by Sorcha Black
“Is it obvious?” I tried to look at myself in the side mirror, but he wouldn’t let me.
“Yes, and everyone is going to know what you did.” He held my arm then pulled me away from the car so he could open the door and push me into the passenger seat.
I tried to flip down the visor to look in the vanity mirror, but for a big man, he moved fast. He was in his seat and closing the visor again before I could get a good look. My face already had a mostly dried glaze that felt strange to the touch.
“I can’t walk around like this.”
“You can and you will until it’s time for your bath tonight.” He started the car, grabbed my chin, and turned my head this way and that as though to check out his handiwork.
“So pretty.”
“But this is embarrassing! I can’t!”
He tutted. “If you didn’t want everyone to know what a messy girl you are, you should have swallowed faster.”
As the car started to roll away from where we’d been parked, I smacked his arm. He reached over and caught the tip of my breast without even looking and squeezed it so hard I hollered.
“Do you get to hit your Daddy?” he demanded, calmly waiting for traffic to pass so we could get back onto the highway. His fingers were still clamped on my nipple, and I was holding still and shrieking. The grip on my nipple eased a little, just enough to let me think. I sobbed and twisted in my seat, but tried not to move the breast he was hurting too much.
He pulled onto the highway, and the car jumped forward at his command and started accelerating.
“Do you get to hit your Daddy?” he repeated, sounding very scary.
“No, sir,” I said meekly.
“Do you get to throw tantrums while I’m driving?”
“No, sir.”
“What do you say to me?”
“I’m sorry for hitting you. I’m just…really embarrassed. Like going to die embarrassed.”
“You should be more embarrassed about your bratty behavior, miss.”
He let go of my nipple. Whining, I pressed my hands against it in a desperate attempt to stick it back to my breast, because I was pretty sure it was falling off. I pulled up my shirt and pushed my bra strap down so I could assess the damage. My nipple was very red. I poked it and whined louder.
“You broke it,” I complained.
“I did not. Quit being a baby.”
“I’m not a baby!”
“Then act like a big girl.”
I pouted at him. “You need to kiss it better. It’s sad.”
“You need to put your tits away before you cause an accident, bad girl.”
I covered myself back up, grumbling about how he was the worst daddy and the meanest daddy while he sat there grinning and looking horribly cocky and drop-dead sexy.
Turned on all over again, I replayed the whole mean exchange in my head. I’d be adding it to the things I thought about the next time I was alone in bed at night.
He’d referred to himself as Daddy, and more than once. ‘Do you get to hit your Daddy?’ Not just a Daddy, but my Daddy.
Feeling self-satisfied, I wiggled in my seat.
“You do like getting a smackdown,” he observed.
I smiled guiltily but didn’t respond. I did, but I also didn’t like his smackdowns—it was a weird feeling to want something my sense of self-preservation was trying to steer me clear of. When he was irritated with me, it was exciting, but I wouldn’t like it if he was genuinely angry.
“What were you talking about when you came?”
“What do you mean?” I held my hand protectively over my nipple in case he decided to get mad and hurt it again.
I could tell my defensive posture amused him—probably because he could push my hand away without any trouble.
“You said something like, ‘No Daddy, please don’t hurt me there.’ What were you thinking about?”
Oh jeez.
“Did I say that?” I frowned with feigned cluelessness. “Weird. I have no idea what that was about.”
“You’re a horrible liar.”
“What are you talking about? I’m a great liar!” Damn it.
He was chuckling. “Busted.”
“I meant in general, not right this minute.”
“Nice try. Tell me or I’m going to make you a very sorry girl.”
“Can we just skip to the part where you make me sorry?” I asked.
“I’m thinking writing lines would be a great punishment.”
“Lines? Can’t it be like…I don’t know…you choking me with your penis or something?”
“Cock. Don’t say penis unless you’re talking to a professional of some sort, it sounds ridiculous.”
