Dad Can't Know

Dad Can't Know Eva Marks Copyright © 2023 by Eva Marks All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places or incidents are products of the author’s imagination and used in fictious manner. Any resemblance toactual people, places or events is purely coincidental or fictionalized. Dad Can’t Know is a steamy, taboo novella, containing explicit and graphic scenes and kinks intended for mature audiences only. Trigger Warnings Dad’s best friend, ASMR kink, age gap, praise, dirty talking alpha, sexual harassment (not by the hero), touch her and die, neglecting mother of the heroine. Contents About the Book 1. PROLOGUE 2. CHAPTER ONE 3. CHAPTER TWO 4. CHAPTER THREE 5. CHAPTER FOUR 6. CHAPTER FIVE 7. CHAPTER SIX 8. CHAPTER SEVEN 9. CHAPTER EIGHT 10. CHAPTER NINE 11. CHAPTER TEN 12. CHAPTER ELEVEN 13. CHAPTER TWELVE 14. CHAPTER THIRTEEN 15. CHAPTER FOURTEEN 16. CHAPTER FIFTEEN 17. CHAPTER SIXTEEN 18. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN 19. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN 20. CHAPTER NINETEEN 21. EPILOGUE About the Author More Books from Eva Marks Thank You! Coming August 1, 2023 22. I'll Be Watching You Sneak Peek About the Book No one plans to fall for their dad’s best friend. But I did… Callum Reinhart moved across the country two years ago. I was finally just over 18 when he left and cut ties with us, taking away with him the opportunity to tell him how I’d stopped thinking of him as Uncle Callum and started thinking of him as an older, wiser, sexy man. But he’s back now, two years later, and so much has changed. My mom abandoned us. My dad is an emotional mess. And Callum doesn’t look at me like I’m a kid anymore. He’s as hungry for me as I am for him. We know it’s forbidden—dirty and intense. That’s not enough to stop us, though. Even though we should. Not when it feels so good. All I can do now is keep it a secret as best I can, because there’s one thing I know for certain: my dad can never know... PROLOGUE Robin Two months earlier “Dad?” I call out, slamming the door to my parents’ penthouse behind me. “Mom?” There’s an eerie silence in the foyer of my childhood home in New York’s Upper West Side, interrupted only by the vehement thrashing of my heart. If I felt something wasn’t right on the way over, now I’m sure of it. I don’t bother kicking off my biker boots like Mom orders us to do. Fuck that, manners are the last thing on my mind, as is the predictive analytics elective course that I’ve been waiting for these past two and a half years in college. My younger sister, Adele, texted me to go check on him and Mom because neither have answered their phones since this morning. Haven’t checked their messages, either, which never happens. These people are glued to their phones harder than Jack clung to the damn door in Titanic. Dad is on it nonstop for his work as the owner of a Wall Street hedge fund managing firm; either he answers emails or goes over the news and latest trends. And Mom, while she doesn’t have a job, claims her girlfriends and their gossip keep her busier than Dad. They’re always on it, and they always answer. Nothing and no one else matters at the moment, except for them. My boots thump against the sickeningly clean marble floors as I storm into the expansive living room on the first floor. Expansive and empty. Considering either of them could be inside the soundproof kitchen Mom had barricaded some years ago, I jog over there. I push through the whitewashed, heavy wooden doors to get in, switching on the light and looking in. The white marble breakfast island where I can usually find Dad reading the latest finance news is empty. Mom isn’t at the fridge getting her bottle of Chardonnay. Similarly, to the living room, the kitchen is also empty. I run back out, calling them through the panic that clings to my every pore. “Mom!” My shout bangs on the walls, goes off the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, and rounds back to my tightly wound chest. It hurts, but I don’t falter. “Dad!” I shout again, then curse under my breath, “Goddammit, Adele.” I’m not resenting my sister for being away. I wholeheartedly supported her to enroll in the college of her dreams in New Jersey, where she started studying this year. She wanted to be like me, to embrace her independence, and I was her number one fan. Still am. I just hate that she’s not around today. I could really use someone here with me to tell me nothing horrible waits for me at the top of the stairs. In my panic, my brain concocts the worst-case scenario. My parents aren’t criminals or associated with that kind of people—not that I know of. They are, however, wealthy, and influential. They do appear on magazine covers. They might have been targeted. The fact that the alarm hadn’t been disabled when I walked in doesn’t guarantee the house wasn’t broken into. All it takes is someone savvy enough to hack the system, and poof! you’re inside the house. A shaky breath escapes past my lips. I don’t want to find them hurt, or worse, find a ransom note on their pillow. Terror creeps up my spine, my insides spinning and turning. I’m not easily fazed by anything, but I’m sure the thought of being an orphan at the age of twenty would fuck with anyone’s psyche. I climb up one stair. The railing dents the flesh on my fingers from holding it so tight. “D-Dad?” I go up another stair. The more the terrorizing pictures filter into my head, the lower my voice drops. “Mom?” Two of the