Forbidden Dad: The Irresistible Daddies Book 2 Read online

  Just as I was about to ask what he meant, the door banged open and shut once more. Angel yanked his hand off my shoulder and whirled around. The bartender was standing there, shaking her head.

  “Angel, the Fire Marshal just showed up,” she said, frowning angrily. “Some fucking fire code violation or something.”

  “Fuck,” Angel muttered under his breath. He groaned and shook his head. “No more dancing tonight, girls, everybody home.”

  There was a collective groan from the dancers gathered in the dressing room. I must not be the only one who needs to make a lot of cash, fast, I thought. Gnawing the inside of my lip, I began putting my things into my backpack. Angel stormed off in a huff, slamming the door behind him, and I sat down to take off my makeup before leaving the club. After dressing in my street clothes – a pair of jean shorts and a loose hoodie – I hoisted my backpack over my shoulder and left.

  Outside, the air was muggy and humid. The streets were damp, like it had rained while I was working, and even though it was hard to breathe, I sucked in a greedy gulp of air. It smelled sweet and fresh, like redemption, and after the stuffy air of The Pink Diamond, it was a relief.

  “Honey, don’t do that.”

  I turned to see Livvie standing there. She was leaning against the wall of The Pink Diamond, a lit cigarette pinched between her fingers. When she raised an eyebrow at me, I walked over.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Walk by yourself,” she said. “That’s a good way to get hurt.”

  I blinked at her, not understanding. Then, it dawned on me.

  “A pretty young thing like you could get snatched up,” Livvie said. She turned her head and exhaled, blowing a plume of smoke off to the side.

  I nodded quickly.

  “You get a bouncer, make him walk you,” Livvie added. When I didn’t reply, she chuckled under her breath and took a long drag on her cigarette.

  “You’ll get it, hon,” she said. “You’re new. But everybody learns.”

  I flushed to the roots of my hair and nodded. Going back in the club after hours felt strange –the bar was empty save for the bartender wiping things down with a rag. Angel was nowhere in sight, and the bright lights overheard were harsh and unforgiving. I tracked down a bouncer and had to wait ten minutes while he finished a conversation. By the time I got to my car, it was almost two in the morning. I should have been exhausted. While my limbs did ache a little bit, I felt adrenaline buzzing through my veins, like I’d suddenly downed three cups of espresso. The bouncer waited until I was inside with the doors locked before retreating back to the club and closing the door.

  The drive back to Hollie’s took longer than I expected. There were street closures and lane closures, and I had to take several detours through shady areas that reminded me of Rogers Park, the neighborhood where I’d lived as a little girl. Even though it intimidated me sometimes, I had to admit there was something magical about Chicago. Some neighborhoods were filled with lush, opulent houses and buildings. And then, two blocks over, you could be walking into the ghetto. Hollie and I had played what we had called ‘street jeopardy’ while we were growing up, always knowing which streets were safe and which to avoid.

  But in the early hours of the morning, almost everything looked frightening and dark to me. Lakeview, the neighborhood where Harrison lived, was generally nice. It was a nice mixture of residential and commercial, but nothing seedy like The Pink Diamond. Past two in the morning, everything was dark and despite the proximity of hundreds of sleeping bodies, I felt strangely alone.

  The feeling was a relief after my night at the club. Being awake in the middle of the night had always given me a strange feeling, like I was the lone survivor of a nuclear blast, having to fend for myself in the darkness. I remember the only all-nighter that I’d pulled so far in college: staying up on the top floor of the student union to finish a paper that was due at eight o’clock in the morning. By the time I was done, it was almost five and the sun was coming up. I’d walked across campus in a daze, my body buzzing with caffeine and the rush of sugar from junk food, feeling like I’d experienced something amazing that everyone else had missed out on because they were sleeping. I’d gone back to my dorm and crashed in my bed. When I’d woken up in the afternoon and seen the common swarming with other kids, my morning dawn daze had felt like nothing but a dream.

