Her cheeks burn pink, and her hand rests on her hip as she glares at me. Not like my precious Rowan, but like a moody teenager. She thinks she’s grown just because she’ll be a senior this year. Her mother looked at me like that once too. Once.
“I’m nearly an adult.” She stomps her foot, as if reading my mind. God forbid if she ever were able to actually read my mind. What a chaotic minefield that would be.
“I know how old you are, but no matter your age, I’ll always be your father and looking out for your best interests,” I try to placate, but I’ve learned over the years reasoning with a child is nearly impossible. Especially a teenage girl.
“You mean controling me?” she bites out.
Who is the girl standing before me?
It’s like she’s becoming someone else overnight.
Definitely been spending too much time with the little assholes next door.
“If it comes to that, then yes,” I warn.
Her eyes widen in defiance.
“Eric…I mean, Mr Pearson said he could stay there too to keep an eye on us,” she pushes the issue.
“Rowan,” I warn. “The answer is no.”
I’ve never wanted to be tough on her, but if she forces my hand, I’ll take steps to keep her in line. She’s not ending up like Eric Pearson’s kids—or under them, for that matter. Their influence is spreading through my sweet Rowan like a disease and I’ll cut those fuckers out like one too.
Her eyes water, and I hate to see that look on her face. She’s the only person who can bring me to my knees. She will thank me one day for being firm with her when it comes to those boys, though.
“I’m going to bed,” she announces, swiping her face as tears leak out before storming out of the room and up the stairs.
Something has to change. Maybe Eric needs a warning, not Rowan. If he pushes me, he better be prepared for the shove he gets in return. How dare he make her think it’s okay to abandon me and stay with him and his four sons—to get the whole town talking and casting their eyes our way. No. Fuck no. It’s not happening.
I finish the chicken stir-fry on my plate and clean the kitchen before booting up my laptop and checking out Trevor Blackstone’s properties. The fact that there’s one he doesn’t own intrigues me, and could be a potential opportunity for me to purchase and rub it in his face if the need ever arise.
I note down the address and add it to my list of things to do tomorrow.
Trevor Blackstone, property tycoon at the rate he’s going with all these investments. These beachfront properties are a gold mine, and he owns all but one—the one I’ve been staring at for the past twenty minutes. I skipped my morning run to stake out this place and although my legs are already getting jittery, it’s been worth it. You can learn a lot by just watching. Waiting. Biding your time.
The woman who used to own this house was ancient. When I looked her up, she was nearly ninety by the time she died. From my research, I discovered the property is in the name of a trust. Trevor is beyond rich and could afford to offer her any price, so why is the trustee not selling? I couldn’t find any other useful information, which is why I’m here to get a closer look.
I ponder staking out the place, seeing if the trustee took possession of the home. I might slip inside and hold a pillow over the unsuspecting fuck’s face in the middle of the night. That way, I could see what happens with the property and take the next step to acquiring it before Trevor can.
I may have a better chance with the trustee still breathing, however. I could just convince them to sell to me.
I’m about to get out my car to go sweet talk the new owner, which I’m hoping is a woman. No female has resisted my charms in the past eighteen years, and one way or another, I always get what I want. This place could be for Rowan. She wanted the beach, and I could give it to her. A gift for me upsetting her at dinner last night. One rule. No boys. Not a harsh rule for such a prize. She could stay here on weekends, and that would give me more privacy and stop the pack of animals next door from trying to sneak over.
I open the car door, but falter when I see a petite auburn-haired female walking toward the house.
My stomach coils in a good way, and a sigh passes my lips. Pulling the door closed, I just watch her through the pane of glass, transfixed by her. My soft intake and exhale of breath is the only sound around me.
God, who is that?
Is she the one who now owns the old woman’s house?
She’s wearing tiny jean shorts and a tank top that shows a sliver of her taut, tanned stomach. Her hair is pulled up on top of her head, but some strands have fallen free, framing the delicate features of her face.
She saunters rather than walks, a sway to her hips, a carefree, confident swagger to her movements. The world stops and she’s all there is. My heart races, and my palms sweat.
If she’s the one I need to encourage to sell, this whole idea just got ten times more intriguing.
She’s holding a cell phone to her ear and shaking her head, not happy with whoever is on the other end. With a huff, she ends the call, but still shouts at her phone animatedly before disappearing inside the old woman’s house. Out of my sight, she slips away, and I feel like I’ve fallen through a rabbit hole. I’m tumbling, my head dizzy.
My heart rate has increased, and my cock hardens. It’s a feeling I’ve become accustom to when the need overtakes me.
The urge, the overwhelming ache that grips me, strengthening until the only thing I know is…
I need her. Want her. Must have her.
A relieved breath leaves my body. I’ve found my new girl, finally.
And she’s perfect. No, she’s magnificent.
The good ones are worth the wait. This one, I could wait years for. Just watching and learning her every move. It would be so fucking sweet when I finally made my move.
She will be mine.
All mine.
I wait all day and night for my chance to inspect. Patience is a virtue.
Darkness has crept over the sky, shadowing the road I’m parked on. The streets are empty, and the lull of the ocean is the only sound outside the window of the car. Opening the door, I step outside and pop the trunk, taking out my camera from my stashed emergency bag.
I move to the brush by the side of the houses and then down onto the beach they overlook. Sand fills my shoes, and I curse myself for not going home to change before doing this. But I couldn’t risk her leaving and me not seeing where she goes. Maybe she’s just visiting and won’t be back for weeks, months, years? I can’t afford to let her fall through my grasp without knowing anything about her.
She’s mine.
My heart hammers in my chest when I see her through the window. She’s clearing things away and dancing to music muted to my ears. She’s young, carefree, beautiful. Mine. Mine. Mine.
Click. Click. Click.
I watch her through the lens that zooms right into the room as if I’m within reaching distance. Like I can just reach out and touch that soft, silky, golden skin. Feel her beneath my fingertips. Smell her. Breathe her in. Run my hands through the strands on her head. I’d strip her from that shirt and enjoy the bounce of those ripe, firm tits, then I’d remove those tiny barely-there shorts. I bet she’s clean-shaven. Soft, rosy flesh hidden away in plump, juicy folds. I’ll open her up, unwrap her like a prize. She’ll want it, beg with her eyes, “Take me.” And I will. I’ll take her. All of her. Until her last breath.