Chapter 4 I was getting hard

Apollo

I frowned down at the woman asleep across my bed, wearing only a lace-trimmed slip.

Why does this keep happening to me?

Last week, I found a new intern in my office after hours, clearly waiting for me with intentions beyond work. A couple of days after that, I was in a meeting with a potential business partner when his young daughter made overly familiar advances under the table.

It made me wonder what impression I was giving, or what motivated such persistent attempts to get close to me.

Well, I didn't really need to wonder. I already knew the source.

My father.

The old man had been trying to orchestrate my personal life for years, ever since my wife passed away.

Don't get me wrong, it wasn't about mourning. That chapter was long closed. That wasn't the reason I chose to remain single.

The truth was simpler: I wasn't interested. I wasn't interested in the complicated, arranged connections my father envisioned, or the constant stream of introductions he facilitated.

Do I have a personal life? Of course. I'm human. Occasionally, when the need arises, I might seek companionship with someone who understands it's a temporary, mutual arrangement. It was clean and simple... No one would carry a child I never wanted. My father, however, strongly disapproves of my approach. He has a different goal in mind.

"Other men my age are enjoying their grandchildren," he'd grumbled recently. "I'm the only one without. Do you know how it feels when my friends talk about theirs? You're forty, Apollo. I want a grandchild!"

I told him, very clearly, that I wasn't interested in the matches he proposed. Apparently, he misunderstood. He thought I meant the type, so he changed tactics. Now he seems to be suggesting different kinds of people, perhaps thinking a new approach might sway me.

And this woman, asleep in my bed, was undoubtedly part of his latest effort.

I crossed my arms and stared down at her, tension tightening my jaw.

Her eyes fluttered open, and she looked at me. Her gaze drifted, as if assessing the situation. The way she looked at me felt intrusive.

Seriously? Had my father completely lost his judgment this time? Wasn't I supposed to be the one deciding if this was appropriate? Still, I had to admit, he hadn't chosen carelessly.

The woman had the kind of body that could drive a man insane. She had a slender frame and striking gray eyes. Her lips were parted slightly as if in sleep. The delicate fabric of her slip emphasized her form.

I caught myself observing her before I consciously stopped.

"Am I... dreaming?" she mumbled, her lips curving slightly.

I raised an eyebrow. Was she disoriented? She was the one in my private space, and she was acting as if this were some figment of her imagination?

I ran a hand through my hair and muttered, "I don't have the energy for this tonight."

I turned, intending to walk toward the counter where I kept my phone.

This was a problem I didn't need. Another situation I didn't ask for.

I was moments away from calling my assistant to handle this discreetly. He could settle whatever payment my father probably promised her, but before I could reach the phone, I felt her arms encircle my waist. I stilled at the unexpected touch.

"No, please don't go," she whispered, her voice muffled. "Please... don't leave. This is just a dream, isn't it? It's just a dream. It would hurt, if even in a dream, I was unwanted."

I looked down at her impassively. She was kneeling on the bed, her cheek resting against me, her arms holding on. From this angle, her face was close.

Her warm breath ghosted against my skin, causing an involuntary reaction.

"Am I not enough?" She pulled back just enough that I could see her face.

Her gray eyes were hazy, half-lidded. "Why does it never feel right? I'm twenty-three..." she murmured, the words tinged with a quiet frustration. "And I've never... never truly felt connected. That relationship was my first, but it was empty."

She bit her lip, her fingers lightly brushing against the fabric of my towel. "Even if this is just a dream," she whispered, her voice thick with a longing for comfort, "I'll accept it. I just want to feel something real."

My expression shifted. I didn't know what was more startling, her candid confession or the fact that, against my better judgment and every logical impulse telling me to step away, my body was responding.

Damn it.