  I wasn’t the only person who regularly stayed up all night, though. As I drove through the Lakeview streets, my mind turned to Harrison. He was someone who worked through the night, someone who called upon the darkness as his friend.

  It made me feel closer to him, until I remembered what had happened at the club. How was I supposed to face him after that? How was I ever going to look into those blue eyes again? While I had been dancing, he’d clearly wanted me.

  But now that I was clad in my regular clothes and I wasn’t writhing on stage, what would he think? Would he be ashamed of me? Disappointed? Worried that I was heading down the wrong path?

  Or worse – would he think that I was becoming a bad influence on Hollie? Would he worry that I was going to turn his beloved daughter into a slut? Would he ask me to leave the house and never speak to her again?

  I couldn’t decide which would be worse: to have Harrison acknowledge what had happened, or to say nothing at all. Saying nothing would be easier.

  But acknowledging it ... well, that meant that I’d have to deal with all kinds of feelings and urges that I always tried so hard to suppress.

  My heart began to race with anxiety and I paused at a stop sign, wiping my sweaty palms on my denim shorts. I’d hoped that I could just sneak inside, take a bath, and go right to bed.

  But when I got to the house, I noticed that the garage door was open and there was a light on. There was no way that Harrison would have been irresponsible enough to do that.

  Maybe Hollie’s waiting for me, I thought, gnawing at my lip as I parked my car on the side of the street and grabbed my bag. Maybe she couldn’t sleep or something.

  I took a deep breath as I climbed out of my car and approached the house.

  There, standing in the open garage, was Harrison. He wasn’t moving, and for a second I had to wonder, irrationally, if he’d known that I was on my way home.

  Suddenly, it struck me.

  Harrison wasn’t going to let this go. He wouldn’t drop it and act like it never happened. He’s always been a good man. And even if he was dating Madison Maxx, he wouldn’t let what he saw go unremarked upon.

  “We need to talk,” Harrison said.

  His words filled me with apprehension. In the bright, naked light of the garage, I felt more exposed than I had when I’d been up on stage at The Pink Diamond.

  I swallowed hard.

  “Come inside,” Harrison said. He gestured for me to follow him. “And be quiet.”

  And after a second, I did.

  After all, it wasn’t like I had a choice.

  7

  Harrison – Friday

  I still couldn’t believe what I’d seen. Paris Malone, dancing at a strip club. Running her hands over that lush body of hers and staring me down like she was a seasoned pro.

  It just didn’t make any sense. She had always been a good girl, a sweet girl. A shy girl – a girl who wasn’t comfortable with the curvy body that she’d had since she’d been a teenager. I winced uncomfortably as a memory came crashing over my head: a fourteen-year-old Hollie coming to me and telling me that she needed to borrow some money. Paris had grown out of her underthings, again, and her foster parents refused to buy her more. I’d asked Hollie why she hadn’t gone to her mother first, and her reply had been that Krista didn’t think spending that kind of money on a non-family member was right.

  My ex-wife had always been cold, but now I wondered if perhaps she’d been jealous of Paris, too.

  Paris had always been a good girl. She was like a daughter to me, someone I’d comforted and cared for. I had no fucking idea how on earth she thought
this was a good idea. Didn’t she know what happened to women who worked at strip clubs? Didn’t she know that some of them started hooking, and then using drugs?

  Fuck. She was all of twenty years old, tall and pale and young and lovely.

  And naïve.

  Although she was technically an adult, she was my charge over the summer.

  It was true that I couldn’t believe I’d seen her dancing.

  But the thing that I really didn’t want to believe was my own reaction to her. My own animalistic lust, rising up inside of me like a beast impossible to control. I hated to think about the way my cock had stiffened instantly at the sight of her in that bikini. How all rational thoughts had left my head and how I’d turned into a base, pathetic man, just like all the other men at the club.

