Blurb
What happens when the one person you shouldn’t want becomes the only one you crave?
Hazel Holland’s life is a mess, and the last thing she wants is to crawl back to her stepfather for help. But Xavier Rochat isn’t just her rock-he’s all broad shoulders, commanding presence, and forbidden temptation. Living under his roof again stirs feelings she knows she shouldn’t have, but she can’t stop thinking about those strong hands and the way his voice makes her knees weak.
Xavier has always seen Hazel as the girl he helped raise-but she’s not a little girl anymore. She’s stunning, tempting, and entirely off-limits. Resisting her is a battle he’s losing, especially when she makes it clear she doesn’t want to play by the rules.
Their connection is wrong, dangerous, and too hot to resist. But how long can they keep their hands off each other before everything explodes?
My forbidden stepdaddy is a raw, forbidden romance full of tension, temptation, and heat that will leave you begging for more and the last book in my forbidden series!()-
Chapter 1
Hazel
“Your father’s here,” the social worker says, with the same small, pitying smile she’s been giving me all afternoon. She probably thinks it makes her look sympathetic. To me it just looks tight and fake. It’s the same smile everyone’s been giving me today-professionals who are trying to look compassionate but really just doing their job. They’ve seen it all before, I guess. She ducks back through the door, leaving it open, and I turn to the cop standing beside me.
“That’s it, anyway,” I shrug. “She basically took everything with her.”
She gives me the same smile as the social worker and tilts her head. “I’m sure you’ll be real happy to see your daddy. Thanks for your help, hon.”
I walk down the shoddy hallway, my running shoes pressing down on the too-soft, stained blue carpet, and into the living room, where the social worker is waiting for me. A large, dark figure fills the doorway.
Xavier.
It’s been a year since I saw my stepfather-a really long, fucking difficult year-and heat rushes to my face as I step towards him, tears threatening. He doesn’t look at me the way the social worker does, or the cop. His jaw is tight, his gaze level, but there’s an intensity in his eyes that tells me exactly how he’s feeling: relieved, worried, emotional.
We’ve kept in touch since he and my mom separated. Xavier has never stopped checking in on me, always concerned about how things were going with Melanie. But he didn’t know the half of it. And now he’s about to embark on a fast learning curve.
I dive in for a hug without saying anything and he wraps his huge, strong arms around me, pulling me in tight. It takes everything in me not to break down and cry. His well-made suit jacket is polished and stiff against my cheek, so unlike everything in this apartment, where even the walls seem to droop and sag.
The solid plane of his chest is unimaginably reassuring. And his smell! I forgot how warm, clean, and comforting it is. I take a deep breath and let my body melt into his, enjoying the feeling of safety and security in his arms. It’s the first respite from constant anxiety that I’ve had in months.
“Hey, baby,” he murmurs into my hair.
“Hey, Xavier.” I don’t care that the social worker is standing there watching us. I can’t bring myself to let go.
Xavier chuckles, his whole body vibrating against the length of mine. “You used to call me Dad,” he says affectionately.
I just sigh, and wrap my arms around him tighter.
It’s true, I did used to call him Dad. Melanie had insisted on it-until they broke up, and then suddenly it had to be Xavier. I had so much trouble calling him by his name at first that I’m surprised to realize now that I finally broke the habit. Surprised, and disappointed. Xavier is my father in nearly every imaginable way. It feels like a betrayal that I stopped calling him that.
We break apart and he shakes the social worker’s hand and signs a release form. I can tell by the way she looks at him that she’s flustered by his appearance-maybe the height and breadth of him, or the cleft in his chin; I know women go crazy for the cleft. She’s wide-eyed and flushed as she repeats what she told him on the phone, blinking her eyes as she tries to stay focused: My teacher came to the apartment because I hadn’t been to school in several weeks, and then called Family Services; I have no idea where my mother is; Xavier will have to take me home to his house; she’ll come by to check in tomorrow.
He nods gravely through the whole thing, his jaw tight and his expression serious. He doesn’t seem to notice the way she swallows when she says she’ll come by the house, or the way she keeps tucking her hair behind her ear. Then the cop comes out of my mom’s bedroom and gives him her card, asking him to call if he hears anything, and promising to be in touch. When they both leave, Xavier takes my bony shoulders in his large hands and looks down at me with a furrowed brow.
“You okay, kid?” he asks.
Sure. I’m fine. My mom ran off five weeks ago and the electricity just got shut off. Couldn’t be better.
Chapter 2
I nod and say nothing, and then he follows me to my room so I can pack a bag. I’m keenly aware of what this apartment must look like to him, as we enter the dingy bedroom beside the kitchen. I see it through his eyes. The scuffed pink walls, the closet door hanging on its hinges, the worn-out single bed. He doesn’t say anything but I see his eyes scanning, taking it all in. It’s such a shithole here. Not at all the kind of accommodation Xavier Rochat is accustomed to.
He leans against the doorframe as I grab handfuls of my clothing from the warped, secondhand dresser and shove them into my old hockey bag.
“Why are you living here?” he asks in his deep voice with just the faintest trace of a French accent. I shove the last of my clothing into the bag and zip it up.
It’s the question I wish I could avoid answering, the reason I didn’t call him when I began to wonder how long I could make the canned food last. I was ashamed to have him find out that we were here, ashamed of my mother’s behaviour, her tricks. I reach for the stuffed, white bunny on my bed, Bunners, and Xavier smiles softly. He gave Bunners to me when he first started dating my mom, and I’ve been sleeping with it ever since.
“Melanie rented out the house,” I admit.
“What?” He frowns. “What do you mean she rented it?”
“She rented it,” I repeat, and try to lift the bag off the floor. It’s too heavy for me and I drop it with a thud. “Can we…can we talk about this later?”
He blinks his eyes, drawing himself back to the matter at hand, and pushes himself off the wall. “Of course, honey.” He reaches down and grabs the handles of my bag, swinging it over one powerful shoulder easily. “I’m sorry. Let’s just get you home.”
Home.
I’ve never been to Xavier’s new house, the one he bought after he and my mom broke up, because Melanie didn’t want us to stay in touch. ‘Just leave him in the past where he belongs!’ she’d said flippantly, as if I could just forget about the one person who was ever really a parent to me. Xavier, who’d been my dad since I was eight years old.
The house Xavier left me and Melanie was stunning, but this new one in Vancouver’s priciest neighborhood is breathtaking-sleek, modern, and pure Xavier. My sneakers squeak on the glossy floor as I follow him through towering glass doors into a vast, sunlit space overlooking a ravine of pines. Every detail is flawless.
Xavier, with his wealth and striking looks-tall, commanding, dark-eyed, and cleft-chinned-always turned heads. At forty, he’s still devastatingly handsome, even to my seventeen-year-old eyes.
Women were always drawn to Xavier, I think, recalling the social worker earlier. For a fleeting, shameful second, I picture him-powerful shoulders, intense gaze, vulnerable in a lover’s embrace. I shake the thought away, heat rushing to my face. What’s wrong with me?
“I’ll show you to your room,” Xavier says, carrying my bag effortlessly up the circular stairs. He gestures to three tall doors. “Guest room, your room, my room.” I love that he already calls it mine.
The room is stunning-polished floors, a skylight, potted trees, and a crisp, white bed. “Settle in,” Xavier says warmly, ruffling my hair before leaving.
I clutch Bunners, my old stuffed rabbit, breathing in its familiar scent. It’s a piece of Xavier, a reminder of how safe he always made me feel. Even now, after my mom left us both, he’s still here.
I should’ve called him sooner.