Page 8 of A Father's Bliss

Five feet, seven inches tall, long, strawberry stained hair, amber eyes, and curves for days. I knew, or rather, somethinginme, understood she would test every restraint I possessed. My only saving grace was my ability to separate a person’s physical attributes from their personality, though her being Martin’s daughter might have also done the trick as well, and I was able to stay away. See, without knowing her, she was simply a pretty face—albeit a very attractive one—and that wasn’t enough to intrigue me, even if I was a bit curious about her.

But naturally, only so much time could drift by before our paths crossed and we formally met.

It only took one conversation with her to realize exactly what had moved the CEO so much. Turns out, Miss Porter is not only gorgeous, but witty, astute, and has a laugh that could start a war. And soon after that initial meeting, I made sure to create more opportunities for us to interact.

On some occasions when she was out of her office, I made sure to catch her right before she went back and started up a casual conversation. It was on one of those occasions I learned one of her hobbies outside of reading included stitching the skirts she wears. They were usually of a floral pattern, cinching high at her waist and flowing like a steady river over wide hips.

Whenever I found her struggling with a selection at the vending machine, I realized my water was magically due to be refilled. It was then, I discovered she only has a sweet tooth after eating pasta and often can never decide between candy or chocolate.

Over the years, I slowly found myself craving more of those small bits of information, and soon, I realized nothing gave me the same interest as learning about her. A silly, juvenile thought when said aloud, but I couldn’t deny the growing attraction, and knew I needed to negate that intrigue less I do something stupid, something irreversible. I needed more separation. Shewas the daughter of a man who found a hobby in a one-sided competition with me, not to mention her nearly being the same age as my own child.

Perhaps that’s why when my son came to visit on his birthday, I forced myself to keep my mouth shut when he mentioned her beauty. Though it felt as if I was being made to chew coal, I never uttered a word when I discovered he invited her out. And even when it felt as though my gut were being twisted into irrefutable knots, I looked the other way when they began some semblance of a relationship.

It was for the best.

At least, that’s what I told myself again and again to help ebb the fucking dread I felt at what I let them happen. But it didn’t work. Nothing I said or tried to convince myself of did anything to quell the anger that developed.

I’ve never been one to regret anything in life.

Not when finding out I was going to be a teenage father.

Not having the baby dropped off at my doorstep when the mother decided her pursuit of sports were more important than her child.

I didn’t mind how upset my parents were when I decided to forgo the doctoral degree they imposed and instead forge my own path.

Nothing has ever caused me to second guess or wish I could go back and retrace my steps.

Until her.

There was never a day that passed where I hadn’t wished I made another choice. Whether it be to have avoided her, kept Harrison away from her…took her for myself, there has always been regret. However, while my devolving thoughts plagued me for some time, I was eventually able to move forward. Force myself to focus on my work. And slowly, oh so fucking slowly, things became better, or at least, manageably less irritating.

But now, as if fate deemed it necessary for me to prove that I can truly resist temptation, or perhaps has given me another chance, we’ve found our way back into a situation in which I’m forced to make an impossible decision.

Though I’ve managed to deal with how things ended up, my interest in Renee hasn’t dwindled in the slightest, and now the reasons I should keep my distance are much greater than before. But this time, I’m finding it hard to dwell on those whys. In actuality, I’m finding them impossible to care about. This could be in part because of the soft smiles she kept giving me as we waited to be seated, or the sway of those hips as the hostess ushers us through the restaurant.

Or perhaps, it’s simply with age, I find life is too short to care about menial things that stop us from enjoying it. But either way, if she gives me the smallest inkling that she may harbor any of these same emotions I’ve hidden for too long, I can guarantee I’ll allow no margin of error.

No room for regret.

I’ll finally take what I should have had so long ago.

To no one’s surprise, Marcus’s favorite restaurant is stunning.

It’s inside one of the many upscale buildings on the west bank of town, overlooking the marina. Chandeliers give the dining room a soft glow, velvet upholstered chairs rest at every table, and linens that look as if they’re made from ridiculously expensive silk cover each one. It’s beautiful, cozy, and entirely too intimate for two coworkers.

At least, I’m probablysupposedto feel like it’s too intimate, but I don’t. Not really. In fact, the entire restaurant matches one of many I used to daydream of him taking me to when my crush was at an all time high.

I say that like I don’t still harbor inappropriate feelings for the man, but my point stands.

As we walk through the dining area, my gaze flits to the floor to ceiling windows facing the marina. There are about a dozen boats tied to the dock, all of which are different shapes and sizes. One in particular catches my eye as it’s not only the longest out of the bunch, but it’s a different color. The shiny black exterioris a stark contrast to the surrounding white boats, and behind it, the horizon of the massive lake shimmers a gorgeous blue under the setting sun.

“Is this alright?” Marcus’s sweet as sin voice pulls my attention from the window. He’s standing at a table for two, one hand in his slack’s pocket, the other resting on the back of the chair.

He’s so damn poised and proper, while inside,I’mbuzzing like I’m on my third glass of Stella Rosa. “This is perfect. Beautiful view.”

The hint of a smirk appears as he nods once, his gaze on me as he pulls out the chair for me. “It is.”

Heat floods my face as I sit, and watch as he takes his seat opposite me. Not a second after he’s settled, a server appears with a bottle of wine. “Good evening. My name is Pierre and I’ll be serving you this evening. Can I interest either of you in a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon?”

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