Valentine's with the Single Dad (The Single Dads of Seattle Book 7)

by Whitley Cox

  With confusion in her tired gray eyes, she opened the box, a slow gasp stealing her breath. “Mase … ”

  He shrugged. “I was planning to do it tonight, but you beat me to it, you wicked woman.”

  Her eyes no longer held an ounce of fatigue. They were wide and so full of love. “It matches my necklace.”

  He grinned. “Chocolate diamonds. But instead of another amethyst, I went with a big honking diamond for the middle. And no heart—princess cut all the way for my queen.”

  She breathed a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “This is gorgeous.”

  “So, my answer,” he started, taking the box from her, removing the ring and gingerly getting down onto one knee on the floor in front of her, “is, yes, Lowenna. I will absolutely marry you.” Then he slid the ring onto her finger, kissing each fingertip and the inside of her wrist, before he placed her hand on his cheek and cupped his own hand over it.

  Tears welled up in her eyes, her smile a mile wide. He couldn’t remember her ever looking so beautiful. Feeding their sons, wearing his ring—she was stunning.

  Wyatt popped off Lowenna’s breast and nestled his face into the crook of her arm, his eyes shut, lips pursed in a tight, milk-dribbly pout. She gently cradled him in the other arm and encouraged Mason to stand up and sit next to her.

  “I can’t wait to be your wife,” she said, hiccupping a small sob.

  “You’re already my wife.” He picked up her hand, linked their fingers and kissed her ring. “This will just make it official.” His mouth turned down into a frown. “Now I have nothing to give you tonight, though.”

  She shook her head. “I want for nothing. I have everything my heart could possibly desire.”

  “I’ll make it up to you, I promise,” he said, running the back of his knuckles over her cheek. “Candlelit dinner, flowers, ambience, wine … ” He wiggled his eyebrows up and down. “Kinky sex.”

  The corners of her mouth lifted up just a touch. “How about us, in bed … ”

  “I like where you’re going with this.”

  “And four hours of uninterrupted sleep.”

  He kissed her hard on the lips. “Damn, woman. I like the way you think. I’ll call my mom, see if she and my dad can take the kids for a few hours.”

  She chuckled softly. “I like to walk on the wild side.” Her face sobered. “But seriously. I’m okay not doing anything today. Home with my family is my happy place. It’s the perfect Valentine’s, the perfect birthday. You, the kids, this is exactly where I want to be. I haven’t made a wish on a birthday cake or star since that party you threw me in the hotel because what I wished for came true. There isn’t anything else I want or need.” The last few words were choked out, and a small tear beaded at the corner of her eye. “Just you, Willow, Wyatt and Warren and my heart is full. My life is full.”

  He felt the exact same way.

  With his thumb and knuckle, he tilted her chin up. “You, the kids, my heart is full too. My life is full.”

  “Thank you for being my gigolo and turning into so much more. Who’d have thought a boyfriend for hire would turn into the husband of a lifetime?”

  He rolled his eyes and squeezed her chin. “Ha ha.”

  She grinned up at him with a closed-mouth smile, her eyes crinkling at the sides. “I love you. Forever.”

  He leaned in until they were nose to nose. “And I love you for always.” Then he kissed her because he could, every day for the rest of his life. And that was just perfect.

  Neighbors with the Single Dad - Sneak Peek

  Single Dads of Seattle Book 8

  Chapter 1

  Rain poured and the wind pounded the city of Seattle on a cold and miserable March night. Luckily though, for all the patrons inside the very happening Ludo Lounge where ladies drank for half price until eleven, it could be a zombie apocalypse or the rapture and nobody would be the wiser.

  The outside world ceased to exist.

  Over the last hour, the music in the lounge had picked up. Going from smooth, club jazz, to full-on dance music with a bass that Scott Dixon could feel in the very deepest parts of his chest. It was no longer cocktail hour—it was time to dance.

  Which for many, also meant it was time to start looking for a hookup.

  Not Scott though. He wasn’t there for that, at least not tonight.

