My Best Friend's Dad: An Instalove Possessive Age Gap Romance Read online

  CONTENTS

  My Best Friend’s Dad

  NEWSLETTER

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Epilogue

  Extended Epilogue

  Extended Epilogue

  NEWSLETTER

  A MAN WHO KNOWS WHAT HE WANTS

  BRATVA BEAR SHIFTERS

  LAIRDS & LADIES

  RUSSIAN UNDERWORLD

  IRISH WOLF SHIFTERS

  Collaborations

  About the Author

  MY BEST FRIEND’S DAD

  AN OLDER MAN YOUNGER WOMAN ROMANCE

  _______________________

  A MAN WHO KNOWS WHAT HE WANTS, 216

  FLORA FERRARI

  Copyright © 2020 by Raquel Quintanar Hernandez

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The following story contains mature themes, strong language and sexual situations. It is intended for mature readers.

  MY BEST FRIEND’S DAD

  Fiona has been my best friend for a long time, the person whose shoulder I cried on when I found out my parents had lost their lives in a tragic car accident. When she asks me to spend winter break with her and her dad at their estate, I leap at the chance.

  I expect the gorgeous snowy landscapes. I expect the Maine cold. But what I don’t expect is for Saul Sykes, her forty-one year old dad, to be an absolute silver fox. Standing at seven foot and dripping with carnal sexuality, it’s hard to take my eyes off him.

  I know this is wrong, and all I can do is comfort myself with the knowledge that he’d never, in a million years, be interested in a twenty year old zoology student … with curves to boot.

  But when Fiona goes out one night, leaving me and Saul alone in his giant mansion, I find myself the target of his possessive gaze and his alpha’s smirk.

  In a fire of lust, we come together. He tells me he’s claiming me, that I belong to him now, always. And – I’m sorry, Fiona – it feels so good to be claimed by this millionaire ex-Formula One driver. He knows all the right gears to touch and he has a fast track on our desire.

  We get pulled deeper and deeper into the lust and the romance. It seems impossible not to with the beautiful winter landscape of Saul’s large property, a secret secluded place where I don’t have to think about being the curvy virgin with her head perpetually stuck in a book.

  But I know that sooner or later, Fiona is going to find out. And then what happens? How the heck am I supposed to choose between my best friend and the man of my dreams?

  *My Best Friend’s Dad is an insta-everything standalone instalove romance with a HEA, no cheating, and no cliffhanger.

  NEWSLETTER

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  CHAPTER ONE

  Sadie

  “You don’t have to keep saying sorry,” I say, holding the phone to my ear as my eyes move over the snowy Maine landscape, diamond-like snowflakes dancing in the air. “Fiona said she’s happy to have me. I mean, she’s lying, but …”

  “Shut it,” Fiona giggles beside me, shooting me a playful look. “We’re more than happy.”

  “I know, sis,” Aaron sighs.

  In the background, I can hear people speaking Vietnamese. I’ve dealt with our parents’ deaths by throwing myself full-force into my zoology studies. Aaron’s dealt with it by taking his photography work overseas, living an adventurer’s lifestyle, avoiding the truth of it as hard as he can.

  We’re both guilty of that.

  “That doesn’t mean I can’t feel guilty, though, does it?” he goes on. “But as long as you’re not going to be sitting alone on Christmas day.”

  “Nope,” I assure him. “I will be playing the perfect tag along.”

  “Alright,” he says. “Well, I love you, okay?”

  “I love you, bro.”

  “Bye.”

  “Bye bye.”

  I hang up, feeling Fiona’s eyes burning into me. I turn to find my best friend smiling ironically, with that just-Fiona twist to her lips. She’s a tall woman, thin and model-like in her build. Her hair jet black and her eyes a piercing brown, almost black themselves.

  We couldn’t be more different.

  “How many times do I have to tell you that you’re not imposing at all?” she says, as the taxi glides through the glittering Maine afternoon. “It’s not like Dad and me have this huge freaking ceremony planned that you’re going to be interrupting. Don’t get me wrong. Dad’s amazing, really. He raised me after Mom ran out and … Well, there’s no need to go into that. What I’m saying, Sadie, is that I’m glad you agreed to come. You’re doing me a favor.”

  I smile, willing her words to hearten me. But there’s still that niggling notion at the edge of my consciousness, a gnawing that tells me I should be with Mom and Dad and Aaron, and suddenly that hateful feeling floods into me.

  It’s been two years since they died in a car crash, their wheels sliding on an icy country road—a tree, and then …

  And then nothing.

  And then the end.

  The pain is still so fresh and I feel tears gathering in my eyes, trying to intrude. I cough back a sob and paw at my face, unwilling to make this winter break about me, unwilling to throw myself into my grief.

  “Come on, hon,” Fiona says, leaning across and wrapping her arm around me. “Soon we’ll be roasting marshmallows and curling up with our Kindles.”

