“Is this it?” Catherine stands on the dock, peering over her large sunglasses at my sailboat as if it had the bubonic plague.
“Yes. This is her. My baby.” I look between both women and see that they couldn’t be more different.
Catherine is decked out with wedge heels, makeup done to the nines, a massive hat that almost blocks all of that makeup, and a leopard print cover up that looks like it could double as a dress for the Met.
Meanwhile, Mila is wearing cutoff shorts, a white tank, and Converse with not a lick of makeup—not that she needs it. She’s naturally gorgeous, and God help me, but I can’t stop staring.
“Jason.” Catherine’s shrill voice cuts into my admiration and a shudder wracks my broad frame. “I don’t think boating is such a good idea in my condition. When you said sunset cruise, I pictured a yacht. Not a small sailboat.”
I choke on my saliva. Small? Acts of Grace is a seventy-two-footer, with dual helms and three staterooms. I’m blinking, unsure of how to respond.
“What I mean is, I thought you meant you had one of those.” Catherine points to a large motored yacht. “I’d seen a picture of you in one of those recently, so naturally, I assumed. But I guess I assumed wrong.”
I bite down on my lower lip, debating on whether to tell her that the yacht she pointed at is also mine, but her next words have me swallowing my tongue.
“I see you’re upset. You were probably looking forward to this sunset cruise.” Her eyes shift over to her daughter who’s been silent this entire time. “Why don’t you just take Mila out instead? It’ll give you both some time to get to know each other.” She hitches her thumb down the dock. “I saw a gorgeous little bistro that opens up onto the water. I’ll just wait for you there.”
My brows furrow as they fall on Mila. She appears to be mortified on her mother’s behalf, and I don’t blame her.
Catherine was all but jumping for joy when I first mentioned coming out here, but one look at my love and she’s ready to bail. Yes, she’s smaller than the other yacht. But she’s special to me and doesn’t need an entire crew to be taken out.
“Is there a reason you don’t like sailboats?” I turn back toward the mother of my unborn child.
She bites on her bottom lip nervously before answering. “They pitch to one side. I’m afraid it’ll make my nausea go crazy, and the last thing we all need is me going green and getting sick.”
“Yes, of course. I’m sorry I didn’t think of that.” My eyes fall back on the motored yacht, the offer to take it out instead right on the tip of my tongue, but then Mila turns, and those cutoff shorts do nothing to hide how tight her little ass is.
My cock lurches, deciding for the both of us. God help me, but I’m taking the sailboat.
“Mom, are you sure you wouldn’t rather us go home instead?”
“Nonsense. I have my phone with me. I can just do a little work until you come back.” Her eyes narrow at Mila, as if sending a message.
“Well, if you insist. But I’ll just message Armando and have him pick you up. I won’t have you unguarded. We’ll wait until he arrives, and then Mila can have some bonding time with her daddy.”
I bite the corner of my lip, trying to suppress a full-on grin. It’s obvious that the term has an effect on Mila if her reddened cheeks are anything to go by. But hey, it was Catherine who started it with her comment earlier. So, am I really to blame?
“That sounds good.” Catherine grabs Mila by the arm, her red fingernails digging into her caramel skin and leaving half-moons behind—the action making my blood boil. I’m about to say something when Catherine’s next words cut me off. “Why don’t we all head to that little bistro and wait on Armando. We can all have a cocktail in the meantime.”
My brows raise. “I’m not drinking before sailing and you’re pregnant. That only leaves Mila.”
“Actually…” The object of my obsession looks at the ground, her feet shuffling in place. “I just turned eighteen.”
My vision blurs and I’m robbed of all breath. What the fuck did she just say? My mind goes to the bid on her virtue, and it hits me like a ton of bricks. She’d been waiting until she was legal enough to give that cherry away.
“I thought I told you, Jason. Mila celebrated her birthday a couple of days ago.” Catherine is blinking up at me. “And I meant mocktails, silly. I’ve gotten very creative since finding out about this little peanut.” Her hand drops its death grip on Mila and moves to her abdomen, that one motion sobering enough to help me get my shit together.
I can’t be lusting after Catherine’s daughter. I’m going to be a father and that child deserves the best of everything. Including family.
If I’m going to do right by his mother and make her my wife, then I need to pull my head out of my ass and smother the last of my desires for Mila. For fucks sake, she’s barely legal. But she is legal.
No. I can’t think like that. Especially when temptation is a hairbreadth away.
As we cross over the threshold to the Singing Fish, I vow to kill any and all thoughts of my soon to be stepdaughter. They’re wrong and will only lead us down a path to destruction.