  He hardly ever saw Donovan Smythe anymore, now that Scott had switched companies. But when he called Scott up a couple of weeks ago excited about his upcoming wedding and insisting Scott come to the bachelor party, the people-pleasing middle child that he was, Scott agreed.

  Now he was regretting it.

  There was a reason he and Donovan weren’t that close anymore.

  Donovan was a bit of a tool, and so were his friends. The group had been obnoxious assholes, hitting on and offending waitresses and talking about heading to a strip club to go and throw quarters at the entertainers.

  Scott ordered himself a drink at the bar, turned and leaned back against it, watching the embarrassing theatrics back at the bachelor party table. He cringed inwardly when one of the guys let out a thunderous belch and the rest cheered.

  The bartender could take his sweet time making Scott’s drink, he had no intention of heading back to those buffoons anytime soon.

  “Drink’s up, man,” the bartender said behind him, only when Scott went to turn back around, a freight train, or something very akin to such, slammed into his side.

  “Hey, watch—”His gripe was cut short by the unbelievable woman teetering precariously on mile-high heels as she hooked it around the corner toward the bathrooms.

  “Sorry,” she called back, waiving a hand, her long red hair flipping behind her as she disappeared.

  He thanked the bartender for his drink, but didn’t budge. They’d ordered Donovan a muff diver and the man of the hour’s face had just been shoved into a heaping pile of whipped cream.

  Philistines.

  He took a sip of his whiskey and leaned his elbow on the bar. There was also another reason why he hadn’t moved yet. He wanted to catch another glimpse of the whirling dervish with hair of fire before he rejoined his group.

  It didn’t take long—maybe thirty seconds—before the redhead in the heels returned, her face scrunched up in what looked like pain, her green eyes darting frantically around the bar.

  He approached her. “Is everything okay?”

  Her eyes stilled, pinning on him. Her lips dipped into a deep frown as she shook her head. “I have to pee and the lineup for the women’s bathroom is ten miles long. I’ll never make it.”

  Scott placed a hand on her shoulder and gently moved her out of the way, glancing down the corridor for the bathrooms with its black painted walls. Sure enough, the lineup for the women’s bathroom stretched at least fifteen women deep. The men’s room on the other hand was without a lineup at all.

  He grabbed her hand. “Follow me.” At a quick clip he hauled her down the hallway and turned into the men’s room, heaving the heavy door open with one hand while encouraging her to step inside with the other.

  Her emerald eyes went wide. “This is the men’s room!” Her voice was low, almost a hiss.

  Scott shrugged. “So?”

  But her desperation won out and with a quick eye shift down the hall toward the long line of women doing the bathroom dance, she nodded, then stepped inside.

  “Hello?” Scott called out into the bathroom. “Anybody in here?”

  Luckily, there was no answer.

  His beautiful companion let out a sigh of relief, her slender shoulders slumping just a touch as she pushed past him.

  “You go do what you need to do, and I’ll stand watch outside, give you some privacy.” Before she could come up with anymore ridiculous protestations, he headed back out.

  He still had his drink, so with one hand in his pocket, his shoulder against the doorjamb and a very bored look on his face, he sipped his whiskey and waited for her to emerge.

  Not four
minutes later, a throat clearing behind him and a gentle tap on his shoulder let him know she was finished. He unblocked the door and held his hand out for her to go ahead of him, not just because he was a gentleman, but also because he wanted to check out her ass.

  This woman was hot!

  Tall and slim with nice curves, long legs and … yes! A rocking ass. And it was only played up by the sexy black pants she wore, and those gold strappy fuck-me heels. He gained ground, so he was right behind her. Not to be weird or anything, he just wanted to double-check if she was taller than him in those heels.

  Phew.

  Not quite.

  Scott was a nice six-foot-two, and this beautiful creature didn’t quite come up to his forehead. Not that he was an anti-heightest (was that a thing?) he just preferred to be taller than the women he dated.

  Whoa, now you’re dating her? You don’t even know her name, slow down there, Sparky. Just because you haven’t gotten laid in … a while, let’s just leave it at that. Doesn’t mean you need to start picking out China patterns with the first pretty face to cross your path.

