Page 8 of Off Limits

IT’S NICE TO have Danica in the house again, although it keeps catching me off guard. I’ve gotten used to living alone, especially in this new house, where there are no memories of Melanie and Danica. Catching Danica’s red head as she prepares a snack in the kitchen or sprawls out on the couch keeps giving me visions of Melanie. For half a second she’s my wife before I realize she’s my daughter. Grown up and filled out. Although she’ll always be my little girl, she’s become a woman in so many ways in the past year.

I find myself noticing Danica’s figure, or breathing in her scent when she’s near me. She smells like vanilla and coconut, like a sweet confection. With her pale white skin, crystal blue eyes and bright fiery hair, she looks like one, too. Something delicate and rich, like spun sugar.

My eyes wander to the fine bones of her wrists, or the long stretch of her neck, or the surprisingly full globes of her breasts, and I have to blink and look away, catching myself with shame.

She may look like Melanie, but she’s not Melanie. Where Melanie can be cruel, jaded, and selfish, Danica is bright, energetic, and kind. There’s a lighter energy to the house with her in it, and I realize how much I missed her loud, sudden laugh, or the way it feels between us when we share a special moment. The way she looks at me like my approval is the only thing that matters to her in the world, the way we can smile at each other without saying a word and we each know it’s love.

By the time Friday rolls around, I know it will do me good to get out of the house and break this new awareness of Danica that’s verging on a fixation. When we get home from school, I prepare Dani’s dinner, shower and get dressed, and I’m almost out the door when she casually lets me know that Kye is coming over to watch a movie.

I freeze in place and turn around to face her, slowly. “Excuse me?”

She bats wide blue eyes at me, looking confused. “Is that a problem?”

“Yes it’s a problem,” I respond tersely. “You waited until the last minute to tell me this because you know it’s a problem.”

She blinks, a guilty look flashing over her face. “We’re just watching a movie. Nothing’s going to happen.”

“Dani.” I tilt my head at her. She can’t honestly think I believe that.

For a minute, I consider cancelling the date I have this evening. I just don’t trust this kid, Kye. As I debate my options, I stand there staring at Danica, working my jaw as I think.

Dani has her beautiful hair down, flowing in curls over her shoulders and down her back. She’s wearing a tight white tank top that sets off the flawless porcelain of her skin and clings to the round curves of her breasts, which are full in proportion to her stick-thin frame. She’s gorgeous. At eighteen, I would have devoured her alive. There’s no chance Kye is going to keep his hands off of her.

My pulse flutters as I run my eyes down her neck and over her curves, and I’m ashamed to feel my own blood heat up.

I should go out. It will do me good. I can’t watch Danica every minute, trying to protect her virginity. She’s practically an adult.

“I don’t want him coming over, and that’s final,” I say with authority, glaring down my nose at her. I hate that so many of our interactions have been this way since she got here—me the domineering father, her the bratty kid. But after a year with only Melanie to supervise her, she’s gotten more used to getting her way. It’s natural that we would struggle to re-establish healthy boundaries.

“Dad, c’mon,” she protests. Two angry red spots bloom on her cheeks.

“If I find out that kid has so much as stepped foot on this property,” I growl, “you’re grounded.” I march through the foyer and out the door before she can try another plea.

I’m tense as I arrive at the restaurant to meet Cynthia, the new Junior Architect at my firm, but my shoulders drop a little when I spot her at a table across the room, waving to me.

Cynthia is young, maybe thirty at the most, and extremely hot. I know it’s not wise to date someone from work, but agreeing to take Cynthia out for dinner ended up being the path of least resistance. She made her interest in me very clear only days after starting her new job. It hasn’t been unusual in my professional life for junior women to flirt with me, women with fantasies about fucking the boss, and I usually manage it professionally and courteously, but there’s something kind of naughty about Cynthia that intrigues me. Even as I approach the table, the way she watches me seductively, boldly holding my gaze with her feline, almond-shaped eyes, holds the promise of excitement. I find myself looking forward to this date more than I have looked forward to any date for a while now.

We start with martinis and apps. Cynthia drinks quickly, I notice, and barely touches the food. We talk about her career and education, and I learn that she’s twenty-six, born to immigrant parents, and did some modelling before her parents insisted she quit to focus on school.

“How about you?” she asks. “Marriage? Kids? Thwarted life dreams?”

I smile at her joke. “Uh, separated, for a year now. So I guess my marriage was a thwarted dream. One kid. Danica. She’s with me full-time right now while her mother…I don’t know…is off finding herself, I guess.”

“Oh!” Cynthia’s eyes widen with interest. “A kid, eh? So you’re Daddy.” She says it coquettishly, swirling the toothpick of olives around in her glass, and it gives me an odd rush. Heat rises to my cheeks. “How old is Danica?”

Not old enough, I think, images of Kye flashing in my mind. So help me God, he better not be at my house.

“Seventeen,” I answer. “She’ll be eighteen next week.”

“Ooh, eighteen. Legal. Daddy’s going to have his hands full.”

It’s the most inappropriate thing to say about someone’s daughter, yet it elicits a hot, throbbing arousal in me. Maybe it’s the way she says it, her cat’s eyes narrowing, the slow, suggestive smile creeping over her face. She runs a hand over her sleek, black hair, tucking it behind her shoulder and revealing the smooth skin of her cleavage.

She’s wearing a loose, low-cut red dress that only brushes over her breasts. They’re small but perky and it looks like she has no bra on. With sudden certainty, I know I’m going to fuck her tonight. I’m half desperate and I need it. I smile, and signal to the waiter for another round of drinks.

After dinner, we walk through the parking lot to my car and I offer to drive Cynthia home.

She looks disappointed. “I’d like that, thanks, but…I thought maybe we could go to your house.”

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