Stepdaddy Savage (2 page)

“Are you kidding me? We just got here!” Jade is already flirting with the guys who bought us drinks, swiveling her seat back and forth.

I turn her stool around so she faces me, my eyes finally disconnecting from Graham’s.

“My dad is here,” I growl.

“Your dad? Owen? Isn’t he in jail?” she asks dumbly.

Christ.

“My step-dad,” I clarify, cocking my head upwards, my eyebrows arched.

Her eyes travel up and I don’t need to ask if she saw him, because the minute she does, she exhales loudly like he’d just shoved two fingers into her. I swear she moans a little when she sees him.

I know it’s ridiculous, to run away when I’d clearly been caught sneaking into a club on a Saturday night. I’m a couple weeks shy of turning eighteen, and Graham knows it. We don’t exactly talk too much but he is scary as hell. I don’t wanna know what he’d do when it comes to me. He might be forgiving toward other women who sneak in here before they turn twenty-one, but me…I’m his family.
Sort of.

After a round of quick apologies to the guidos we bumped into, Jade and I are running for the door, hand in hand. I just want to get out of this place. Once out, I’ll get the first taxi back to New Jersey. When, not if, Graham confronts me, I’ll just deny everything. I’m not the first blonde-haired blue-eyed girl who walked into his club in a slutty black number. And it was dark and so freaking loud, there’s no way he recognized me.

Maybe he locked eyes with me because he wanted to tap that.

No. Oh my God, Dahlia, what the hell are you thinking about? Filters! Use them!

We’re just a few steps shy from the door. I can already feel the cool New York night hitting the flushed skin on my face. The air is cold and crisp, waiting for me to cool down from my brief encounter with Graham.

I march straight between the bouncers who’d just let us in…and feel a strong hand grabbing me by the waist. It twists me around effortlessly, and my breath is stuck in my throat. I ball my fists up immediately, thinking it might be the creepy dudes from the bar.

It’s not. It’s my step-dad, and he is looking like my worst nightmare, ready to explode.

He scrunches his devilish brows and his jaw tenses. Shit, his suit. His scent. For the millionth time since my mom and I moved in with him, I’m forced to see how hot he is up-close. I always try to ignore it, but it’s hard when he is so tall, so broad and fucking scary. And it’s becoming harder every day since I turned sixteen and started noticing men in general.

I wonder if he has a girlfriend?
Probably not a good time to think about that, though,
Dahl
.

“Dahlia,” he says simply, but his voice sends shivers down my spine. His tone is so gruff and rough, so dry, I feel like he touches me when he speaks to me. That’s why I always make sure we exchange very few words when he’s around.

I clear my throat and look around.

“I was just leaving,” I state, avoiding eye contact. God, I’m such a pussy. A stupid one at that. Why was I so,
so
sure he wouldn’t be in Williamsburg? It’s not that far from Manhattan.

“You were? Without even saying hello? I’m fucking hurt.” He gives me a once-over, and he’s not being subtle about it, either. Almost like he wants me to know he disapproves of my outfit. His words are light but their meaning isn’t. He is being sarcastic, and my stomach coils with nerves.

Also, I forget to mention that my step-dad swears. A-fucking-lot. Shame he’s still the responsible one out of my two parents.

“I-I’m sorry,” I stutter, looking down. Jade, next to me, just stares at him like he just landed from another planet, and still hasn’t stripped out of his silver UFO coverall. Graham shakes his head and moves his index finger down my cheek in a way that’s not fatherly but not erotic either. It’s just plain intimidating. I shiver under his touch and close my eyes, inhaling deeply.

When he leans closer, my mouth falls open.

“To my office, kiddo,” he murmurs into my face.

Jade and I exchange terrified looks before I follow him silently as he leads the way. Jade takes a few steps in our direction, but he turns around swiftly, placing one hand on her shoulder. She literally jerks in surprise and I can’t blame her. Not only is he scary, but his hand feels like steel. He once gave me an impersonal hug on my 17th birthday and it felt a lot like he did something entirely different to me. I had to take care of that side effect in my personal bathroom. Twice.

“Not you. What’s your name?” he almost barks at her.

Jade opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. Jesus, I hope she’s not going to faint.