  He shook himself mentally and stepped back, letting the woman get ahead of him a bit. They exited the corridor, remerging into the lounge. In those few minutes they’d been gone the place had filled up. It was wall-to-wall people, loud voices, laughing and some kind of hip-hop music he couldn’t make heads or tails of the lyrics.

  Man, he felt old.

  He could still hear his party over in the corner booth laughing it up like obnoxious drunkards though, they were hard to miss.

  He was busy glancing in the direction of his party when he was once again slammed, only this time it was in his chest, and it wasn’t by a freight train, but a voluptuous, green-eyed wall of beauty.

  “Thank you,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re a lifesaver.”

  He grinned at her. “All in a day’s work. Glad you’re okay.”

  She thrust her hand out. “Eva.”

  He wrapped his fingers around hers, loving the way her hand felt in his. “Scott.” Her shake was firm, but her hand soft and feminine. Her nails were painted a subtle French manicure, and she wore no wedding ring.

  “Can I buy you a drink for your gallantry, Scott?” She released his hand and pulled her clutch purse out from beneath her arm, her eye twinkling as her mouth slid up into a mischievous smile. “It’s the least I can do.” Her eyes drifted to the right and she cringed when a group of women decked out in pink sashes and horrendous wigs let out a loud, shrill cheer. “I’m also not eager to rejoin the bachelorette party I’m here with, so any opportunity to stay away I’m all for.”

  Without waiting for him to respond, she pushed her way through the crowd hovering in front of the bar, rested her breasts on the bar and leaned forward.

  Like a dog with a bone, the muscly bartender lasered in on her in seconds, ignoring patrons who had been waiting far longer. “What can I getcha?” he asked, leaning onto the bar, his gaze drifting down from Eva’s face to where her gold heart pendant was wedged between the swell of her chest.

  Scott would have done the exact same thing if he’d been that bartender—it would have been impossible not to.

  Did she know what she was doing?

  She had to. She didn’t strike him as a bimbo, just a woman who knew how to get what she wanted, how to work it.

  And there was nothing wrong with working what the good lord gave you. Scott worked his mega-watt smile more times than he could count, to charm a waitress or barista into giving him extra fries with his burger or an extra shot of espresso in his coffee.

  “I’ll have a tequila, please. Añjeo or extra añjeo on the rocks, if you have it.” The bartender nodded. Scott had quietly followed her to the bar and was now beside her. “What are you drinking?” she asked.

  “Whiskey.”

  She nodded. “And a whiskey for my hero, here.” She glanced back at Scott, her smile wide, sexy and her eyes teasing.

  What was she up to?

  Moments later they had their drinks and with Eva leading Scott like another dog with a bone, they managed to find a small section on a cushioned bench away from the crowd.

  “You didn’t have to buy me a drink,” he said, taking a sip of his new whiskey.

  She sipped her tequila and shrugged. “Like I said, I’m avoiding going back to those drunk-ass, marriage-loving women and their stupid crowns, leis and sashes.” She rolled her eyes. “Thank God I’m not in the wedding party.”

  “How do you know the bride?”

  She shrugged again. “Friend since beauty school.”

  “Beauty school?”

  She nodded. “Yeah, I’m a hairdresser and esthetician.”

  Well, that explained why she was walking, talking perfection. The woman knew how to take care of herself. Though, Scott would put money on her looking gorgeous without an ounce of makeup on too.

  “What do you do?”

  “I’m in advertising.”

  She nodded again, then began to bob her head in time with the beat of the music.

  Then the conversation ended.

  The air between them began to grow awkward.

  He didn’t know this woman enough to like her, but he certainly found her hot, and what he’d met so far, he liked. Now he just had to figure out a way to charm her into wanting to ditch her party completely and maybe go grab a slice of pizza with him down the block or something. His stomach rumbled at the thought of Guy’s Pies. Best pizza by the slice in the entire city.

  He took another sip of his drink and cleared his throat. “So uh … what do you think of my hair? You being a hairdresser and all. Am I an abomination?” Instantly, he cringed.

