Page 9 of His Precious Secret

I don’t regret it. Hell no, I don’t regret it. But I am a man, a smart man, and I know that I just opened Pandora’s box.

She’s my stepdaughter, for fuck’s sake. On top of that, I agreed to let her mom live in the house, which means we’ll have to keep our relationship a secret, and while that may be exciting for a while, I’m going to need to have her in my arms at night. And with Brandi here, that can’t happen.

She’ll make my life hell, and keeping things a secret with Taylor will be near impossible. The right thing to do would be to get a grip of myself, put last night in a box of the most incredible nights of my life, and then put it away, let her and her mom go and move on.

But I just don’t think that’s possible.

I hear Brandi downstairs, being intentionally loud as she packs up her things. With a sigh, I stretch and get out of bed. Time to go face the music.

“Is it okay if I come up to the bedroom now?” she asks. Normally, there would be a sarcastic, hateful tone in her voice, but not today. Today she’s putting on her sweet-innocent-girl tone to play on my sympathies. But she’s not the sweet-innocent-girl in this house. That girl is sleeping soundly in the guest room.

“Brandi, I’ve decided to let you stay.”

If only I had a camera, because the look on her face is priceless.

“Bullshit,” she says. “Wait, seriously?”

“Seriously. But we won’t be sleeping together, Brandi. Not after what you did. I’ll be filing for a divorce as well, but you can live here, your daughter can live here, and I’ll keep paying her tuition for whatever school she goes to.”

This isn’t what she was expecting. “But, Rick, why?”

“Your daughter shouldn’t have to pay for her mother’s sins,” I reply. “But you and I, Brandi? We’re over.”

“Rick—”

No, that’s enough. She’s not mine anymore, thank God, and I don’t have to have this conversation. I leave the room and head into the kitchen and make myself some oatmeal with blueberries and go out onto the back deck and breathe in the morning air.

No matter what happens, I have to protect Taylor. Whether it’s from her mom or from the press, I can’t let our relationship go public. I could handle the blows. I’ve been known as a bit of a playboy to many, so being involved with my stepdaughter wouldn’t surprise people. But Taylor…I can only imagine the things they would say about her.

I can feel her presence in the house like gravity, pulling at me, telling me to go into the guest room and take her again. But I can’t. Not with Brandi around. And it’s not like she’s got a job to go to either. She could be here all day, and I don’t know if I can wait that long for another taste of my gorgeous stepdaughter.

I go into my office and find a piece of paper and a pen. As I scrawl my number down, I feel like I’m her age again, passing notes in class to my crush and waiting to see what happens. But she’ll call. Of course she will. I’m not winning her over; she’s already mine.

I wait until Brandi’s upstairs before going to the guest room. Thankfully, Taylor left the door open a crack, so I quickly toss the note inside. It lands on her shoulders. When she wakes she’ll see it, and then we’ll plan our getaway.

My morning work seems to drag on for hours as I keep glancing at my personal cell phone for Taylor’s text. But I must have really worn her out last night, because it doesn’t come until 11:30.

“Gotta go, guys,” I tell my branch in Boston. “We’ll finish this tomorrow.”

I hang up the call and find a smiley emoji from Taylor. We quickly exchange texts and come up with our cover story. I get ready, and when I meet her in the living room, I almost trip over myself.

Somehow, she’s even more beautiful than last night. Even her mother notices.

“Why are you glowing, Taylor? Is that new makeup or something?”

Taylor shrugs, flashing me a quick glance. “I don’t know. The house is a little warm. Maybe I’m sweaty.”

“No.” Brandi shakes her head. She may be a cheater, but she’s not stupid. “No, that’s glowing, and I know what glowing means. Did you sneak a boy over here last night?”

“Mom, no!”

“Don’t lie to me, young lady!” Brandi snips.

“She didn’t, Brandi,” I interject. “The security system would have recorded an entry.”

Her mom accepts this explanation but persists with her questioning.

“Then you were sexting,” she accuses. “Do I have to take your phone?”

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