Page 9 of One Week With My Dad's Best Friend

“You’re up early.” His gruff voice makes me jump.

I turn to him. My eyes bulge as I try to withhold a squeak as Anton walks in. He is only wearing fitted boxer shorts that leavenothing to the imagination, and a thin dressing gown which is not, but really should be, tied at the waist.

When he's in a suit, everything about him radiates power and dominance. But now he is almost naked, and I feel dominated in a different way.

Suit or not, the power rolls off him.

He’s a big man. He towers over my father, who stands at six feet on the dot. But unlike my father, Anton is big all over—all over.

I swallow.

I need to stop looking right away.

His thighs are large and firm. Taut, defined muscles cover his stomach, and he has a delicious V that ends underneath the boxer shorts I’m staring at—and can’t stop.

Stop staring at him.

My gaze quickly rises, as does the heat on my face.

“Where are you going?” he asks, like my staring is normal in his world.

“I’m meeting Hetty.”

“You haven’t had breakfast.” His voice hits me in places it shouldn’t and sometimes, days like today, for instance, I find it easier when he is his usual brooding dark self.

Everything about Anton is dark. From his dark hair to his mood, even today his deep blue eyes are darker than normal.

And I can only wonder who hurt him.

Was it his ex-wife?

I swallow back saliva to wet my overly dry throat. “I’ll have some at college.”

“This early?” His eyes travel down my body. The gaze is slow and deliberate.

I blurt, “I’m going to the gym.”

He is making me feel off balance. It’s probably not him, because I have the worst time with any men that aren’t friends.As soon as one decides they want to move into the boyfriend zone, I’m stuffed and silent like a teddy bear. Anton is not boyfriend material, so why does he make me feel like this?

He steps closer, and I look up into his heavy-lidded eyes. He tucks a loose piece of my hair behind my ear. The touch is strangely intimate. “You’re already perfect.”

“I wish,” I say, glancing at the clock on the wall. Ten minutes and I’m supposed to meet Hetty.

I need to get moving and grab my backpack and my phone from the stool.

His nostrils flare, his chest rises too quickly.

“What would you like for dinner?” he asks and my mouth is open wide as I stare at him.

“You don’t have to cook for me. I was given a food allowance, so I don’t bother you.”

“And I’ve already told you that you won’t be bothering me.” His voice is gruff and his eyes now seem fiery, as though my words have annoyed him.

“Honestly, it’s fine, I’m meeting some friends tonight and…” I think about Hetty and her telling me to make him jealous and add, “And as it’s Friday, we are going drinking afterwards.”

“You’re not going drinking while you stay with me,” he growls.

“I had a glass of wine last night.”

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