Protector Daddy

by Roberts, Laylah

“Don’t mind if I eat meat, do you?”

  She shook her head. It was his house, after all. He could eat what he liked. But no, it didn’t worry her.

  “Need to get you some food. You need some protein sources. Best I could do was the beans.”

  “This is . . . more than enough. Thank you. It’s better than what I feed myself.”

  Her tummy felt kind of queasy from the amount of sugar she’d binged on this afternoon.

  He gave her a sideways look that told her he wasn’t impressed. But she was starting to think he wasn’t impressed by much, anyway.

  They ate in silence but it wasn’t awkward, surprisingly. Once again, he wouldn’t let her help clean up. So she figured she’d head upstairs, find something to read on her eReader.

  “Go sit down. Choose something to watch on TV.”

  “Umm, okay.” Seemed kind of rude to say no, that she wanted to run up to her bedroom and hide. With a sigh, she let out Mr. Fluffy then once he was inside and settled on the rug in front of the fire, she turned on the TV. The news came on with coverage about a warehouse at the docks in Seattle catching fire.

  “What the hell?” Spike muttered behind where she stood with the remote.

  She jumped. Holy. Shit. He need not worry about that Devil’s Sinner guy getting to her, because Spike would kill her himself with a heart attack.

  “Sorry,” he muttered. “Pass me the remote?”

  She handed it over and he turned the volume up.

  “Hope they can get it contained,” she said as the story ended and he gave the remote back with a frown. He seemed worried about it.

  “Hmm. Yeah. Find a movie or something. Be back soon.”

  That was strange. She flicked through the channels, wishing she could watch some cartoons. She wouldn’t mind watching something upbeat and funny right then.

  “Find something?” he asked.

  “If I keel over from a heart attack, you know it’s gonna be your fault, right?”

  He gave her a pointed look. “You need to be more aware of your surroundings.”

  She handed the remote back and sat on the sofa as he spread out in the recliner.

  “What do you do for a job?” she blurted out, trying to ignore his muscular forearms. Was it weird to notice a man’s forearms? They were just so sexy. Same as his hands. They were large, like dinner plates.

  What would it be like to feel his hand smack against her bare butt cheek?

  Okay, don’t go there, Millie.

  “You daydreaming again?”

  “What? No!”

  “Uh-huh. You always ask people questions then zone out?”

  Oh no. She had done that, hadn’t she? “Sorry. What did you say?”

  “I’m an investor.”

  “An investor?”

  He shrugged. “Find start-up businesses or people with ideas and I think they’ll make money; I might offer funding.”

  But to do that . . . wouldn’t it mean he already had a lot of money? But that would be rude to ask, wouldn’t it?

  He sighed. “Ask. Can see you’re dying to.”

  Well, she wasn’t dying to . . . it wasn’t like it was her business. But . . .

  “Are you rich?” She smacked her forehead with her palm. “Shoot. Didn’t mean to ask it quite like that.”

  He snorted. “I’m okay.”

  Uh-huh and did okay equate to hundreds of thousands or millions?

  Yeah. That was definitely too rude to ask. He just stared at her as though waiting for her to ask something else.

  “Suppose you don’t need any of old Dan’s counterfeit money then huh?” she said lamely.

  “Guess not,” he murmured. “I’ve placed that money in my safe in the study, by the way. Remind me to show you. Sounds like an interesting place, where you live.”

  “Oh, it’s that all right.”

  “You like it there?”

  “The people are really nice. It’s where I grew up after I went to live with my grandma and grandad.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Four. My granddad died a few years ago. My grandma died ten months ago. I miss them all.”

  She really needed to change the topic before she burst into tears.

  “Should I go to the police about Luther?”

  Spike switched off the TV and turned to look at her. “What?”

  “Well, he was talking about hurting you and Steele. I mean, maybe I should speak to the cops.”

  “Cops aren’t going to do anything based on something you overheard. He didn’t out and out say he was gonna hurt us.”

  “What about his plans? We can’t just let him take up where his father left off. From what you and Steele said, his father basically forced women to sell their bodies for sex. He bought women, took advantage of young girls. We can’t let him do the same.”

  He tapped his finger against the remote and turned to look off into the distance. But he didn’t say anything. He wasn’t going to just let it go, surely.

  “I can’t let him do that,” she told him. “I have to stop him.”

  “Luther Franklin is a slimeball. He’s annoying. An idiot. A pissant. That doesn’t mean he’s not dangerous. You’ll be going nowhere near him.”

  “But—”

  “Steele said he will take care of him. He doesn’t want him selling skin in his city. He also knows that Luther had something to do with the rat in his ranks. But he’ll likely figure out who the rat is first. Maybe even feed him some bad intel to get back to Luther. Don’t know.”

  “So I just have to sit around and wait? Like with this Devil’s Sinner guy? Will Steele take care of him too?”

  Spike grunted. “Yep.”

  That’s all he was going to say?

  “How?” she said with frustration.

  “Sick of being here already?”

