Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 56771 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 284(@200wpm)___ 227(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56771 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 284(@200wpm)___ 227(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
I’ve been friends with his daughter Rosa since we were ten years old, a whole lot of friendship. I can’t risk that by falling for her dad—or worse, my kidnapper.
I saw something I shouldn’t, learned secrets I wish I hadn’t, and now I’m the mafia boss’s prisoner. He tells me it’s to keep me safe. He tells me he’s not going to hurt me.
If he keeps visiting me at night, spanking me, and taking our fantasies to steamier and steamier places, he could hurt me by ending my friendship. Rosa would never speak to me again. She’d hate me forever.
I’m shocked Leo even wants me. He’s older, rich, experienced, and mature. He’s everything a woman could ever want and he wants me, a curvy virgin.
Will he ever let me leave? Do I even want to? What will we do when Rosa finds out?
* Kidnapped by My Best Friend’s Dad is an insta-everything standalone romance with a HEA, no cheating, and no cliffhanger.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
CHAPTER ONE
Emma
I watch the East Coast buildings flit by the window, much grayer and bleaker than the West Coast. Maybe that’s just my mood, and I can’t brand the entire East Coast this way.
I’m sitting in the back of a chauffeured car sent by my bestie, Rosa. She was the one who held me tight as I cried so hard I thought my chest was going to bust open eighteen months ago when Mom died. Then it was life on the West Coast with my stepdad.
Now? He’s found another woman, and I don’t enjoy hanging around the house when I can tell they don’t want me there. It’s nothing they’ve said explicitly, more a general mood. It’s a look my stepdad gets in his eyes sometimes as if he’s silently saying, When can I start my new life? Honestly, I get it. I’m a reminder of everything he’s lost, and it’s not like we were ever super close.
We stop at a red light, the midday sun shining down on a construction site. I wonder if Rosa’s dad, Leo Esposito, is involved in the project. He’s been a top construction manager in the city ever since I was a kid, hence the car and the big townhouse it’s taking me to.
I was seventeen when I left, but as the car carries me closer to the house, I feel like I’ve aged more than eighteen months. It’s like I left seeing the city through childish eyes, everything big and imposing, but now it’s shrunken down and nowhere near as impressive. Maybe that’s grief, still clinging, dulling everything. Whatever, at least the sun’s shining. I can’t let myself fall into self-pitying crap.
Soon, we arrive at the townhouse. “Thank you, Francesco,” I say.
He turns and smiles. His bushy gray mustache and the shocks of hair forming a crescent around his head bring me back to childhood. He’s been the Esposito driver for as long as I can remember.
“Of course, miss. I can’t call you little lady anymore, can I?”
This might seem suggestive coming from somebody else, but Francesco is a good man and happily married. Anyway, nobody ever suggests much to me, not that I’m looking.
I walk up the long stairs to the townhouse, immaculately swept, the door twice my height. After pressing the doorbell, I remind myself I’m not here to ogle Rosa’s dad, Leo. I never had a crush on him, but I did look from time to time. It was impossible not to.
Luckily, I didn’t see him much growing up. Sometimes, he’d say a quick hello, but that was it. It gave me the space I needed not to let this feeling grow, whatever it was, the small ball of potential light inside me. It’s a good thing, and I plan on keeping it that way. Just because Leo makes me ache in a way I don’t fully understand, it doesn’t mean I have to feed those feelings. Just like the feelings of grief, too. There’s no need to throw wood on those fires.
I almost cry when Rosa throws the door open. It’s how she reacts, her face crumpling in emotion, her hands flying up to cover her mouth as if shocked at my presence. She’s tall and thin, wears an artsy top and torn jeans, and has her deep brown hair cut into a confident fringe.
“I’m so happy to see you.” She hugs me tightly. “I feel like it’s been forever.”
I hug her just as tight. “That’s because it has. I’m still angry at you for not visiting.”
I mean it as a joke, but then her grip on me tightens.
“Hey, I’m just kidding. I knew you had school.”
She’s studying English literature and poetry, which suits her perfectly. I’m going to be an accountant one day, lost in the boring world of profits and sums and the clean sense of the numerical world.
As she leads me into the house, I don’t mention that she refused to visit even during the holidays, and when I mentioned coming here, she became awkward. I’ve wondered why, but I can’t figure it out. Sometimes, I feel like I’m missing something obvious.
“Look who’s back, Mom,” Rosa says, stopping in front of the shrine to pay her respects.
This is another reason I can’t ever think about Leo Esposito. I can’t let my mind stray to his height. He must be at least six and a half feet, a giant compared to most men. I can’t think about his hair, mostly silver but with flecks of obsidian here and there, or his intense eyes, which seemed to consume me the few times I saw him as a kid. They fascinated me, too, one stark blue and the other brown. I can’t think about trailing my hand down his arm, feeling his muscles, strength, and how his confident smirk shapes his lips.