Page 3 of Daddy's Rules

“I’m getting changed here,” I say, stepping away from the woman who once locked me in a closet and told my father I’d gone home so he’d still take her to the opening of one of his films. Little did she know he would have taken her anyway—hot women always trumped illegitimate daughter. The only reason I put in the effort of looking nice was because my father absolutely hated when I made the worst dressed list or the cover of the tabloids looking like ‘riff-raff.’ It made him look bad and he’d cut communication completely for weeks after. Not even his staff would be allowed to speak to me.

I quickly slip past the stepmothers and head to my childhood bedroom where I’d put my clothes. At first, I hear Owen follow me, but Denzi stops him. A stab of jealousy hits when I hear Denzi’s voice, like a smoky confection, attempting to lure him from me. She has always looked at Owen with predatory lust. Even across the dining room table when he stayed for meals. Once I spilled my wine on her ‘accidentally’ to stop her before my father noticed.

I roll my eyes and jog up the steps. In my childhood bedroom, I look fondly at the stuffed animals on my bed, the pink duvet, and the shelves full of animal documentary DVDs and books. It was my temporary haven when I visited my father—the one place I could be completely myself, decorated by his assistant who knew me better than he did. The only people that ever set foot in here were the maids, the nannies (when I was young), and me. Therefore, in this room, there was no judgment, no one pushing me to take another role in a movie or sitcom, no cameras, and no reporters. Though I’m grown now, I still remember my childhood room with fondness. And more than anything in this moment I want to dive under my duvet and lose myself in a dreamless sleep until everything is over.

When I’m dressed and giving myself one final look over in the mirror, Owen knocks.

“Can I come in, Jordy?”

My heart pounds. He hasn’t called me that in years.

“Come in.” I gather my breath, straighten my dress, and try to ignore the excitement dancing inside me from him being so near me in the room. I glance at him through my mirror and the room shrinks as his eyes find mine. Heat spreads through me as his intense stare ignites my core. Sometimes I imagine I see something feral and needy in his gaze too.

He looks at me appreciatively. “You look just as you should. Like yourself. No pretense.”

I nod, but don’t speak. Smoothing my simple black wrap dress, I watch him sit on my bed, tugging his suit pant legs up. I lick my lips, squelching the mental fantasy I’ve indulged in way too much. God, I have to rein in my imagination. In my mind’s eye I envision straddling him and kissing his mouth. Heat turns to a deeper burn inside me. I want to be his. I want his stern, commanding voice telling me what to do.

On your knees. Unbuckle my belt. Suck me hard, Jordan.

And I want to obey his every word and earn the pleasure he’ll give as a reward.

Hands on your head. Spread your legs. Come for me, Jordan.

Owen clears his throat and I blink the sexy imagery away, my cheeks heating in embarrassment.

“Your father changed his will a few days before he died, Jordan. It was a significant change.” His eyes are steady on mine; the imaginary fire I sometimes see isn’t there. The seriousness in his expression makes my gut sink. He rubs his smooth chin, his eyes tight as he continues. “I disagreed with his decision, but only because he should have done it when he was alive.” He looks at me sternly, and the breath whooshes out of my lungs when his voice sharpens. “He spoiled you with material things, and now he’s left you to deal without any guidance.” He touches my chin. “You needed attention, Jordan. And love. Not to be handed credit cards with unlimited funds to make up for his inattentiveness.”

I swallow, nodding, his seriousness about the will sinking in. “What exactly do you mean he changed his will?” Panic is rising in my chest. I feel dizzy and breathless. “Did he cut me off? Is he giving everything to her?” I can’t bear the thought. I pace the room, my grief making me crazy. How could he? I’m his blood and Denzi never loved him, but she sure as hell got more attention from him than I ever did. I grind my teeth and grab a crystal bear from my dresser before I whip it across the room. It shatters into shards and tinkles as it lands on the hardwood floor.

I grab another figurine, intent on destruction to rid myself of the ache in my heart, but before I can throw it, Owen’s next to me. He grabs my wrists and stops me.

“Jordan, enough!” His sharp tone and firm grip effectively end my tantrum. My pulse pounds beneath his palms.

God, Owen, just spank me and end the angst that burns in me. The hurricane of thoughts, the volcanic eruption of fears and plague of anxieties... quiet it all.

He removes the trinket from my hand and sets it back on the dresser. My heart thuds faster in my chest at the stern warning in his voice as he continues. “He didn’t cut you off. There are just some conditions to your inheritance.” He pulls me against his sturdy chest and wraps his hand in my hair, holding my head against him. Even in my grief and distress, my body responds to his touch. It’s more intimate than ever before. I can’t think. I can’t breathe. I’ve always wanted to be held like this by him, and I can’t help but close my eyes and wish this would last forever.

“Do you understand me?” The stern, corrective tone of his voice makes need thrum through my body. I nod against him. “He was a self-absorbed man, Jordan. But I know he loved you. He just showed his love by giving you things. But in doing so took away your ability to make your own way. He was trying to right his wrongs before he died.” His hand smooths my hair and I release a breath, cherishing the feel of our chests pressed together and his gentle caresses.

The neglected insecure little girl craving care in me battles with the sexual being inside that wants him like only a woman can.

“He should have given you more attention and less material things, sweetheart. That’s what you needed from him.”

Shock makes me eyes burst open and body jerk back. My mind’s suddenly focused on one of his sentences.

He was trying to right his wrongs before he died?

“Wait. What?” My hand flies to my mouth. “Did he know he was going to die?” The high pitch of my voice isn’t muffled by my hand. I stumble back but he catches me, spins us and sits on the bed, pulling me onto his lap. I’m sitting on Owen’s lap. God. I can feel his firm thighs beneath my legs, and my body quivers in response, but then my mind snaps back.

“Owen?”

“He indulged himself as much as he did you.” Owen’s finger traces my cheek. “He was also a workaholic. Not a good combo. He knew his heart was bad. They told him it was a ticking time bomb if he didn’t get bypass surgery.”

“And why the hell didn’t he get the surgery?” I yell, trying to stand, fury boiling my blood, but he holds me tighter. “How could he do this!” Tears wet my cheeks but they’re not sorrowful, they’re angry. “How could he leave me?”

But my mind answers my question before I can hear Owen’s.

He couldn’t leave you if he was never really there.

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