  Seriously? Wasn’t that like asking a stranger who’d just revealed they were a doctor to take a look at a mysterious mole on your back? He even had doctor friends and he never asked them for medical advice. He asked his brother for legal advice, but when there’s a lawyer in the family why wouldn’t you milk that cow?

  Her smile was slow, but sexy as hell. She lifted her hand from her lap and ran her fingers through his hair over and over again until he closed his eyes from just how good it felt.

  If she brought out those nails and scraped his scalp he was not to blame if his leg started to kick and shake uncontrollably.

  “You have great hair,” she finally said, causing him to open his eyes again. Her gaze was soft and appraising, her smile sweet. “It’s nice and thick, soft. You’ve got a great hairline too.” She tugged at the sides.

  “Yeah, what would you do to it if I gave you carte blanche?”

  Her eyebrows twitched up a bit. “Carte blanche?”

  He nodded. “Yeah.”

  She raked her top teeth over her bottom lip, continuing to run her fingers through his hair. She added the fingers from her other hand and turned her body so they were now face to face. She tilted his head down so he was forced to stare directly down her blouse into her cleavage. He knew he should shut his eyes, but he just couldn’t. It was like staring at an eclipse—so damn beautiful, but it may very well get him in some major trouble too.

  “Honestly, I don’t think I’d do much,” she finally said. “Maybe go a bit shorter on the sides, tidy up the back of your neck a little, but whoever you see does a pretty good job.”

  “I see an eighty-three-year old barber down by Beechers Cheese. The guy takes nearly an hour to cut my hair, but he does a good job.”

  She chuckled, and oh what a laugh. It was deep and throaty and sexy as fuck. She still hadn’t stopped running her fingers through his hair. “A bit of silver on the sides here, huh?”

  He nodded. “Yeah, starting to get some.”

  Her touch was strong, but gentle. Confident but curious. “But not too much. I’m guessing the men in your family all have their hair, but they went gray early?”

  His head bobbed again, in awe of this woman and the pure magic her hands wielded. He was putty. She could pet him like that all night
long and he’d lay like a chocolate lab at her feet. “Uh, yeah. My dad, started going gray by the time he was forty, my grandpa’s too. My dad’s more salt than pepper now, but both gramps’ are combing tinsel.”

  She chuckled that raspy laugh again. “I like that term. You’re cute.” She still hadn’t released his hair.

  He hoped she never did.

  “You’re beautiful.”

  Finally, unfortunately, she pulled her hands from his hair and batted long, dark lashes at him as she ducked her head, her smile coy and slightly hidden. “Thank you.” She lifted her head again, her gaze settling on him. “Full disclosure?”

  You’re a hooker and this is all an elaborate ruse?

  “Sure.”

  She took a deep breath which only amplified her killer rack. The buttons on her emerald green silk sleeveless blouse strained against her inhale. Scott did everything in his power not to stare.

  He was weak. It was impossible.

  “It’s my first night away from my kids in …” she shook her head and blew out a breath in exasperation, “God, I don’t know how long. So it’s been a while. I just signed the papers last month finalizing a very ugly, very messy, very painful divorce and my kids are with my sister and her very responsible fourteen-year-old daughter. It’s the first night where my children have been okay being away from me overnight. We’ve tried a few times, but my little guy—Kellen, he’s five—gets upset when I leave. But I needed a night out … desperately. We’re moving out of my sister’s place in a few weeks as I finally bought my own house now that the divorce has gone through.” Her eyes turned sad. “It’s been really tough on my boys.” A wary glint invaded the sadness in the dark flecks of yellow around her irises as she waited for Scott to reply.

  He simply nodded, hoping that his small smile and eyes conveyed his understanding and sympathy. She had no reason to be wary of him or his reaction to her honesty, to her plight. He’d been there himself and knew how hard a divorce could be on everyone involved—especially the kids. He took a leap of faith and rested his hand on her arm. “Been through a messy divorce myself. I have a son, and I totally get where you’re coming from right now. It’s really hard on the kids. It’s hard on everyone.”