  Besides, stripping was bad enough. But stripping at The Pink Diamond was even worse, given all I knew about what was really going on there. If my suspicions about the prostitution ring were correct, that put Paris directly in danger. Her sweetness and her naivete were two things that I loved about her, but I worried that those qualities would make her even easier to exploit.

  If something terrible happened to her, I’d never forgive myself knowing that there was a chance I could have stopped it. I had to make her understand that working at the club was a terrible idea ... all without telling her about my undercover assignment.

  By the time her car pulled in front of the house and parked on the street, I was feeling wired. The effects of the booze had long ago left my body, replaced by something even stronger.

  Pure lust.

  I could never give in, never act on that feeling. I had to push them aside and reprimand Paris, let her know that what she was doing was exceedingly dangerous and stupid.

  Man the fuck up, I told myself. Don’t let her think you want her.

  Paris walked up to me with big, scared eyes. Her auburn hair was piled into a messy bun and her face was, thankfully, devoid of stripper makeup. She was wearing a loose MontClaire University hoodie that didn’t quite conceal her ripe tits, and my cock twitched at the memory of her perfect, creamy rack exposed. The memory of her hands running over her sweet, pink nipples, like she was getting off on stripping to a room full of gross men. Seeing her naked had left me feeling more aroused than I’d ever felt in my life, and unfortunately I didn’t ever think that I’d be able to forget it.

  Fucking stop it, I told myself.

  “We need to talk,” I growled at her.

  Paris blinked at me. She opened her plump lips to speak, then clamped them together. She looked frightened and small, almost like the scared ten-year-old girl I’d rescued from a closet all those years ago.

  “Come inside,” I told her. I motioned for her to follow me into the house. “And be quiet,” I added in a low voice, nearly wincing at the idea of Hollie discovering us.

  After a moment, Paris followed me in. I led her down to the basement, where I had my den set up. Hollie and Krista used to joke that it was my man cave, but in truth it was the only place in the house where I felt like I could relax and be myself. The walls were painted dark grey and I had a black leather sectional propped against one wall with a large television mounted opposite.

  “Sit,” I told Paris. She perched on the edge of the couch and put her backpack at her feet. Tangling her hands together in her lap, she didn’t look at me.

  “You’re a smart, talented girl,” I told Paris in a low voice. “Why are you doing this?”

  Paris didn’t reply.

  I took a deep breath. “There are tons of ways to make money that don’t involve taking your clothes off,” I said. “Haven’t you thought about that?”

  That got her attention. Paris’s auburn head snapped up and she looked at me.

  “You were there,” Paris said, biting her lower lip. “You were spending money there. And it seems like you’re dating a stripper yourself.” She paused, taking a deep breath. “Don’t you think you’re being more than a little hypocritical?”

  I couldn’t help it – I scowled.

  If I hadn’t been in this exact situation, I never would have ever wanted to compromise the integrity of my job. Being a detective meant being true to the law first and the chief of the department second. All the same, I wished that I could tell Paris the truth: that The Pink Diamond was a front for a drug ring, and very likely a ring of prostitution as well.

  But there was no way that I could do that. If I told her, the operation – not to mention Paris herself – could be in danger.

  No.

  I had to find a way to convince her to leave the club on her own, make her see that this wasn’t the right thing to do.

  And if I was being honest with myself, I would have felt that way regardless of a drug ring or god knows whatever the fuck else Angel was doing. The last thing I wanted was for Paris to be stripping, to be tearing off her clothes for a bunch of men. Unfortunately, thinking about that made me remember the sight of her sweet curves, and I forced myself to look away.

  “Nothing to say?” Paris asked quietly.

  I swallowed. “Why the fuck are you doing this?” I asked in a low growl. “Why are you stripping? There are other ways to make money, you know. Lots of ways that don’t involve taking your clothes off and showing your ...” I trailed off, not wanting to say the words that were in my mind. Pussy. Ass. Tits.

  All of them fucking perfect, too.

