Chapter Two

CHAPTER TWO

John

Ain’t no way in hell that’s my son’s girlfriend.

I’ve known Mason was gay since he came for a visit during seventh grade. He left a school notebook behind with Tom Hiddleston’s name doodled all over the cover. If that wasn’t proof enough, I’d take one look at his Instagram feed and know. In the last year, he’s dated a personal trainer, a lawyer and a trust fund kid named Spalding. He might have deleted all evidence of these relationships after the break up, but not before I saw the posts.

I’ve spent my professional life with the army chasing down leads and hunting facts. Without the proper information, I wouldn’t be alive today. I make it my business to know everything, especially about my son, who I love. It’s not my fault he thinks I’m too old to work the internet.

I was hoping this would be the visit he told me the truth, but I guess he isn’t ready yet, as evidenced by the knockout blonde he’s got pretending to be his girl. The one fanning her face in my front yard, trying to hide the proof I turned her on, same as she revved my engine.

Goddamn. This one is trouble times ten.

I need to get a lick of that more than I want my next thousand meals.

Our eyes meet through the window and I can feel her gasp deep in my balls. I fist my hand on the sill, imagining that honey blonde hair wrapped around my knuckles while I guide her lips up and down my cock. I’ve never had this kind of reaction to a female. Not in all my forty-two years. This one—Lyssa—she’s way too petite for me. Way too young. And she’s pretending to date my son.

If I make a play for her, I’d be forcing them to give up the charade.

I don’t want to force Mason to be honest with me before he’s ready…

But it’s going to be a struggle to keep my hands off Lyssa. Something about her has my stomach all tied up in knots. I’m not sure what the hell my reaction to her signifies, but I can’t imagine not finding out. I want to touch her. Right now.

She has the nerve to look bored when she finally walks through my door, holding her cell in one hand, tossing her hair with the other. There’s no hiding the fluttering pulse at the base of her neck, however. Or the way she keeps peeking up at me from beneath her long, black eyelashes.

Does she like my place?

Why the hell do I care?

I moved up to the Catskills so I wouldn’t have to be around people or listen to their opinions. Even back in the day, between deployments, I always found somewhere private to hunker down and wait for my next orders. No relationships to steal my focus. Can’t even say I had some great love affair with Mason’s mother. She was just an anonymous one-night stand until she showed up ten months later with a bundle in her arms. The surprise outraged me at first, especially because I never failed to use protection. Then I saw the child and I couldn’t help wanting to protect him. Help him in a way no one did for me.

It’s obvious he hates coming up here to visit me, but I won’t be an absent father. And I like the kid. So he’ll just have to put up with me.

My gaze travels back to Lyssa who is circling the living room, her thigh rubbing against the arm of my easy chair. She bends forward to inspect the book on my coffee table, and her frayed jean shorts ride straight up her ass, showing off two firm, little butt cheeks. Christ almighty. She might as well be going around in panties for all the coverage those things provide. If she plans on going anywhere outside this cabin, she’ll need a lot more protection from the elements.

Inside the cabin, she’ll need a lot more protection from me.

Don’t even think about it, John.

“Sit down,” I grumble, making them both jump. “Stew’s ready.”

“Great,” Mason says, dropping onto a chair. “All I’ve eaten today is a scone.”

Am I not sending him enough money to eat? I start to ask him that question, but hesitate. Would that embarrass him in front of Lyssa? Maybe. While I spoon beef stew into bowls and set them on the table, I make a mental note to ask him about funds later.

Lyssa makes her way over to the table and I move on reflex, pulling out her chair—a terrible mistake. Her perfume smells like fresh berries and hits me hard. Up close, she’s even more mind-blowingly beautiful. Smooth skin. Wide, generous lips. Tits designed to make a man crawl. Huge green eyes remain arrested on my face for several beats before she lowers herself into the chair I’m holding out.

My fingers itch to tunnel into her hair, pull back her hair and feast on her fucking mouth. But I can’t do that. I cannot do that.

I clear my throat hard and take my place at the table, Mason and Lyssa sitting across from me. “How is New York?”

My son laughs. “You can’t even say New York without scowling.”

I tuck into my stew with a grunt. “It’s a disgusting hell hole full of rats.”

“Tell us how you really feel,” Mason snickers. “There are a lot of great things about it, too.” He winks at Lyssa. “After all, it’s where I met this one.”

The stew turns to sludge in my mouth.

“That’s right,” she murmurs, using her spoon to push a carrot around her bowl. “Mason saved me from being hit by a cab. That’s how we met.”

Lie.

