Daddy's Little Librarian

by Maren Smith

  Monday really had ceased to be subtle about it, and now so too had his Grams.

  She hadn’t just set him up. She’d set him up on a booty call.

  Chapter Four

  It sounded bad even to her own ears, but Scotti was so rattled she couldn’t think of another way to say it. “She said you can stay at my place for a while.”

  He blinked, his face completely devoid of any discernable expression. “I beg your pardon. She said what?”

  “But now I’m having second thoughts,” she stammered, heat burning a slow flush up into her cheeks because of how he kept staring at her. “I really don’t want you to get hurt.”

  He was so good-looking, so built. When she’d touched his side, his skin had been soft, and warm, and muscularly hard just underneath the velvety-smooth surface of him. He even smelled good, like old spice and coffee and, oddly, French fries.

  She loved French fries.

  He arched his eyebrow. “You don’t want me to get hurt?” He stared at her with no expression on his face and arms as thick as small tree trunks, folded across his chest. It felt like forever before he shook himself out of his thoughts and said, “I don’t know what the both of you have plotted out, but I don’t think I want any part of it.”

  It was weird, and she didn’t understand why, but when he stepped toward her, for the smallest half-second, she felt like she was trapped in this room with Gopher. Her flinch was immediate, and he stopped coming when she flattened herself against the door, her hands flying up to stay him from coming any closer.

  He stopped. She still couldn’t read his expression, not when he looked at her hands, and still not when his gaze rose back up to lock on hers again.

  He wasn’t being threatening. She didn’t have any reason to be scared of him. She offered another shaky laugh, trying her very best not to be scared.

  “I’m sorry.” She patted the air, still scrambling to figure out which would be the bigger mistake: hiring this man to protect her, or not hiring him.

  “For what?” he asked, even more cautious than before.

  “Because I’m explaining this so badly. Look,” she blew out a calming breath and tried again. “I would like to proposition y—” she caught herself, shook her head and changed her mind, “N-not proposition, per se. I mean, I want to hire you.” She looked at him hopefully. “For your services,” she expanded her explanation when he only stared, both eyebrows arching high.

  “All right.” Clearing his throat, he unfolded his arms long enough to take hold of her shoulders. His tone softened, “I don’t want you to take this at all personally, because you seem like a very nice lady. But I don’t think I’m interested.”

  Desperation mixed with the knots in her stomach, twisting at her insides until she felt sick from the pressure. “I can pay you. I can. I-I took everything I could out of my savings. I wouldn’t expect you to do it for free,” she protested on his behalf, her desperation only sharpening its teeth when he shook his head. “Your time and skills are worth compensating, I understand that!”

  “What the hell has my grandmother been telling you?” he blurted, then quickly held up a silencing hand. “No. Scratch that. I don’t want to know. It doesn’t matter anyway; the answer is still no.”

  “Please, I don’t know who else to turn to.”

  “As beautiful as you are?” She recoiled, stung when he actually laughed at her. “I highly doubt that.”

  She flattened herself against the door. “I am begging you!” Sadie hadn’t said he would be this hard to convince. If only she’d known, she’d have been better prepared. She’d have grabbed her phone from her purse so she could show him the pictures. She’d have brought her copies of the police reports. She’d have got down on her—Scotti dropped to the floor, clasping her hands in pleading. “Please,” she tried again. “You don’t understand how desperate I am!”

  “Try doing two years.” Bending, he caught her about the waist and physically picked her all the way up off the floor.

  With a startled squeak, she grabbed onto his shoulders as he swung her around and set her down again, this time on the other side of the sink. Out of his way.

  “It’s not that I don’t appreciate how you’re feeling,” he said. “God knows, I’ve felt this way many times myself. The important thing is not to act on those feelings, particularly not with perfect strangers whom you’ve only just met.”