“Cock,” I said, my cheeks warming a little.
“Better.” He changed lanes to go around an overloaded pickup truck that looked like it was going to start losing the contents of someone’s apartment any minute. “Now tell me what you were thinking about or things are going to get boring for you really fast.”
“I was thinking about…” I sighed, playing with my seatbelt instead of finishing my sentence.
“Were you thinking about me or someone else?”
Okay, that was an easier question.
“You, of course.”
“There’s no ‘of course’ about it. You could be thinking about someone you have a crush on, or a famous person, or a character in a book. Maybe someone you knew when you were younger but couldn’t have?”
“No,” I replied honestly. “I didn’t want anyone specifically before you came along.”
“I’m just so handsome you had to have me?” he asked, chuckling.
“You’re like…cool and mean-looking,” I tried to explain. “I was stumbling over myself and acting like an idiot right from the first minute. I never thought you’d give me the time of day.”
“Why would you want me to give you the time of day if I’m mean looking?”
“I don’t know.” I fingered my sore breast and bit my lip. “You’re big, and you look like you could fold a girl into a pretzel.”
“And that was attractive to you?”
I rolled my eyes. “You can’t tell me you don’t know how hot you are.”
“Ariel is hot. Ellis is hot. They’re the ones women have always gone for. I look like a minotaur in a suit, most days. If you’d met one of the other guys first, you wouldn’t have taken a second look at me, let alone chased me like a little bitch in heat.”
I stuck my tongue out at him for the ‘bitch in heat’ comment. “I met Ariel, remember? He doesn’t do it for me.”
“No?” His smile was humorless.
“You look like a gladiator or something—or maybe a Roman soldier. Big and mean and full of ‘don’t fuck with me’ attitude.”
“Such language,” he teasingly admonished. “You don’t prefer pretty men?”
“You’re pretty too. You’re pretty like a predatory animal is pretty.” Hesitantly, I ran my hand over his close-cropped hair. It felt nice against my palm, and he leaned into my caress like a dog.
When he smiled again, it was a teasing quirk of his hard lips. “So, you were thinking about me fucking your ass when you came?” His topic change shocked me, as well as the mental image that came with it.
“Well…maybe,” I admitted, because it was easier than trying to lie again. “And not taking it slow or using lube.” I watched his reaction out of the corner of my eye, half worried he was going to judge me. “Not that I would really want that to happen. At least, not yet.”
“You are such a twisted little thing,” he said, his voice warm with approval.
I turned an impish grin his way. “You can be a lot meaner with me, you know.”
He nodded, but whether it was an agreement to be meaner, or just an acknowledgment of what I’d said, I wasn’t sure.
Chapter Twelve
Stopping by a quaint old country grocery store was an eye-opening experience. Aberdeen walked the narrow aisles, her finger
s trailing along the rows of canned goods and supplies with a reverence that was more suited to a cathedral.
“Let me guess—you don’t do a lot of food shopping?”
She shrugged. “I’ve never been to a grocery store before—I’ve only seen them on TV.”
I snorted, then realized she wasn’t joking.
“Daddy, can I push the cart?” she whispered, cheeks rosy and eyes shining.
I let go of the handle and gestured for her to take over, even though it made me feel like I was single-handedly slaughtering chivalry.
The idea that someone who lived in North America could go through twenty-one years of life without stepping into a grocery store was completely bizarre. On the trip, I’d also discovered she’d never been to a gas station. I doubted she’d been to a bank or paid a bill. She was a smart girl, but if she ever ended up poor there’d be a steep learning curve.
“You have to make sure not to bump the person in front of you with your cart, or you get them in the Achilles tendon, and it hurts like a bastard.”
She nodded, her eyes bright as she carefully steered around a display of paper towels. It was like watching a little kid on a field trip.
Partway through the aisles, she stopped to stare at the sea of Pop-Tarts.