I’d like to put Lyssa over my knee and spank her sexy tush as punishment. As soon as she’d had enough, I’d rub the sting from her flesh and patiently explain to her that I’m not easily deceived. My ability to cut through bullshit is only one of the reasons I received so many army promotions. I really don’t like her lying to me—and I might be crazy, but I don’t think she liked lying to me, either. It’s in the way she shifts in her seat and refuses to meet my gaze suddenly.

“Is that so?” I say, satisfied when her eyes snap to mine. “Good man.”

“Thanks,” Mason responds, seemingly unaware that I’m hard as a fucking rock for his supposed girlfriend under the table. “When we found out we were both freshmen at NYU, we couldn’t believe it.”

She’s eighteen. I already guessed she was the same age as my son, but the confirmation is a gut punch. I’m twice her age and then some. Old enough to be her father. Unfortunately, that knowledge does nothing to soften my cock. “Where do you live, Lyssa?” I ask, watching her soft mouth pop open at my use of her name.

“I…um.” She shifts in her chair. “W-we live together. I live with Mason.”

“Yup!” A smile spreads across Mason’s face. “We’re roommates.” Immediately, he backpedals. “I-I mean, not just roommates, obviously…”

“No, we’re much more than that,” Lyssa supplies, nodding at my son encouragingly. This is like watching a bad sitcom. They’re both terrible liars.

“We’re like, all the things,” Mason says finally.

Lyssa smiles brightly. “All of them!”

And then they high five.

Christ.

“So…” Lyssa begins, clearly looking for a way to change the conversation. Finally, she gestures back toward the living room. “Did you carve all those wooden figurines on your bookshelves?”

I grunt a confirmation.

What did she think of them?

“They’re good, right?” Mason chimes in. “My dad is a kickass whittler, in addition to, like, being able to snap bones with a flick of his wrist.” He scoops a bite with his spoon, keeping it suspended in front of his mouth. “Are you still making the walking sticks?”

I nod once. “Some.”

Lyssa perks up. “Walking sticks?”

“Uh-huh,” Mason says. “You have to see them. The carvings are so intricate. Really, Dad. You could make them professionally.”

“I don’t do it for money.”

“My mother has a bad knee,” Lyssa says, arresting me with her big, gorgeous eyes. Everything around me fades. Everything but her. “She’s was riding a city bus one afternoon when it collided with a speeding ambulance. Surgery followed, pins were left behind. But it’s never been the same.” She wets her lips and my dick surges in my jeans. “I’ve actually been meaning to buy her a walking stick. Maybe I can purchase one of yours.”

“No,” I bark, before softening my tone. “You’ll pick one out and take it. I don’t want your money.”

I want you. All of you. Thighs spread, pussy wet.

Lyssa seems to read my mind, or maybe me thoughts are written all over my face, because she pinkens right up to her hairline, her spoon dropping into her bowl with a miniature splash. “If you insist,” she breathes. “Thank you so much.”

Too much time passes before I realize my son is watching us with baffled interest. It’s a struggle to stop staring at Lyssa, but I tear my attention away and finish my stew, all of us silent.

At least until Mason jumps up from the table in alarm, rattling the plates.

“Oh. My God.”

Lyssa gapes. “What? What’s wrong?”

“I didn’t turn in my econ paper. I completely forgot to even write it.”

Lie.

My eyes narrow on my son. What’s he up to?

“When is it due?” Lyssa asks.

“Tomorrow. And it’s worth fifty percent of my grade.” He plows both hands through his hair. So much drama. “Dad, I’m so sorry. There’s no way this professor will give me an extension. I have to go work on it now.” He lays a clearly platonic hand on Lyssa’s shoulder. “Will you be okay without me?”

Her face pales. “How about I come help you?”

“Sorry, babe, but I need total silence to concentrate.” Mason is already jogging to the car, probably to get his laptop. He’s back within thirty seconds, a MacBook tucked under his arm. “Thanks for understanding. Don’t forget to show Lyssa the walking sticks!”

Just like that, I’m alone with temptation herself.

If I didn’t know any better, I’d think my son orchestrated this.

That’s a ridiculous notion, though. No one would purposefully leave this sweet, young girl in the presence of a war-hardened loner over two decades her senior. It makes no sense.

And when Lyssa’s gaze finds mine through the fading sunlight, I can see the attraction makes little sense to her, too. But it’s strong as a hurricane—and it’s building with every second that ticks past.

Can we control it?

I’m the experienced adult here. It’s up to me to make sure we don’t hurt Mason’s feelings. Whether their relationship is real or fake, I’m supposed to believe it’s real. If I act on my hunger for Lyssa, my actions would amount to calling my son a liar or exposing a secret he doesn’t want me to know yet.

Yeah. As badly as I want my hands on this girl, I must fight my urges.

But even as I vow to myself that I won’t touch Lyssa, I can already sense myself caving…