Page 11 of One Night Seduction

Don’t worry, I berated myself up, down, and sideways when I realized the woman I was lusting over was none other than my ex-wife’s daughter. My ex-stepdaughter, I suppose. Arianna was fifteen when I met Kelly, so it’s not like I raised her or anything.

Still, I know her well enough to know that I’m going to fucking burn in hell for this.

I know her enough to know that she doesn’t like the taste or smell of coffee. I know that she has to eat breakfast in the mornings, or she’ll get sick. I know that she has always had a desire to be a photographer, even if her mother tried to squash those dreams every chance she got. Above all, I know her sparrow tattoo that she came home with during her senior year. Her mom nearly had an aneurysm over it, and they didn’t speak for days.

The horror on Arianna’s face tells me that despite our insanely powerful chemistry, it isn’t enough to wash away what we are to each other, or at least what we were. Still are? Fuck, I don’t know. But she looks ready to bolt now that the mask has quite literally been ripped off.

“L-logan? You…and me…oh my god!” she gasps as her chest begins to heave.

I watch as she looks around frantically, her breathing becoming choppier and shallower. She always used to get the worst panic attacks, and it looks like she’s teetering on the edge of one right now.

Going against my better judgment, I close the distance between us, cupping her face with my hands as I force her eyes to look at me. I push away the silver mask she was wearing,revealing her perfect porcelain skin. Something hits me square in the chest when I look at her without her mask. Like the two versions of her are colliding before me. The Arianna I know, and the Sparrow I met inside this club. Two totally different women, two totally different feelings for each. All of it melding before my eyes. I feel my own heart rate spike as I allow the gravity of our situation to sink in.

Her breathing is still labored, but her eyes are on mine as I slowly brush my thumb over her lower lip. I don’t mean to, but for some reason, I can’t stop myself. The softness of her lips, the full shape, and beautiful color has me mesmerized.

It takes me a moment to realize her breathing has steadied and her body is less tense. Something like pride fills me that I was able to bring her back, even if I didn’t really do anything but touch her.

“How long?” she whispers.

“How long what?” I ask with a small frown.

“How long did you know?”

I roll my lips against each other before answering truthfully.

“Your tattoo.”

Her eyes widen slightly as understanding passes across her face. She still hasn’t pulled away from me, so that’s a good sign, right? Do I want her to pull away from me? The answer should be yes. Hell fucking yes. I should be repulsed, disgusted. I should be begging her to run far and fast, to take her and her alluring body as far from me as possible. She’s twenty-five years younger than me, she’s my ex-wife’s daughter, she’s…Arianna.

It's fucked up, so fucked up, but when I tighten my grip on her face and I feel her press against my touch just slightly, it has something primal in me coming to life. Then, as if she’s been snapped out of this spell between us, she’s gone. Running. Sprinting away from me. She barely has enough time to gatherup her dress before she darts into the elevator, quickly slipping it on before the doors shut, leaving me with a disgusted and almost disappointed look to remember her by as she disappears.

I’m staring at the screen in front of me, but my brain refuses to compute the useless words no matter how hard I try to focus. It’s been two days since I saw Arianna. She ran like hell, and I let her, because what the fuck else was I supposed to do? I had no right to chase after her, to want to. Hell, I had no right to have her in the first place, but I already had. Couldn’t take that back if I wanted.

Not like I would.

Call it what you want, an obsession, a distraction, a sick addiction, it doesn’t matter. I’ve never felt so connected, so fulfilled with anyone in my life, her mother definitely included. It wasn’t just sex, it was everything. It was the way she moved, the way she carried herself, the way she spoke. She’s so beautiful, so flawless, so full of potential. I can’t help but want to test her limits, push her past her breaking point, and show her what it’s like to really live.

Fuck.

No.

I have to let it go, have to let her go. Things inside the club seemed so perfect, so easy. Outside those walls is an entirely different beast. Hence the forbidden appeal.

“Mr. Cunningham, I have Mr. Langford on the phone?” my secretary Debra says through the intercom.

Christ. He’s the last person I want to talk to right now. He’s one of our best clients and is basically keeping this firm afloat with his business alone. I don’t have the patience or focus to deal with his eccentricities today, though.

“I’m out of office,” I say back to her, my typical code for I don’t want to be disturbed.

She doesn’t respond, likely already getting rid of him for at least the day. I dig my fingers into my hair, trying to banish the look of bright blue eyes popping into my head, her slim neck, silky black hair, and flawless skin.

Goddamnit. I’m not hard up for women. I’ve been with plenty before her, and I can get anyone I desire with the snap of my fingers. Whether it’s thanks to my obscenely large bank account, my classical good looks, or my power as Seattle’s top defense attorney, it doesn’t matter.

People are attracted to power, and I’m just as powerful in the bedroom as I am in the courtroom. I know I sound like an arrogant ass, and maybe I am. The problem is that I’m used to getting my way, to getting what I want.

I tap my finger against my desk, my restraint waning before I slam my fist against my desk.

Fuck.

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