“You’re still young… ish. It can’t possibly be that hard.”
Carter chuckled ruefully, shaking his head as the light turned green. “You’d be surprised,” he murmured at a volume Kayla was sure he’d meant to be inaudible, and yet she’d heard every word of it.
She frowned, looking over at her stepfather as he drove through the desolate streets. Every time they left the warm glow of a streetlamp, the shadows that passed over his face seemed to grow darker and darker. Is this why he’s been so distant? she wondered. Mom has been gone a lot, lately. And if they were trying for a baby…
She shook her head, trying hard not to imagine her stepfather engaged in the throes of passion with her mother. But it was no use. Kayla couldn’t help but to envision Carter’s strong, hard body stripped down to his naked flesh, each powerful, coiled muscle rippling as he threw her mother onto his bed.
A little shudder coursed through her. She’d never had those thoughts before—or at least, not in such detail—but she knew that overall, they were normal. It wasn’t all that odd that she should be curious about his physique. He was an objectively attractive man, after all, and closer to her age than he was her mother’s.
Still, this had to be the liquor’s doing, and she did her best not to think on Carter’s body any further as he pulled into the driveway of his manor.
“You could’ve just sent your driver,” she told him, fumbling with the door handle. “If coming to get me was such an imposition, I mean.”
Carter sighed deeply and shook his head, unbuckling his seatbelt. “You’re still my daughter, Kayla,” he told her, and now she could really hear the weariness in his voice. “Family matters should be attended to on a personal level, don’t you think?”
“ Step daughter,” she reminded him, though she wasn’t sure if she was saying it for his benefit or her own. “But anyway… thanks. I guess.” She just couldn’t resist adding in that last bit. She didn’t want to seem like she was getting mushy all of a sudden.
With her stepfather’s help, she stumbled into their home, her heels clacking noisily on the marble floor of the foyer. She kicked off her shoes as soon as she was able, sighing with relief as her arches relaxed. Then, knowing she could go no further, she shuffled into the sitting room and threw herself down on the long sofa near the fireplace, moaning in pain as the feeling returned to her feet.
“You shouldn’t be wearing shoes like that,” her stepfather scolded. She’d expected him to retreat upstairs to his office or bedroom, but he surprised her by sitting down on the opposite end of the couch and pulling her to him by her ankles. “They aren’t good for you.”
Kayla lifted her head and was just about to turn to look at him over her shoulder when Carter pressed both his thumbs into the pads of her right foot. She bit her lip and groaned, pressing her face into the plush cushion as he massaged her aching toes.
“Men always say that,” she began, squirming under her stepfather’s unexpectedly pleasant touch, “but they don’t really believe it.”
Carter arched a jet black brow. “I certainly do.”
“Bullshit,” Kayla replied, carefully turning onto her back with a slow, gradual motion she hoped wouldn’t send her flying off the edge of the couch. “I’ve seen your secretary. She wears heels.”
“That’s her choice,” Carter said, but Kayla shook her head.
“No. It’s what you expect of her. And that’s the problem. Heels aren’t just considered ‘classy’ or ‘sexy.’ They’re also considered professional, which is why you have a bunch of execs in pencil skirts and pumps wincing with every step. They don’t perceive that they’ll be taken as seriously if they wear flats or more ‘sensible’ shoes.”
Carter chuckled softly, now kneading into his stepdaughter’s