“Her name is Jade.” I tilt my chin up, grabbing her hand in mine once again. I’m not going to let him intimidate my best friend. In a lot of ways, Jade is the only person I really talk to; it’s certainly not Annabelle I turn to when shit goes south.

“Right,
Jade
.” He scans her like she’s a piece of trash he needs to take out. I’m pretty sure he is going to forget her name before the night is over. “Well, Jade, I’m not your dad and it’s not my job to discipline you. A cab will be waiting for you outside, free of charge. Don’t worry, I’ll call your parents tomorrow to fill them in on your little adventure. Carter, Rome,”—he jerks his chin toward my friend— “make sure she gets home safely and take the driver’s number and license plate. Dahlia, in my office, now.”

I hug Jade quickly, mouthing “sorry” and feeling our hearts clashing together, fast and furious. Then I wipe my sweaty palms over my mini dress as I stagger into Graham’s office. I’ve never been there before—never been to this club, actually—and for some reason coming in here makes me feel alarmingly excited.

I close the door behind me and scan his office, all brown leather and deep oak furniture. It looks like it was decorated by a caveman. Then again, Graham is a bit of a beast. One in a special-made suit, at least. His Irish accent is soft but his voice is threatening when he leans against his desk, his palms flat over the surface, still standing up.

“You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“Really? I wasn’t the one whose club was playing Ghost Town. You should fire the DJ and burn down his station before you hire someone else.”

I swear this stupid shit just slips out from my mouth without even meaning to, and I think Graham is biting down a smile but I can’t know for sure, because believe it or not, I’ve never actually seen him smile. It’s a depressive thought, but luckily I have no time to dwell on it.

He shakes his head. “Take a seat.”

I take a seat on the chair next to his rich-wood desk, exhaling sharply.

Then I fold my hands over my thighs and look down, playing my part as the chastised child. I’m not scared of my mom. She hardly ever tells me what to do, and she sure as hell doesn’t give a damn. But Graham…Graham is someone I don’t want to cross. I’m not even sure why, he’s never been mean to me. He’s never been anything to me, to be honest. Mostly he just ignores me. But I know that he’s a very capable man. Capable of ruining me, among other things.

“Care to explain what the fuck you’re doing in my club?” He leans on his desk, looking casual yet somehow frightening. His eyes, green like lime, shine with a hint of danger in them, and his lips purse.

“I wanted to…I dunno, to unwind. Have some fun.” I shrug, looking down.

“Be specific,” he orders.

“I wanted to drink and dance,” I admit through gritted teeth, feeling myself blushing again and hating myself for it. “And Jersey is small and I didn’t want to bump into my usual high school crowd. All the seniors are going to stupid house parties, which I don’t like. I knew I could probably sneak into this place because it’s so…”

Full of underage bimbos
, I’m tempted to add, but I don’t.

“It’s New York.” I heave a sigh, shrugging with one shoulder. “I knew we’d eventually get in somewhere.”

“Drink and dance?” he repeats coldly. I doubt Graham has ever danced. I know he drinks but he seems to be too icy and calculated to do something as fun as dancing. I offer a little nod, feeling a tad less scared but a lot more intrigued. He turns to the wall behind his desk There are long shelves full of expensive liquor behind his desk. They cover up the whole goddamn wall, to be exact. With his hands knotted behind his back, he examines the liquor like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world before plucking one full bottle of scotch. He takes out four shot glasses from the drawer in his desk and places them in a straight line. After which he unscrews the cap and pours the alcohol into all of them with the skill of a bartender. I flinch. Is he going to get drunk in front of me just to show me that he can and I can’t? What a douche.

A hot douche
, my brain corrects, quite unnecessarily. He is my step-dad. I shouldn’t even think about it.

“What song did you say was playing? The one I should have my DJ fired for?”

Oh, shit. He is definitely smirking. And hot damn, he has a dimple. Just the one, on his left cheek. He is so perfectly imperfect. This is not looking good for me. I’ve lived with this man for three years and I’ve only just noticed that he has one dimple. I love dimples, goddammit.

“My Boo by Ghost Town.” I swallow. I actually really like that song, but it’s so nineties. Graham plops down on his executive chair and rolls himself toward the giant Apple screen. He taps his keyboard a few times before the familiar song starts blasting through his speakers.

