Because I want him to show me what I think I already know: that he’s interested in me.

After the way he looked at me in the kitchen just now—and his over-gentlemanly and sweet actions since we’ve met—I think he is. I’m sure it’s weird for him that I’m his friend’s daughter. But again, like our age difference, I don’t see a problem with it. It’s not like I’d met Elijah before this. If anything, the fact he’s friends with my dad gives me a little bit of hope, because then maybe he’d like someone I dated.

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