Dad's Billionaire Buddy: A Steamy Older Man Romance Read online

  Dad's Billionaire Buddy

  A Steamy Older Man Romance

  by

  Mia Madison

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

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. Thank you for respecting the rights of the author.

  Copyright © 2016 Mia Madison. All rights reserved. Including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the author.

  Version 2016.12.27

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  Dad's Billionaire Buddy

  Chapter One

  Carina

  I have some seriously mixed feelings about coming home for the holidays. Don't get me wrong, there's no angst whatsoever between my parents and I. I love them both and I'm even happy to be around my stepmother. I don't know many girls who can honestly say that. It helps that Dad picked an age appropriate woman to be his second bride, not one in competition with me.

  Mellie is actually his second chance love, the one that got away after everyone left college. It's good to see your parents happy at last. The possibility that the same can happen for me is a comforting thought to have on the back burner.

  The problem with coming home is feeling like I'm taking a trip backwards through time. All my hard won attempts at being an adult slither back down the slippery slope of being told what to do and what to think. Parents can't help but give out advice even when you haven’t asked.

  Sometimes I’d like to make a few mistakes of my own so I could learn from them. Going to college out east and now having a new job there is giving me the opportunity to put some distance while I flex the muscles of grown-upness.

  Like paying bills. Ugh.

  “I thought I'd go to the mall this afternoon. If you're up for it we could grab some lunch first?”

  I groan at the thought of battling through holiday shopping hell, but I know Mellie's trying to be a mom-let so I agree with a smile.

  We have a girly lunch at Tinkerbell, then get elbow-ready for the charge. At least as we cruise the stacks of traditional gift ideas in the women's designer section at the mall's big department store, I'm not getting the tenth degree.

  All through lunch whenever conversation lagged, Mellie jumped in with the usual, “How's the job going?” and “How's your love life?” questions. To which the responses are 1. Okay, I guess. 2. Hopeless.

  “Are you putting yourself out there?” Mellie asks, one eyebrow squinting like she knows I'm a cave bear that prefers to be at home in cozy lounge pants, with popcorn, red wine and Netflix set to binge. “You won't meet anyone sitting on your couch.”

  “I thought that was exactly how everyone hooked up these days,” I say. “Internet dating is the way to go.”

  “Oh god, the horror,” Mellie groans. “I remember those days of psychos and married men. Before I ran into your father again of course.”

  “Of course.” Because it's not like there are only single people with a profile on Match.

  In fact the only men that ever give me a wink are the over-forty married guys. The ones posting photos with the family ineptly cropped out. Aside from that, I've had one date with a geek from MIT that failed to get to a second and one with a nerd from Harvard that wanted to talk politics until I slithered off the chair from boredom. Not because of his views but on account of his flat refusal to hear any alternative opinion.

  Talk about alpha. The joys of living in Boston, I guess. Young geek and nerd dudes working their dominance muscle.

  “What do you think of this sweater for Lucy?” Mellie asks, holding up a red furry thing with beading at the neckline.

  “Um, Lucy's working a goth vibe a the moment,” I remind her. “She usually wears black.”

  “Exactly. Your dad would love to see her in something colorful for once,” Mellie says.

  “I'd say you better keep the receipt.” For sure my little sister will return that.

  Idly turning over the price tag, I notice it's an expensive item, not the usual throwaway sweater gift. The furry tops are piled high on the display table. Every color in the spectrum represented, some all wrapped around with glittery bows, on the off-chance that anyone's forgotten gifting season is here.

  It's all incredibly sparkly and pretty, which renders the large hand resting on a stack of pale pink angora all the more incongruous. My eyes trail up the arm, intrigued by how solidly muscular it is, enveloped in snug charcoal wool, bulging from the elbow into a hard round bicep.

  My heart does a little flutter when I reach the man's face. The sexiest, most handsome and rugged face on the planet. Impossibly gorgeous, the carved jaw emphasized by the border of his lush sweater. Waves of glossy hair scraping the back of the roll neck. I'm lost in wondering whether his rough stubble catches on the luxurious thread and what it would feel like against my skin.

  Oops.

  “Earth to Carina... What about the beige for Anya?”

  Mellie's voice has pitched up a notch, indicating I wasn't listening and she's had to ask me twice. I was lost in the older dude with his heavy hand on the soft rabbit fur, the heavier swell of his lean muscle and the powerful jaw. What a combo. You don't see guys like him back in Boston. The rugged, sporty, comfortable-with-where-I’m-at package of confident masculinity.

  Am I gushing? Yes and not only from my tongue. The hunk is seduction in a sweater and it's making my panties drip molten lust.

  “Carina?” Mellie jolts into my thoughts for the thousandth time when I just want to be left alone to drool.

  “Yes, sorry.” I force myself to tear my eyes away and concentrate. “Er, not sure. I know she's heading for law school but beige is kind of vanilla even for Anya.”

