Page 6 of One Week With My Dad's Best Friend

I take a mouthful of food as I steal a glance at her. Seeing the way her hair falls forward when she bends over her food, how her lips curve into a smile when she catches me looking.

When the meal ends, I can’t decide if I’m delighted or disappointed, but I think it’s the latter.

She stands, gathering our plates. “Let me help you clean up.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to.”

Her hip bumps mine as she rinses off the plates and loads the dishwasher. We work in silence, but the air between us crackles with tension.

I can’t do this. Can’t act on these feelings. Her father trusts me. She’s nineteen, for God’s sake. But watching her reach up to put away a wine glass, the stretch of her body...

“I should get some sleep.” She touches my arm lightly. “Thank you for dinner. And...everything else.”

I nod stiffly, not trusting myself to speak.

She pauses at the kitchen doorway. “Goodnight, Anton.”

“Goodnight, Scarlett.” The words come out rougher than intended.

I climb the stairs, my footsteps heavy on the wooden treads as the day catches up with me. But I know it’s not working. It’s the tension, the wine, the constant awareness of her presence.

A shower and sleep sound perfect right now.

The bathroom door opens. Scarlett steps out in tiny silk shorts and a matching camisole that leaves little to imagination. The fabric clings to curves I shouldn’t notice, shouldn’t appreciate, but I do, and my body betrays me with an immediate response.

I avert my eyes, but not before glimpsing long legs and the hint of cleavage.She’s your best friend’s daughter,I remind myself. The thought doesn’t help as much as it should.

“The water pressure is amazing,” she says, running fingers through damp hair that curls against her neck.

I grunt a response, not trusting my voice. The hallway feels too narrow, the air too thick.

She pads toward her room, bare feet silent on the lush carpet. At her door, she pauses, turns back to face me. The dim light catches the sheen of her lips as she bites the lower one.

“I’ll be quiet as a mouse while I’m here.” She lifts her hand to her mouth and pretends to lock it with a zipper.

My hands clench at my sides. “I’ve already told you that my home is your home, Scarlett.”

The words hang between us, loaded with meaning that I shouldn’t acknowledge. She lingers for a moment longer, those blue eyes searching my face before she slips into her room.

I wait until I hear her bedroom door click before letting out a shaky breath.

This week is going to be hell.

Chapter 3

Scarlett

“Hello,” I grumble the next morning, as I answer my mobile phone. My alarm hasn’t gone off yet, and I curse my friend as I see her name on the screen.

“Hey Scarlett, how are you getting on with your secret crush?”

I glance at the time and drop my head on the pillow. “It’s six thirty, Hetty. What are you doing?”

“I want the tea.”

“There is none.”

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