  I snort. “Yeah, as if we both haven’t got a heap of work to do over the winter break.”

  “Hey,” she laughs, giving me a playful pout. “What did I say about bringing college with you, hmm? I’m determined to spend this break ignoring sentence structure and syntax and diction and all those other horrible terms that stop me from having a good time.”

  “Oh, shut up,” I say, laughing along with her. “You love English lit. Do you know how I know, Fi? Because you never stop talking about it.”

  She gives me a shove and soon we’re both laughing like loons. It feels so good to glide down the road, my chest lightning despite the grief trying to tug me back down to cold reality.

  “I can’t wait for you to meet Jasper,” she says, moving back to her side of the car. “He’s going to love you.”

  “You’re more excited for me to meet your dog than your dad,” I grin.

  “Well, duh,” she says. “One is a cuddly Great Dane cross with Dalmatian, which if you think about it is the coolest breed ever invented. The other is … Dad.”

  “I thought you said he’s a great—”

  I cut myself off, turning back to the window, biting my lip.

  The last thing I want to do when being invited to stay for several weeks is pry into their familial relationship. But I can’t help but think it since the only thing I really know about Saul Sykes is that he raised Fiona alone – and did an amazing job – and that he’s a retired Formula One driver. Now he runs a driving academy.

  “He’s an amazing dad,” Fiona says, reading into the silence. “It’s not that. It’s just that he can be a little… I don’t know. Grumpy, maybe. He’s an amazing person, but he doesn’t exactly have what you’d call people skills.”

  “Well, I’ll try my best not to piss him off.”

  “Oh, it’s not like that,” she hurries to say. “The worst he’ll do is just stay in his study watching old racing tapes and hanging out with Jasper. You never know … if we’re lucky, he might crack a smile.”

  I turn to the giant imposing gate when the car comes to a stop. It’s the sort of gate that wouldn’t look out of place in a Gothic mansion, wrought black iron with a silver wolf’s head carved into the top of it.

  Fiona climbs out, approaching the stone pillar beside the gate and pressing a button on what I assume is the intercom system.

  “What an amazing property,” the cab driver says, whistling softly.

  “Yeah,” I mutter in agreement.

  Beyond the gate the stone path winds, trees bordering it on all sides, making a tunnel of snow-dappled branches. The house sits beyond that but calling it a house is a massive understatement.

  The thing is a mansion, an estate.

  Fiona must see my face when she returns to the car because she gives me the mother of all eye rolls.

  “What?” I giggle. “How the hell am I supposed not to be impressed?”

  I assumed t
hat they were wealthy since Saul was a Formula One driver, but this is something else entirely.

  “I know,” Fiona says. “I guess I downplayed it because, well… Because who wants to be seen as the spoilt rich girl, you know?”

  “You’ve never come across like that, Fi,” I assure her. “That doesn’t stop this place from being absolutely incredible though, does it?”

  “Thanks, Goldilocks,” she smiles.

  I can’t help but return her smile at the nickname Goldilocks, which is a play on my surname, Gold, and also a reference to the time I refused to leave a conservation site before an animal I was caring for received the proper medical attention. It was only a volunteer position, but when I saw the poor sloth’s cracked nails and heard that there weren’t enough resources to care for it, I did something very silly—I walked in and stayed there until they stopped being complete assholes.

  “Those nasty men were the bears,” Fiona said when she heard the story, absolutely delighted. “And you, my brave girl, were Goldilocks, getting herself lost in the woods, not listening to reason. So from this day forth that shall be your name.” She’d picked up a coat hanger – the closest thing to hand – and knighted me with it, laying it on one shoulder and then the other. “See? Now it’s official.”

  My awe for the property can only soar higher as we pass under the shadow of the trees, the house looming larger and even more intimidating.

  “How many rooms does this place have?” I whisper, taking in the giant glazed windows, the high stone steps that lead to the tall oak carved front door—with two gargoyles sitting on either side, watching stonily.

  “Around thirty,” Fiona says. “But please don’t start gushing. I don’t want you to start resenting me.”

  “Fi, stop it with that talk, Jesus,” I say. “You didn’t decide to be born here, did you?”

  Silently I muse on Fiona’s mother, the woman who ran out on them when Fiona was only a year old to join a hippy commune on the west coast.

  I can’t live a conventional life, she’d said apparently.

  She didn’t want to be a wife or a mother. She wanted to be … whatever people who live on a hippie commune on the west coast are.

  I wonder how she could leave this place if perhaps she’d seen it as more of a prison than a paradise.

  The thought strikes me like lightning that I’d never leave this snowy land. Well fine, maybe for conservation work, for college, but to abandon it, and her own daughter, and the father of her only child?

  A savage shiver moves through me, a maternal instinct rising inside me, as though I can go back in time and protect Fiona from having to go through that.

  “Jasper,” Fiona cries when the car comes to a stop.