  “No, it’s not that.” She had things she had to do.

  “I’ll talk to Steele. See what his plan is. But you need to know that you’re having no part in any of it, understand?”

  His protectiveness was kind of surprising and charming. But at the same time, annoying. Because as nice as it was to have someone care about her, sitting still and doing nothing wasn’t something she was good at.

  17

  Today, she was making lunch.

  She felt pretty useless. She’d basically been told she couldn’t help with Luther or Corey. She didn’t know how she was meant to point out this rat when she was hidden in Spike’s house. And there was very little for her to do here.

  Basically, she was sitting here twiddling her thumbs.

  Well, she’d tried to do some more research. This time into the Devil’s Sinners. But she knew what she’d found would just give her nightmares so she’d given up.

  She hadn’t seen Spike since breakfast. She couldn’t say if she was relieved or disappointed.

  Maybe a bit of both.

  Would he mind if she made lunch? She felt like she should since he wouldn’t let her lift a finger at breakfast.

  With a groan, she searched through the cupboards and fridge, deciding to make grilled cheese sandwiches. She picked up a frying pan and started heating it up on the stovetop. She got the sandwiches put together then placed them on the hot pan.

  Oh. Wait. She just thought of something to add to her notes. Moving back to her laptop, she reminded herself not to forget about the grilled cheese.

  * * *

  The alarm blared, and he jumped to his feet.

  Shit!

  Smoke alarm.

  Racing out of his office, he ran down to the living area. Where was she? Why hadn’t he been keeping a closer eye on her? Fuck it! He’d holed up in his office all morning to avoid her and the way she made him feel. The things he was tempted to do.

  And now he had no idea where she was.

  Doing a great job of watching over her.

  Smoke drifted out from the kitchen as he raced in. He found her at the stove, picking up a smoking frying pan from the c
ooker.

  “Millie!”

  Mr. Fluffy started barking and she screamed, the pot slipping from her hand and landing on her foot. She cried out in pain, dropping to the floor and grabbing hold of her foot. Fuck! Racing over, he picked her up off the floor, setting her on the counter. He quickly checked the stove to make sure it was off. All the smoke must be from whatever she’d been cooking.

  “What happened? Did the pan hit your foot?” he yelled.

  She nodded, tears dripping slowly down her face as she sobbed.

  “It’s okay, baby. Hang on.”

  He grabbed a clean cloth and wet it, placing it on the red patch on the top of her foot.

  “Hold that there.” He raced over and opened the sliding door then hastened over to the pad on the wall by the backdoor, turning off the alarm.

  He ran back into the kitchen. She still sat where he’d put her, holding the cloth to her foot. He turned the cold water tap on then gently turned her, placing her foot under the stream of water.

  “Keep your foot there. I’ll get the truck. Get you to the emergency room.”

  “I’m . . . I’m so sorry!” she wailed.

  “Shh. You’ll be okay.”

  “I j-just wanted to m-make lunch. I m-mess everything up.”

  “Hey,” he warned, clasping hold of her chin and turning her face towards his. “You do not mess everything up. Now I’m gonna get my truck to drive you to the emergency room. Keep your foot under the cold water.”

  She swiped at her cheeks with her arm. “Don’t need to go to the emergency room. It’s all right. It’s just a burn.”

  “It could be broken.”

  “It’s not. Look I can wriggle my toes.” She moved her toes back and forth. But the redness of her skin worried him. That could be a nasty burn. And the pan was a heavy one.

  Nope. His mind was made up.

  “If you don’t want to go because you’re worried about the cost then I’ll pay for it.”

  “No, I have insurance,” she grumbled.

  “Then you’re going to the emergency room.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t want to. I can’t believe I’m such a klutz. First, I forgot I left that pan on and then I dropped it. I’ll get a new one for you.”

  “Don’t give a fuck about the pan. I care about your damn foot. And you’re going to the emergency room, so stop arguing.”

  18

  Several hours later Millie was exhausted, embarrassed and she could feel the tingling warning of an impending migraine.

  Which didn’t surprise her. First there had been the stress of burning lunch and dropping that hot pan, then the blaring noise of the alarm, plus hours spent at the emergency room under fluorescent lights, talking to nurses and doctors, having them poke and prod her.

  Yeah, no wonder she was done in.

  Then there was the fact that she’d never gotten to eat lunch. Not that she could eat now with how nauseous she felt.

  “Want something to eat?” Spike asked.

  He hadn’t said much since they’d left home, but he’d managed to intimidate the hell out of most of the nurses and doctors as he’d lurked beside her, glaring at them. She was certain they’d been rushed through because they were eager to get rid of them.

  Nothing had been broken at least. Just a bad bruise and a burn. Her foot was wrapped up but she’d been told to give it some air tomorrow.

  Thank goodness she could now afford health insurance. Spike had offered to pay

  “No thanks,” she said hoarsely. How had she managed to mess up grilled cheese? “I’ll pay for whatever damages I caused.”

  Seems she was doing that a lot. First, she owed him a bathtub and now a new frying pan.