  “We may not have met before, but I do know all about you,” Scotti said quickly. “Sadie’s been telling me about you for years. I know you’ve been away, working for the state. I know your favorite TV show is M*A*S*H. You like your fried chicken extra crispy and smothered in gravy along with your mashed potatoes. You’re a connoisseur of vanilla ice cream. You’ve got a scar on your hip from an accident you were in when you were a teenager. You went to school with Robbie Knievel’s cousin’s son, and you’ve got a Jones for Phantom of the Opera. You’ve even got the soundtrack in four different languages.”

  “You forgot married,” he said, as if that should matter.

  Scotti flapped her arms in the smallest, most hopeless of shrugs. She was a little disappointed, but not terribly surprised. He was a handsome, sexy-looking man. Of course, he’d be married. “That’s okay. I don’t mind.”

  Instead of placated, he actually got annoyed. “My wife might!”

  “I don’t see why she should. I said I’d pay you.”

  “That’s even worse!” he snapped. “Look, I’m flattered. Really, I am. But there’s just no way in—” He bit off an exasperated sigh, looked up at the ceiling, and then grudgingly back at her. “Look, it’s not you; it’s me.”

  She listened, trying hard to understand.

  Her confusion must have been obvious, because he said, “I should be so much further along than where I am right now in my life. I’m not set up right now for complications. Now, you’re pretty, okay.” He waved an arm out toward the closed bathroom door. “You’ve obviously got Gram’s vote, and annoyed as I am with her right now, that does count for something. But I am old school, okay? I like to get to know the people I do this with. I like to take them out, maybe catch a nice dinner, get to know them and develop feelings—”

  She swallowed hard. “I didn’t realize that was part of the service.”

  “I’d also like to get to a point where it’s not called a service,” he added. “I’m not a bull in a pasture.”

  “I didn’t mean to offend you. I just didn’t realize.” She blinked rapidly, but her disappointment was overwhelming. She didn’t know if he was her last chance or not, but it felt that way. She honestly didn’t know where else to turn. “Would it make any difference if I promised to do anything you say? I mean, anything. I know things are bound to get rough, and I’m sorry about that. But I really will try to do whatever it takes so you don’t get hurt. Won’t you please reconsider?”

  He came down to her level so fast, she jumped back. But like with the door, the bathroom only had so much space. She bumped up hard against the sink, and the next thing she knew, she was pinned to it, trapped between his arms as he gripped the edge of the sink in both hands.

  “All right now, little girl,” he growled, and her stomach both seized and sizzled, and all at once, every knot inside her suddenly relaxed. They only relaxed just a little, but it was the most relief she’d had in months. “When it comes to rough rodeos, you would not be my first ride. That’s number one. Number two, what the hell kind of librarian are you?”

  “I-I—” she stammered, the knots doing tumbling acrobatics all over again. She didn’t know if it was because every breath she took right now was scented with the spice of his deodorant, aftershave or a combination of both, or if it was because of his very nearness. He was a big man. A veritable mountain of a human being, with great big hands that were right now gripping the sink behind her, and that look on his face brought her inner Little snapping to the forefront. It was completely inappropriate to let her out right now.

  �
�No,” he said, cutting her off. “You might think Gram has told you everything you need to know, but I guarantee there are sides of me even she didn’t know and which would send you running if you did. Maybe I’ve been away too long, but asking a total stranger to have sex with you is a little more than just desperate. It’s dangerous. And rough sex?” He shook his head with an incredulous laugh. “Lady, you’re lucky we’re not in the kind of relationship where we’re having sex, because if we were, that would cost you. It would cost you big.”

  Scotti froze mid-breath, her eyes widening. She didn’t realize her jaw had dropped until she had to pick it up enough to gasp, “I’m sorry, what?”

  He stopped now too. One startled minute bled silently into two, before he shifted how he was leaning, although he didn’t back away. He remained looming over her, still smelling so good, still seeming so threatening. Scotti tried not to, but her nipples were tingling and her bottom was prickling, every inch of it consumed in this crazy crawling sensation that gradually moved down between her legs until, no matter how hard she tried to tighten her thighs, the tingling took root, filling her pussy with a warm flush of need.