Then, he leans back on his chair and stares at me closely.

“What?” I ask, knowing that my eyes are wide and that I look, in all probability, like a deer caught in headlights.

“Dance. Drink.” He moves one of the full shot glasses across the desk and in my direction, some of the liquid spilling over the expensive oak. “That’s what you’re here for, no?”

“You’re going to let me drink? I’m not even eighteen.” I know in Europe they start drinking at eighteen, but…this is America. Surely he will not risk his ass and…oh, right, I forgot who I was talking with.

“My old man let me have my first drink when I was thirteen,” he informs me, looking relaxed and bored with the conversation. I lick my lips and glance at his every time I think I can get away with it.

“Yeah, but that’s in Ireland. You guys are serious about getting drunk.”

There it is again that almost smile. God, he is hot. In a dark, brooding, don’t-fuck-with-me way. No wonder my mom tried to get in his pants after they got married.

Dahl! Shut up. Stop thinking about your step-dad that way.

Though he and I both know that he is way too young to play daddy to me.

“It’s not fun without having other people around.” I shift in my chair uncomfortably.

“Oh?” He cocks up one eyebrow, playing innocent but looking like the very thing I’d like to corrupt me.

“I’m around. That should be enough. Drink.” He motions with his head to the shot.

I hesitate for just a moment before downing the whole thing and smacking the shot glass on the table. Fuck it. I need a drink to loosen up. My step-dad is playing mind games with me and I have no idea where it’s going. I don’t even have time to get over the sharp sting in my throat before he pushes the second shot in my direction.

“More.”

I down the second drink, swallowing the burn in my throat.

“Third time’s a charm,” he says the second my empty shot glass hits his desk. Even though his voice is low and the loud music in the background is screaming at me to have fun with my boo, I can still hear him clearly. I drink once again, and feel the familiar, comfortable buzz alcohol gives you.

I smile. “Give me the fourth one.” I reach for it. His warm, rough hand touches mine and stops me, and our eyes meet. The electricity between us makes me clutch my thighs together and I’m startled because what the fuck? This is not supposed to be this way. But my nipples tend to disagree and they’re pointing right at him. The worst part is that I know that he can probably see it since the dress is so tight and I didn’t want to wear a bra. Thankfully, his eyes remain on mine. I say I’m grateful, but actually, he might as well examine my vagina with a magnifying glass because he can undress a woman with his eyes like nobody’s business.

“That’s for me, sweetheart. Now start dancing.”

“Here? Alone?” I blink.

“Again.” He looks into his full shot thoughtfully, and hot-damn, his cheekbone situation is intense. He could be a movie star were it not for a semi-vicious scar adorning the left side of his face. Although even that’s kind of hot because I bet there’s a good story behind it.

“You’re not alone, Dahlia. I’m here, and I wanna see you dance and have fun.”

“Dancing here in front of you is not going to be fun,” I mumble, confused.

His eyes shoot up from his drink and he
tsks
.

“Oh, sweetheart, that’s where you’re wrong.”

He turns the music so that it’s louder and plays the song on repeat. Reluctantly, I get up and start swaying my hips from side to side. It’s actually not that bad, considering the fact that I’m kind of drunk. I had a lot of alcohol in a very short period of time and my body is still absorbing it, but with every single minute that passes, I become looser, happier. A smile makes its way to my lips and I lift my hands to touch my middle as I move, caressing the outline of my boobs as I do when I dance.

“Yeah, I can see it’s a real fucking torture for you. Come closer,” he commands and pats his thigh, still leaning back and looking at me lazily.

I do. I take a step in his direction; he is still sitting down, looking at me like he’d just bought a lap dance with a Happy Ending, but he stops me after just one step. “Stay there.”

I’m getting bolder. I’m dancing wildly and it’s fun. I feel a little bad for Jade. She’s going to faint when she hears what went down here without her.

“Closer.” Graham’s throat bobs with a swallow and I take just one step closer and continue dancing. It’s a tease. I can feel it. He is getting hot for me and hell, I’m already that way for him. He’s not really with my mom, they’re together for the papers and the money, and I keep reminding myself that every time I feel like I should stop dancing, which is not very often.