  The perfect hunk's eyes meet mine from across the large display table and a glint of something rises as he takes me in. Humor. He heard me and he's trying not to laugh. A tiny smile lifts at the corners of a delectable mouth, on lips thick and strong enough to devour me, forcing me to cross one foot over the other and squeeze the tops of my legs. Damn, perhaps he’s a lawyer.

  He wanders away and a horrible sense of missing out passes through me. My gaze fixes on the perfect ass in the low slung jeans, the worn-in boots. I'm praying he won't leave the ladies' separates department just yet.

  And heaven must be listening, because he halts and those powerful fingers lift a dark soft wool wrap from another stacked display unit. As he caresses the material, like he's considering its worthiness to be touched by his Viking God fingers, his eyes scrape back to mine.

  I look away quickly. Not because I want to but because my cheeks flush hot and I'm losing the ability to stand on my feet. The store seems too hot and airless. I am completely losing my mind, my body all flustered over some old guy I'm hot for in a suburban department store for chrissake.

  Mellie is bugging me with endless requests for my opinion that she doesn't heed and my mind won't formulate a response to her constant demands when it's busy picturing all the things the hunky dude's hands could do to me.

  Why weren't there guys like him in college? Why isn't his twin working at my tedious marketing company where we're all too obsessed with making
the rent to have much fun? I do try to get out, as Mellie has recommended more than once today. But despite being a Colorado girl, I'm not much of one for the outdoors like my co-workers. I'd much prefer to stay home, cuddled up with a guy like sweater hunk.

  Chapter TWO

  Carina

  “Sweetie, are you with me?” Mellie laughs at my daydreaming.

  “Yes, sorry, what did you say?”

  “Do you like the blue?” she repeats.

  “I guess,” I say, stroking some really soft angora.

  “You'd have to look at it in order to elicit an opinion,” she says, but not meanly. “Hon, you aren't still moping over Storm Weathers, are you?”

  “No,” I bark. Suddenly coming back down to earth. “Honest, I'm absolutely not.”

  I'm glad to be rid of my college boyfriend. That was never going anywhere. It hurt to be dumped by text but only my ego was bruised. The rest of me breathed a sigh of relief. There was no pining over Storm at all but I might start moping over the hunk. Still standing on the other side of many piles of colored garments.

  Before I even know what I'm saying, the words fly from my mouth.

  “I like my men more mature than Storm. Real men.”

  “I knew he was no good the moment I set eyes on him” Mellie adds, not listening to me now. She's lifting more sweaters, checking each at arm's lengths before neatly refolding and setting each one perfectly aligned on its stack.

  Speaking of eyes, the guy is now holding mine without mercy. Another sexy smile is twitching at his delectable lips. Is he eavesdropping on our conversation? Or does he know my statement about liking mature men was totally for his benefit?

  Don't ask me why I'm crushing so hard. It's not like anything's going to happen with my step-mom standing right beside me, but I can have some fun. And maybe it's my imagination, but it seems that he's only hanging out in the sweater aisle to toy with me too.

  I'm sure it's not a case of delusional thinking because as I trail along behind Mellie, moving from one loaded sweater display to the next, he follows in a parallel dance. Like the moon trailing the sun's path. Or is it the other way round?

  He's not doing it in an obvious or stalker-y way. He's being very subtle as he shifts his ripped body, but I'm sure he wants to keep me in his sights. Like he's relishing the eye flirt as much as me.

  Why can't I do something? Is there no option to run over to where he's standing, drag him to the change rooms and run my palms all over that solid mass of rolling muscle? A collection of gifs rolls across my mind like a movie trailer.

  Me lifting a sexy gown from the rack and carrying it to the change room with a sexy glance over my shoulder. Hunk appearing at the door just as I get my boring jeans and sweatshirt off and am standing in a set of luxuriously provocative lace underwear and not the non-alluring big girl pants and sports bra I'm actually wearing.

  How he'd shove inside the cubicle, his back to the door and pull me into his grasp. His huge hands circling my waist as his lips cover mine in a steamy mouth lock.

  “I knew he couldn't be trusted. College boys can be very self-involved,” Mellie's saying in an endless stream of chatter designed to make me feel better in my perceived slump. “And the one time we met Storm, your father was not at all impressed. He predicted ungentlemanly behavior and he was right on point.”

  “You should have said something at the time,” I sigh.

  Okay forbidden fantasy to be continued later when I'm alone in my bed.

  “But Daddy's never liked any guy I've dated, not once since I was thirteen years old has a guy met his stringent standards.”

  “You could be right about – Jared?” Mellie drops the sweater in her hand, then takes it up again to twist it nervously.

  Who's Jared?

  “Is that? No. It can't be,” she stammers and I notice her cheeks turn pink. “But I'm sure it is.”

  What? What's she doing? Walking right over to hot guy. Did she see him looking at me?

  “Ohmigod Jared, Jared Helmsley, it is you.”

  She's got both palms encircling his thick forearm and a small wave of jealousy floods my core that she gets to touch him.

  “It's so good to see you,” she gushes. “I thought you left Denver years ago.”

