Under His Roof

Catalina

He’s always been so much more than a father figure.

So. Much. More.

I sigh as I turn onto my stomach, the sun making my skin bone dry instantly, even after I just swam five laps around the pool. This is just torture. Plain, utter torture. And to be honest, I’m doing this to myself. There’s a perfectly nice bedroom on the second floor that’s all mine when I visit. Hell, they even have a state-of-the-art theater room in the basement. But no. Catalina Bryce chooses to spend her time off in the elaborate backyard, courtesy of her gorgeous hunk of a stepdaddy—Jace Summers, landscaper extraordinaire.

And why am I here, baking like a fucking rotisserie chicken at two in the afternoon, sweating my tits off? Jace is currently very busy digging a five-foot hole in the ground because Mother Dearest decided she wants a new, custom hot tub in the backyard.

Plus, he’s shirtless, tan, and his inked skin glistens like he’s in a damn commercial. He makes hard labor look so viciously good. I can’t pass that up, right? It gives me something to do besides. Something other than stress over job applications and money. After all, sightseeing here in the backyard is much better than being hunched over a desk, refreshing my emails every five seconds.

“Hey, Cat?”

I’m knocked out of my magazine-induced coma a few minutes after dozing off, my head snapping up and bringing me face to face with Jace’s strong thighs in a pair of cutoff work pants.

God. Damn.

I trail my eyes up his body, trying not to let my gaze linger until I lean up onto my elbows and tilt my head back, meeting eyes so blue they rival the cloudless Arizona sky.

“Y—yeah?” I clear my throat before my voice cracks.

“Your mom called; she’s gonna be late. Wanna order takeout with me?”

“What time is it?” I wince as I sit upright, my thighs sticking together from the heat.

“Almost seven,” Jace throws over his shoulder as he assembles his gear. I watch his back muscles move under golden skin.

Look away, Catalina.

Except I can’t. This man might be pushing fifty, but he’s making me thirsty in every sense of the word.

My face heats once I realize he’s closer now, one hand on my shoulder blade, his calloused palm dragging down, leaving trails of fire in its wake.

“You’ve got a sunburn, Cat. Might want to protect that porcelain doll skin of yours a bit better,” he says. I feel myself lean into his touch.

“Maybe you should’ve rubbed sunscreen on my back, then, Daddy.” My voice is as sweet as candy. Sweet as sin. I love luring him out.

His eyes grow darker, feisty instead of fatherly.

“Don’t,” he hisses, hand going up to the nape of my neck. Goosebumps bite my skin even though it’s still hot as balls outside. It’s all him.

“What?” I blink, my lashes fluttering as I try to look as innocent as I can with a meek smile on my face.

I know he looks at me, too. I’ve caught him on more than one occasion, especially when I’m lounging by the pool, wearing as little fabric as possible. But that’s all Jace does: look. He’s never intentionally touched me.

“I’m not your dad, Catalina.” His stern voice doesn’t help. It’s the tone he thinks will drive me away, but instead it’s like a blowtorch. And I’m the poor little moth drawn to its flame.

I bite my lip, Jace’s fingers burning my neck.

“Didn’t say you were my Dad, Jace.” I shoot him a wink before I pull myself out of his grasp. He knows what I meant. And I know he likes it. I’ve seen his search history. I did my research. And I know my mother doesn’t really do it for him.

When I walk over to the house, feeling the loss of his skin on my own, I immediately hate the way my body wants to be closer to him, the way my skin tingles where he touched me.

Rummaging through the kitchen’s clutter drawer to assemble the takeout menus, I have another lightbulb moment.

Since there’s obviously something sizzling between Mom’s Husband Number Four and me… what’s the harm in playing a little game? After all, my mother has called me scandalous more times than I can count. Why not live up to my little reputation?