  He cleared his throat. “What?” he parroted back at her, the realization that they’d been talking about different things becoming embarrassingly clear to both of them.

  “You think I was asking you to…” Her cheeks scalded hot, and then even hotter still as she realized what that also meant. “Y-you think I need t-to pay… you…”

  She couldn’t even finish that.

  “Something tells me I’ve just sunk this Monday to new record-setting lows,” he said.

  She had no idea what he meant by that. She was still trying to wrap her mind around… “Women pay you for that? You’re that good?”

  Now, it was his turn to blush, but before he could say anything, she shook herself and threw up her hands.

  “I mean, no! That isn’t what I meant at all! Hell no, even! Good heavens!” She looked down at the prison of his arms and his chest, and then her gaze dipped lower, and her eyes widened when she saw the notable tent bulging at the front of his jeans. “Oh…” She spun to face the mirror and, because that didn’t help at all, quickly locked her eyes on the ceiling. “You, um… you should, I don’t know… put a little cold water on that.”

  She saw it in the mirror when he looked down at himself. He jumped back from both her and the sink, as far as the little bathroom would allow him. Her stomach tingled. Her nipples did too. She wasn’t sure who she was more embarrassed for: him for misunderstanding her intentions, herself for having explained what she wanted that badly in the first place, maybe herself again for being so far below his type standards that he had to say no this emphatically, and lastly, for both of them because now it was all just so… awkward.

  “Sorry,” he said, adjusting his pants.

  “No, no,” she soothed, her voice a little squeaky and too high-pitched. “It’s good.”

  His Daddy bits were really kind of sizeable.

  Scotti closed her eyes, willing herself not to think about it. Too late. Not only was the image burned into her brain, but her tummy had gone all melty, and she wasn’t at all sure she knew how to pull herself together so she could look at him without blushing.

  Clearing his throat twice, Kurt cupped his lean hips in his big hands. He regarded the floor long enough to collect himself. Then, raising his eyes to look at her in the mirror, he said, “I’d like to start over, if possible.”

  Her tummy did flipflops just at the sound of his voice. She pushed on it with both hands, willing the gymnastics to stop. “Okay.”

  “My name is Kurt Doyle.”

  He said he liked rough sex, her brain recalled, and her face flushed several degrees hotter.

  He said he liked rough sex and that doing that with him would cost me big.

  “Hi, Kurt,” she said weakly, still staring at the ceiling, willing her face to cool down and her heart to stop pounding the way it was. “I’m Scotti Moore.”

  “Hello, Scotti.”

  Tingles ran through her just at the sound of her name on his lips.

  I’ll bet he spanks.

  He cleared his throat. She stole a peek at him, but nope—there was still bulging in the front of his pants. She snapped her eyes back to the ceiling.

  I’ll bet he puts on black leather and goes to the dungeon parties where he ties up the girls and flogs them unmercifully.

  Oh, God. She was going to start giggling any second. Not because that mental image was funny in any way, but because it hit way too close to home and her nerves just couldn’t handle it.

  I’ll bet they call him Daddy when he does it, her Little self said.

  That right there all but killed her nervous giggles. She hadn’t had a Daddy in a long time. Not a real Daddy, anyway. Not since Gopher.

  “Now that I’m done embarrassing us both with assumptions,” Kurt said, clearing his throat. “How about you tell me what it is you really want to hire me for?” He held up his hand before she could do more than open her mouth. “I’m not saying I’ll do it. As it happens, I did get hired for… something this morning, so…”

  “It doesn’t hurt just to hear me out, though, right?” she said hopefully. Just thinking about Gopher helped kill her embarrassment, as well as her amusement. She even forgot she wasn’t supposed to look at him. She turned around, needing to see him directly instead of just his reflection.

  “Sure.” He shrugged, then propped himself against the wall, making himself comfortable to do just that.