“They’re Pop-Tarts,” I explained. “Children and Ariel eat them for breakfast.” Saying his name made me groan inwardly. I’d called Kincaid’s security detail to see how the investigation was going, then Ariel to see if he’d look into things himself. The conversation with him had been grim, and all business, but at least he hadn’t declined my call.
“I’ve seen commercials for them. May I have a box?” She chewed at her cheek. “I don’t have any money.”
“You’re a cheap date.” I chuckled. “Choose anything you want.”
She brightened, and her smile stole my breath. I’d known she was gorgeous from the day I’d met her, but now I felt this overwhelming urge to mark her as mine—to put my arm around her or put my hand on the small of her back anytime we were out in public. I wanted everyone who saw us to know we were together.
“Do you think they have Fruit Roll-Ups here? And Cap’n Crunch?”
We strolled around the store, and I collected men’s envious glances the same way she was collecting all of the snack foods she’d ever wanted to try. Feeling like the voice of reason, I added meat, bread, cheese, and vegetables to the cart.
“Let me guess, are these all things you saw on commercials when you were a kid?”
She nodded sheepishly.
“Just don’t eat too much of it at once, or your rich girl stomach is going to be sore in no time. Kids who are raised like I was get a fair dose of this every day, but you haven’t developed an immunity to it yet, so better play it safe.”
“Yes, Daddy,” she replied, not glancing around first to make sure no one was listening. The woman nearest us flashed me a speculative grin, and I found myself chuckling under my breath. I was going to have to remind her to be careful who she said that in front of, especially when I got her back home. The thought of taking her back there wasn’t something I was looking forward to, so I pushed it out of my mind.
We paid for the groceries with cash, and I was glad I’d had so much on hand in my bedroom at the house—my bedroom that was not going to be my bedroom anymore, unfortunately. I’d been trying not to think about house hunting and living alone during my off days, but I was going to have to deal with it sooner or later. I could always stay at the Kincaid house twenty-four seven, seven days a week, but I’d always thought it was better to have my own space somewhere, even if I rarely used it.
Knowing I wasn’t welcome back home made me think about all the things I’d be missing out on indefinitely—mostly just living day to day with Ariel and Ellis.
Moving to my own place would be weird. I couldn’t imagine watching TV alone instead of hanging out with the guys and reminiscing when they were home. Who would I argue with about current events and motorcycles, or music and books? It was going to be depressing to call Ellis on the phone and tell him how fucked up I was when things with Aberdeen inevitably ended. I pictured myself sitting alone in the dark, drinking beer, and talking to him on speakerphone. It wasn’t the same as having the two of them there to mock me in person and tell me I was a dumbass for letting a woman twist me so inside-out.
How had I not noticed how bitter Ariel still was after all these years? I was a shitty friend for not checking in—for assuming he’d gotten over it rather than that he’d just gotten tired of talking about it. Charlotte had meant nothing to me other than that she was pretty and popular, and that she’d wanted me that night even though I was ugly and poor. It had been so long ago, and my drunk, pubescent mind had convinced me he wouldn’t much care.
I’d been so stupid.
Lord knew I was sorry—had been sorry since about five minutes after it happened. The fact that a thoughtless teenage decision still had the power to ruin our friendship so many years later was testament to how much he’d actually loved her.
We got to the dock around suppertime and loaded our things into the boat before stowing the car in a parking spot out of view from the road. I removed the plates and dumped them in the trunk, just in case. Hopefully the lack of plates didn’t make the car more conspicuous.
“So…are you ever going to tell me where we’re going?” she asked as I put a slightly too-large lifejacket on her and zipped her in. With it on, she looked like a bright, quizzical marshmallow, and I couldn’t help but tousle her curls. The orange almost matched her hair.
“I’m taking you camping for a little while. I doubt anyone will find us out here.”
I coaxed her into the boat and got her settled. She looked to me for reassurance, and I kissed the top of her head.