  Nooo. Please no. Don't tell me sexy guy is one of Mellie's old flames. She's already had her second chance love. She shouldn't get to steal my fantasy boyfriend.

  “I did, went up to San Fran right out of college – Melissa, Er?”

  He's reaching back in time for her name. In a voice of honey melting over sun-baked grit. I have to admit it's good to see he doesn’t remember her and I don’t mean that in a mean way.

  “Melody, Mellie Pitt,”

  “Right. Mellie Pitt,” he purrs, his voice smooth but with raspy bits.

  I can tell he hasn't a clue who she is. His gaze wanders across to me like he read my mind, then snaps away.

  “Wallis now, actually, Todd and I got married in the end.”

  “Todd Wallis?”

  “That's it. You were on the team together. I remember you were scouted by the forty-niners.”

  Christ, he went to school with Dad and Mellie. He remembers my father from when they were my age which makes him – damn. But he looks so much younger than dad. Up close I see there are small crinkles around his eyes and a slight indent of smile lines but everything about him reads youthful, adventurous and so damn hot.

  The momentary flush of girlish crushing that brushed at my skin is replaced by full on lusting. It isn't wrong to be attracted to a man the same age as my father. Attraction is based on a person, not their age or their looks. Although in Jared Helmsley's case the looks department is definitely a deciding influence. He's a pro footballer too from the sounds of it.

  “You must come over for dinner,” Mellie's saying. “Todd would love to catch up on the old days.”

  For a second he looks like he's going to refuse. His mind searching for an excuse to wriggle out of the invite but then Jared's eyes snap back to me. He tries to repress another smile and then murmurs an agreement in the voice that makes my pores tingle. All wet cement and filthy mechanics covered in oil. Oh crap, I am really losing it here.

  “Sure, sounds good,” he rasps.

  His gaze that had returned to Mellie, once again trawls back to me. This time he takes me in with a glance across my body and I can see despite the unflattering sweatshirt I'm wearing that makes me look like Santa's sack, he isn't disappointed. My clit starts thumping with the pleasure delivered by Jared Helmsley's appreciation.

  “I'm at the Art Hotel. Give me a call,” he adds.

  And just as I'm planning my next fantasy of dropping by his hotel one evening to hang out in the cocktail lounge, he's said goodbye to my step-mom and melted away into the crowds.

  I turn to Mellie with a what the? face plastered on and notice she's as flushed pink as I am. We're both flustered but I guess in her case the peri-menopausal thing doesn't allow for any camouflage. It's clear she's totally hot for Jared Helmsley.

  “So who was that?” I inquire.

  Chapter THREE

  Jared

  I'm not that guy. The one that's always slathering after nubile women barely out of their teens to make himself feel young again. I may be coming up on crisis years way too soon, but still, I date women from the same decade as me. Women who've lived a little, who know what they want, who know how to partner a real man.

  But when I saw her small pale hand trailing across the fuzzy knits, all I could think of was having those sensuous fingertips outlining each and every one of my muscles. Exploring the carving with the same wonder she was gazing at me with, from across a crowded department store.

  She's like some little doll.

  Skin like porcelain, so make that a china doll. Round dewy eyes. That glossy rope of Gilda red hair twisting down her back, begging to be fisted and used as a leash to rein her in.

  Gently of course. Very, very gently. A girl like that,
you want to keep her cosseted. A precious jewel in a satin padded case. Guarded and watched over constantly.

  I force myself to keep my eyes on her mother and not get dragged back to the girl with the sinful body. The fact that she has it all covered up in gym clothes is hotter than if she'd been standing there in a mini skirt. I have a vivid imagination once it's turned on and fuck, was it turned on by that girl.

  That rush of sensations for a woman has me freaked, I'll admit it.

  Not merely because it's been way too fucking long since I've met a woman that inspired anything more than a desire to release some pent-up tension. So long, I'm beginning to think that I’ve become jaded by the whole dating scene.

  Then this young woman with the near-translucent skin and the luscious small body appears out of my miasma of boredom and lights a fucking fuse. She's completely different from any woman I've ever known.

  I've never been slammed with such a mixed cocktail of desire. The insane need to part her thighs and slide all the way inside her. Feeling her tightness unfold and welcome me. Holding her down under me and watching her skin bloom with a rosy tone of blush from the pleasure of my cock inside her.

  The second time her eyes flick across to me, that pink glow rising to her cheek makes me want to howl like a wild animal. All the colors of the multitude of garments piled on tables and shelving, hanging from long stretched of chrome pole, it all swims up before me in a vivid rainbow of lust. I have never wanted to fuck someone so hard and so bad.

  If this is the onset of some kind of mid-life madness, it's going to send me into a man cave. I can't stand the thought of running into women that get me this feral with animalistic desire in public places. But somehow I don't think it's got much to do with my boredom. It's all about the girl. Her particular brand of innocent desire is what's pulling me under. The sort of woman that men start wars for, that give up everything just for a glimpse of.

  I have to tear my eyes off her provocative gaze, reeling me in and get away before I totally lose my mind.