  I turn to find the Great Dane Dalmatian cross loping toward the car, a big grin on his face as his black-white dappled fur glistens with the snow. He runs up to the car and jumps up, so tall he can almost place his forepaws on the roof.

  “Sorry,” Fiona tells the driver.

  “No problem,” he smiles. “That’s one beautiful dog.”

  Fiona pays him – giving him a hefty tip, I note – and then we climb from the car, the air immediately colder, pricking my skin. I giggle in delight when Jasper bounds over to me, tail wagging like it’s powered by an engine, tilting his head up regally and allowing me to stroke behind his ear.

  “Well, aren’t you just the most beautiful boy in the world?” I smile.

  “Dad,” Fiona says, causing me to look up.

  And then my mouth falls open in the dorkiest way possible.

  Saul Sykes stands at the top of the stone staircase, bordered by the gargoyles, wearing a steel suit that does nothing to hide the way his muscles bulge, the way they possess my gaze, forcing me to move over his arms and then down over his tight, fit-looking torso.

  Stop it, I warn myself. This is Fiona’s dad.

  But I can’t stop my heart from thudding or my palms from pouring rivers of guilty sweat as I drink in his dark eyes and his hair, obsidian flecked with silver.

  He moves with the lazy power of a jungle cat as he prowls down the stairs, approaching us, his lips a flat line, and his dark eyes seeming somehow angry. He looks me up and down for a long moment before turning to his daughter, and I can’t help but wonder if Fiona warned him I was coming.

  He looks like he wants to call the cab back and have me carted straight to the airport.

  “Dad, this is Sadie,” she says, once they’ve said their helloes. “Sadie—Dad.”

  “H-hello,” I say, inwardly cursing at my stutter. “It’s nice to meet you. Thank you so much for letting me stay. This is a wonderful property.”

  His gaze continues to bore into me, intense and perplexing.

  Why are you looking at me like that? Why do you seem like you hate me already, Mr. Sykes?

  His smirk tics.

  “Nice to meet you,” he says shortly, making it sound somehow like an insult.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Saul

  The fire crackles, filling the main living room with a warm glow, Jasper curled up in front of the flames and snoring contentedly.

  I let my eyes roam over Jasper, and the suit of armor in the corner of the room, catching the firelight, the halberd glinting.

  And then to my daughter and the snow-encrusted window and anything, anything else, other than Sadie Gold.

  Looking at Sadie means feeling it again, the impossible tension that moved through me when I emerged onto the staircase and looked down.

  Looked down at her.

  Fuck, this is wrong. She’s Fiona’s best friend. She’s twenty years old and I’m forty-one and … Jesus Christ.

  I know she’s twenty because she’s the same age as Fiona – she mentioned it on the phone once, in passing – and I try to tell myself that in itself makes this impossible.

  This—this what? This feeling, this compulsion.

  Fuck.

  But even as I try to hammer the message into my mind, I can’t quite accept it.

  “Dad, isn’t it crazy how friendly Jasper is with Sadie?” my daughter says, looking up at me from her armchair next to the fire.

  Sadie is sitting in the chair opposite her, with me leaning against the wall, arms folded, as though by closing myself away from them I can fight down this burgeoning need inside of me.

  Jesus Christ, the second I saw her I knew I had to have her.

  Wreathed in mystical snowflakes, she stood at the bottom of those stone steps looking like nothing less than the woman I’d been waiting my whole life for.

  Short and with all the curves a man could ever dream of, her hair a luxurious blonde that cascades down to her shoulders, wavy and eye-grabbing, fucking soul-grabbing. Her eyes a stark, sparkling green, and her cheeks flushed red from the cold, blossoming points of red that caused my manhood to flood and throb.

  She was dressed in a winter coat and jeans, and yet I could still see the way her hips curved outward, made for childbearing, made to be grabbed as I take her raw and hard and possessively, firing my lava hot seed inside of her.

  I need to stop this. I need to stop it now.

  “Dad?” Fiona says, pulling me from my thoughts.

  “Yeah,” I growl, unable to stop my voice from trembling.

  To run my hands through that golden hair, to grip a little tighter, and a little tighter still …

  And then to guide those winter cold lips to my bulging manhood and warm them up with my precome, smearing it across like lipstick as she gasps and pants and begs for more, more—

  Fuck.

  “He must like you,” I say, still looking anywhere but at her.

  And yet I see in the periphery of my vision that she glances at me, those forest green eyes wide and full of something. I can’t pinpoint exactly what, perhaps because I refuse to look at her.

  Like the sun, I’m afraid she’s going to burn me right up.

  “He’s a beautiful dog,” she says. “How old is he?”

  “Three,” I tell her. “I … got him when he was four months old.”

  “Dad,” Fiona says, rolling her eyes. “Do you really have to be so annoyingly humble all the time?”

  “What?” Sadie asks.

  Even her voice sends primal instincts coursing through me, my heart like a beast in my chest trying to break out of the cage of my ribs, hammering with claws and teeth and snout, growling, howling.