  “There are a lot of ways to make money that don’t involve doing things like that,” I said finally. “And you’re smart enough to know that.”

  When I looked at Paris, her cheeks were red and there was a look in her eyes that came across as both indignant and scared.

  “I ... I need to make more money than I’d be making at a normal job,” she said softly, fluttering her eyelashes and looking down at her pale, soft hands in her lap.

  “Why?” I asked. Suddenly, I was worried that there was more going on than what I could see. What was she hiding? It had to be something bad, something so bad that she was desperately struggling to keep it a secret.

  Paris didn’t answer for a long time. When she did, her voice was so quiet that I could barely hear her.

  “Because I just do,” she said, biting her ripe lower lip.

  “What are you hiding?” I demanded. “Your parents were addicts,” I added, aware that I was being rude. “Are you going down that same path? You know what happens to people who get hooked on drugs, right?”

  Paris still didn’t reply. She was clenching her jaw and staring straight ahead, at the TV on the wall.

  Frustration and anger welled up inside of me and I grabbed her by the arms.

  “Tell me,” I nearly shouted in her face. “What are you hiding? Why do you need the money?”

  Paris’s eyes were big and scared as they met mine, but to my immense frustration, she still refused to answer. When I realized that she wasn’t going to give me a straight answer, I sighed loudly.

  “Why didn’t you come to me for help?” I asked her.

  Paris swallowed and looked down. “I ... I wanted to clean up my own mess,” she admitted softly. “I couldn’t keep relying on you to save me. Not after everything you’ve done for me. I ... I didn’t want you to keep having to save me.”

  I felt like my heart was going to break. Putting my finger under her chin, I tilted her face up and met her gaze with my own. I could practically see her pulse racing at the side of her delicate, flower-stem neck and in that moment she looked so innocent and beautiful and sad that all I wanted to do was pull her into my arms and assure her that everything was going to be okay.

  Not just now.

  Forever.

  “What do you need saving from?” I asked her in a husky voice.

  Paris didn’t reply.

  “Drugs?” I asked harshly.

  Her eyes widened, but she gave a brief shake of her head.

  “What then?” I asked.

  Still, she refused to tell me. The tension between us was gr
owing, and suddenly I was aware of the fact that her face was mere inches from mine. Her lips were so full and pink, wet from the tip of her tongue, and I couldn’t stop staring at them. The air between us was charged with electricity and I was suddenly very aware of my own breathing – fast and shallow, as the feelings of lust and passion grew in my body.

  No, damnit, I thought. This is wrong!

  But my rational thoughts faded away as Paris leaned closer and closer. I couldn’t look away as she bit her plump lower lip. The sight made something in me snap and break, and I groaned. Leaning forward, I pulled her close and crushed her mouth to mine.

  The kiss was intense. Her lips were sweet and petal-soft, and with a soft moan she wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me back, just as passionately. A dam inside of me burst and I slipped my tongue into her mouth, tasting her, exploring her. She was so delectable, so luscious, that I couldn’t help myself. My cock stiffened in my pants and before I could think about what I was doing, I put my arms around Paris and we fell back onto the couch together.

  She practically flowed into my lap, grinding her hips against mine as she kissed me harder and harder. I broke the kiss and nudged her chin up with my head, exposing her pale neck before nipping and sucking and biting at her tender skin. Paris moaned and arched her back, writhing on my lap, and I slid my hands down her body and squeezed her ass through her denim shorts.

  “Harrison,” Paris moaned, throwing her head back and pushing her voluptuous tits against my chest. Her face was flushed pink with desire and she closed her eyes, squirming on my lap. My cock was hard and throbbing and god, just feeling her against my body was enough to make me blow my load.

  I slid my hands under Paris’s loose hoodie, feeling her warm skin against my palms. She wasn’t wearing a bra, and I groaned with desire as I cupped her round tits in my hand. When I brushed her nipples with my thumbs, the same way she’d done while dancing on stage, she shivered and shook with pleasure.