“I do love you, Taylor!” His eyes seem pained, but I know he’s a good actor. I’m not buying it. “I had to do what I did because…because of your mom.”
“Oh.” I laugh painfully. “So you want to be with her now? Want me to dig up a lost sister so you can have her too?”
“I don’t want to be with her, Taylor,” he says, advancing on me. “She was blackmailing me.”
A brief moment of hesitation comes over me. I feel myself starting to slip, like a dam ready to give way, and fight to hold back.
“How? How would she even know about us?”
“It’s all my fault,” he replies, shaking his head. “I let you fall asleep in my bed, and your mom came up and saw us. When I went downstairs she confronted me. She had a picture and everything.”
“What…?” I didn’t know it was possible to feel this embarrassed.
“She demanded fifty million from me, Taylor. I thought that would be the end of it. But it wasn’t enough for her. She made me go upstairs and break things off with you.”
“So this is all about your money?” I snap. “You didn’t want to pay her so you just broke up with me?”
“I would gladly pay more than fifty million if it meant being with you, beautiful,” he replies. “But your mother was going to expose me if I didn’t do what I did.”
“What do you care?” I ask. “Everyone knows you’re a ladies’ man.”
“This is different, Taylor, and you know that. You’re not just any girl. You’re my stepdaughter.”
He’s right of course. But still, I’m not buying it. There’s something missing here.
“So you were worried about your reputation?”
“No.” He shakes his head and a hint of a smile comes over his face. “I was worried about yours.”
Suddenly, I feel so stupid. This whole time I assumed he was protecting himself; I hadn’t even occurred he’d be thinking about protecting me.
“I wouldn’t be able to live with myself, Taylor, if what I did ended up hurting you. I’m used to my life being discussed in the press and having people come after me. But you don’t deserve that. Not with something like this.”
Two tractor-trailer-trucks of emotion collide within me. The fierce hatred I feel for him has not subsided. It’s now at war with the complete sense of relief and stupidity that’s starting to grip me.
He’s not lying. Either that or he’s an Oscar caliber actor along with being a billionaire. Tears begin to sting my eyes as I look at him. I want to accept this, but I’m afraid. And I don’t know how to get past all the negative emotions that are exploding inside me.
Luckily for me, Rick does.
He moves right in and sweeps me into his arms like a prince. My mouth instinctively falls open to accept his kiss, and the red-hot, fiery rage I was feeling before is doused in the healing waters of his embrace.
I melt into him. The terror of losing him forever is still strong in my chest, so I throw my arms around him and pull him as tight as possible. I feel his pain—what he must have felt when he came to the bedroom and said those terrible things to me.
But together we can get past it. I know he loves me now. I’m no longer afraid. I don’t care if the whole world finds out our precious little secret if it means I get to be with him. Rick, my prince. My daddy.
“I know you probably are still mad at me, Taylor,” he whispers, stroking my hair. “But I want to ask you something.”
“I’m not mad, Daddy. What is it?”
Intent fills his eyes. Happiness swims through me as the anticipation rises. Is he about to say what I think he is? He can’t be. I’m just being ridiculous for even thinking it.
“Will you come home with me?”
I almost laugh. Of course he’s not asking me that. It’s too soon.
“Of course I will, Daddy.”
“Good.” He nods, pulling me to the door. He stops half-way and turns back to me. “Oh, and also—will you marry me?”
Epilogue
Rick
Two years later…
Talk about a life change.
I’m no longer Rick Clark, the billionaire-playboy-CEO; I’m Rick Clark the married-billionaire-businessman.
Secretly married, of course. It’s not even technically legal in the eyes of the law. Taylor and I said our vows together in an ultra-private ceremony with a priest who I had sign a non-disclosure agreement. Now that I’m divorced from Brandi, marrying Taylor might not seem taboo to some, but I still have to protect her. And who cares what the law says if we’re happy?
Brandi was overly confident. When we met up the next day to discuss the transfer of the fifty million, I brought a hidden recorder and taped her blackmailing me. Then I brought my lawyers in and they let her know that if she didn’t take the five million I was now offering and sign an NDA saying she would keep her mouth shut about her daughter and me, she’d be going to jail.
She folded.
I didn’t have to pay her, of course, but I did it anyway. It was more of a PR move so she wouldn’t be able to talk bad about me in the press or try to play the victim. I also didn’t openly discuss the fact that she cheated on me. I wasn’t looking for a war; I was looking for a peace treaty. And I got one.
Taylor and I moved in together immediately. Going out in public is a bit of a pain. I either have to take her somewhere I trust and book the whole restaurant for myself, or we have to pretend we’re just father and stepdaughter and there’s nothing more going on between us.
It’s kind of fun actually; it’s almost like reverse role play. At home we live our truth, but in public we put on a persona. It turns me on when she gives me sass, says, “Okay, Dad” in that bratty tone of hers or pretends like she doesn’t want to be out with me, because I know that when we get home, she’s all mine.
It’s been two years, and I still can’t keep my hands off her. She wears these cute little shorty panties around the house with one of my T-shirts, and it drives me wild. Sometimes she’ll dress up in lingerie for me, but I prefer her when she’s all natural. No bra. I can come up behind her at the sink and slide my hands up her shirt and feel her perfect breasts, then peel her panties down and bury my tongue in her sweetest of spots.
We’ve renamed my morning wood to my “Taylor’s wood,” because that’s what it is. I don’t even jerk off anymore. No need. I simply roll over, and if she’s wearing panties, pull them aside and enter her. If she’s not, it’s even easier.
She’s in school, working on her English major. She wants to be a writer, and I’m going to do everything I can to support her. In fact, today is the last day of school, and I have a surprise waiting for her when she gets home.
I’m not nervous; I’m anxious. I can’t wait to see her reaction when she sees it, and I’m literally pacing around the living room waiting for her car to pull into the driveway. When she opens the door, I sweep her into my arms.
“You kept me waiting,” I growl.
“Mmm, blame Professor Stenger,” she whispers. “He kept us late with an end-of-the-year party.”