“We’ll be there in no time, baby girl.”
The outboard motor cut off any conversation. I took it slow as we pulled away, both to give her time to get used to it and to follow marina rules. When we were safely away, I opened it up and got to watch as her expression turned from nervous to thrilled.
My stomach was rumbling as we coasted up to the small island an hour later.
“What is this place?” she asked as soon as I cut the motor. She looked charmed, thank God. The old cabin looked like it belonged to a fairytale witch, with its shabby, peeling paint and crooked chimney pipe, and I hadn’t been sure if she’d refuse to get out of the boat.
“I bought it a couple of years ago. It was supposed to be a place to go fishing, but it’s far away, and I rarely get enough time off to come here.”
I helped her disembark, not surprised she was nimble as a cat, considering her dance background. Rather than leaving her to do it herself, I unzipped her bulky life jacket and stripped it off her. She smiled at me as if I was the best thing ever, and I kissed the bridge of her little nose. She was getting a tan, and it was bringing out more adorable freckles there.
We both grabbed a few bags and took the short path to the cabin. Although the structure was visible from the dock, the trees gave the cabin and its small patio out back some privacy. Not that there was anyone nearby enough to see anything. Occasionally boats sped past on their way to other destinations, but the small island was tucked away enough that it didn’t happen often.
It was rough inside, but there were a couple of beds. The mattresses were surprisingly intact, and I had brought fresh bedding with me.
Aberdeen looked askance at the pile of bedding. “Do you think we need that many blankets for one bed?”
“I brought enough for both beds if you don’t want to share.”
She arched a brow. “Am I hard to sleep next to?”
“Well, you do snore.”
“Do I?” she asked, aghast.
I nodded, my lips pressed together gravely.
“No, I don’t!” She picked up a bottom sheet and threw it at me.
I caught it against my chest and started to laugh. “No, you don’t snore, but when yo
u’re asleep you do whine and squirm and beg for Daddy to touch you inappropriately or punish you for being a bad girl.”
“Liar!”
I went around the bed and walked her backward until she bumped into the wall, and her defiant gaze lowered to my jeans. Was she thinking about how alone we were here and how no one would hear her? That was first and foremost in my mind, even though I should have been focused on her safety.
“Well, that might just be wishful thinking.”
She looked back up at me, her fingertips coming to my face and stroking along the stubble on my jaw which always grew in fast if I didn’t keep it shaved. I hadn’t shaved in two or three days now, and I had no doubt I was starting to look disreputable.
Her touching my face and petting my hair were relatively new developments in our relationship, so every time she did it, it felt daring. It had been a long time since someone touched me so reverently like that—maybe no one ever had. How was I going to live without it when we went home?
I leaned down and inhaled the scent of her hair—the scent of the girl underneath the light floral and fresh air—the girl I couldn’t help but respond to so thoroughly.
How had I fallen so madly in love with her knowing damn well this was going to be over soon?
We were going home in a few days, and we’d be Miss Kincaid and Mr. Köhler again. It left a bad taste in my mouth. This girl was destined for big, important things. She wasn’t meant for a guy who toted a gun for a living.
“That bed’s not going to make itself,” I said, realizing I was still holding the fitted sheet and staring at her like a lovesick puppy. She helped me make the bed without any hesitation or need for direction.
“How does a fancy little rich girl learn how to make hospital corners?”
“Lana, one of the housekeepers when I was little. She let me help her until I was about eleven or so and my mother found out. Lana thought idle hands were the devil’s work and disapproved of the fact that I wasn’t given any chores.”
“Sounds like your mother’s staff did a pretty good job raising you.”
“Jake and Vincent, April and Lana—they were my family, more than my mother. They were my parents, my grandparents. My friends too—my playmates, since I had none. It was hard having no brothers or sisters. There are no playdates after you hit about seven or eight, and I was bad at making friends.” She shrugged, as though being lonely was just how life worked for everyone.