  “I… I need help.” Funny, it didn’t get any easier to say the second time around, either. The police hadn’t believed her. The dispatchers at 911 didn’t believe her. What if he didn’t believe her, either? What was she going to do then?

  Except there was nothing on his face that said he was doing anything but listening, mind and ears both wide open.

  “In what way?” he asked.

  Clutching her hands tight together, she braced herself for rejection. “I want to hire you to be my, um… my bodyguard.”

  He cocked his head, and his gaze swept over her once. “Why on earth do you need a bodyguard?” He immediately caught himself. “That came out wrong. I didn’t mean to say it like that. You have a perfectly nice—”

  “No, no.” She fluttered her hands, trying not to be stung by that. “It’s fine.”

  “Normally, I’m a little more polite and a lot more charming than this. Just not on Mondays.” He rubbed his mouth sheepishly. “Why does a librarian need a bodyguard?”

  Scotti hesitated, chewing at her bottom lip. “I’ve got a problem,” she hedged. “My Da—I mean, my…” She hesitated. Her what? She’d managed to stop herself before calling him her Daddy-dom. Ex-boyfriend hardly seemed appropriate, but what did that leave? “M-my ex,” she stammered, cringing a little, but that would just have to do. “He’s doing things—”

  “You don’t need me. Get a restraining order.”

  “I have. He’s not the sort of ex who pays attention to that sort of thing.”

  “Then call the police.”

  “I did.” She wrung her fingers, bracing herself even harder. “They don’t believe me. Nobody believes me.” That he only looked at her, quiet and waiting, gave her the strength to say, “He broke in last night. I called 911, but they said I could go to jail for trying to prank them and not to call back.”

  Almost imperceptibly, his eyes narrowed. “Do you think you’re in danger?”

  She wrung her hands so hard it hurt. “I think he’s going to cut me up, stuff me into a million Ziploc baggies and stow me in the freezer next to the Christmas ham, and he’s going to do it while I’m on the phone, begging someone to come help me.”

  She stopped. Not because she’d said everything she could, but because her chest had tightened too much to let her continue. She nodded instead, and prayed he took her seriously.

  He blinked. A slow tic of muscle leapt along his jawline, bulge and release, bu
lge and release. “What exactly do you want me to do?”

  “Well,” again she bit her bottom lip, hesitating. “Most of his visits come at night. You know, he walks around the house, treads all over my flowerbeds, tries the windows and doors… and no matter what I do, he gets in. He always gets in.”

  Clench and bulge. There went that tic of muscle again.

  “I-I was thinking, maybe two things. First, if he sees that I’m no longer alone, then maybe he’ll stop coming by. They say abusers don’t like to out themselves as abusers. They’ll stop if they get caught. So, if you’re there to see what he does, then he won’t want to do anything, right? He’ll just go away. Right?”

  He had no reaction. “And two?”

  “If that doesn’t work, then maybe we can catch him, hopefully before he does me any serious harm, then one of us could call the police, and they could lock him up. At least long enough for me to move safely to someplace else.” He wasn’t saying no. He wasn’t laughing at her, either, and that emboldened her. “Like I said, I’m willing to pay you. Not much, but would three hundred a week be all right with you?” When he only looked at her, she cleared her throat. “It’s all I can afford. Three hundred a week. For about six weeks. All right, not about. That’s it, in a nutshell. Six weeks.”

  “Miss…”

  “Scotti.”

  “Scotti,” he said. “I am not a bodyguard. You need to know that right up front. I used to be a police officer, but I’m not allowed to be that anymore. I’ve never guarded a person. Except for what I’ve seen in the movies, I don’t even know what that job entails. I agree you’ve got a problem, but I would seriously recommend that you find someone with real experience in the kind of protection you need.”

  “I can’t pay enough to interest anyone else,” she confessed, her heart sinking. He was saying no. Whether or not he believed her didn’t matter. He was still saying no. “Please don’t feel pressured into doing this. It’s just that I’ve got this feeling like I’m running out of time.”