  “You’re not paying for anything,” he grumbled at her as he turned up his driveway.

  Mr. Fluffy stuck his head out of her handbag and gave her a look that loosely translated to, you owe me lunch, bitch.

  Mr. Fluffy could be quite mean.

  Spike pulled up inside the garage. He’d driven her to the emergency room in his enormous, manly, badass truck. It totally suited him.

  He turned to her once he’d parked. “Wait there.”

  She undid her belt as he walked around to her side of the truck, opening the door and lifting her out. She held onto her handbag, containing Mr. Fluffy. Instead of setting her down, he carried her into the house. It still had the faint stink of smoke in the air and she groaned. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Hush,” he said firmly and started for the stairs.

  She squeaked. “What are you doing?”

  “Carrying you upstairs. While I air the place out and make us some dinner you can have a bath and relax. Or do other things.”

  Oh no. He did not just go there. He did not.

  She gaped up at him, but his face remained as impassive as always. She finally convinced herself that he didn’t mean to imply that she could play with her dino vibrator.

  “I can walk.”

  “No.”

  She bit her lip. “You shouldn’t be carrying me around.”

  He made a grumbling noise.

  “I’ll come down and help you.” She wasn’t going to relax while he was working.

  “No. You won’t.”

  He walked into the bathroom and set her on the counter.

  “But—”

  “I don’t want you inhaling any more smoke fumes.”

  There weren’t any smoke fumes left in the house. Just the lingering stench. He was full of shit. Then again, maybe he didn’t want her in his kitchen, because he was afraid she’d mess something up and actually set the house on fire.

  She sighed as he started a bath. She closed her eyes. The side of her face felt numb and tingly. Shoot.

  “You’re pale. You in pain? Your foot?”

  “My head,” she whispered with a wince. “Migraine.”

  “Shit. You get migraines?”

  “Yep.”

  “What can I do?”

  She appreciated him not asking her a whole bunch of questions. “Quiet. Dark. Pills. Bag. Toilet.”

  “Okay, baby. Let me find them.”

  She heard a rustling noise. She didn’t open her eyes.

  “Gonna pick you up, put you to bed. Then I’ll get some water for you to take these.”

  Even though he was gentle, she still whimpered as he moved her. It felt like a screwdriver going through the left side of her head and eye. The pain was excruciating. Dizziness assaulted her while nausea bubbled in her stomach.

  Then he laid her down on the bed. She lay there, trying to convince herself that she didn’t need to vomit. There was blessed quiet and she risked opening her eyes to find the room was empty, the curtains were pulled.

  The door opened and he reappeared with a bottle of water.

  “Fluffy?” she croaked. She could barely think and it was hard to get her words out. To figure out what she wanted to say.

  “I’ll take care of him. Don’t worry. Is there anything else?”

  “Cold cloth. Head.”

  “Okay. Gonna help you sit to take these.”

  He sat next to her on the bed and propped her up against his chest. Then he fed her the pills and held the bottle of water to her lips.

  Maybe she should protest that she could do it. But truth was, she was tired. It was nice to have someone else look after her.

  And he was so damn good at it.

  “Gonna get you into something more comfortable. That okay with you?”

  She grunted. She was beyond worrying about anything. It was so hard to think. She felt him moving her around. A wave of nausea rose over her.

  She made a distressed noise and he quickly rolled her over. She vomited everywhere, sobbing in distress.

  “Shh. Shh. Shh. I got you. You’re safe.”

  She was picked up once again and carried.

  “Chompers,” she whispered as he laid her down. The scent of leather and cherry surrounded her. But thankfully, it didn’t make her fe
el any worse.

  “Get him for you.”

  More silence. Then she felt something being pressed into her arms. A cool cloth washed over her mouth and face and she sighed in pleasure.

  “Rest.”

  “Thanks, Daddy,” she whispered.

  Spike stared down at her. She whimpered and curled up into a ball as though trying to protect herself.

  Thanks, Daddy.

  Fuck. He hated that she was in pain. His hands clenched into fists. This wasn’t an enemy he could see or fight.

  A wave of protectiveness washed through him. There was just something about Millie that urged him to take care of her. Maybe it was because she didn’t seem to care enough to do it herself.

  He hated that too.

  Another whimper.

  Daddy.

  She’d called him Daddy.

  He didn’t want this, right? Jacqui had been the only love of his life.

  You don’t have to love her to be this for her. There are plenty of Daddy/Little relationships that have nothing to do with love.

  Bringing her back here had been a major fuck-up. He should call Steele, get him to take her off his hands.

  But would Steele look after her when she got a migraine? Would he watch over her to make sure she didn’t burn down the house or hurt herself?

  Like you’ve been doing a good job of that.

  He’d been hiding from her. If he decided to do this, then he’d watch over her far more closely. It would make it easier to take care of her. He could set rules and boundaries.

  Consequences.

  His cock hardened at the thought of putting her over his knee. Lord knew, she needed a damn good spanking for all the worry she’d given him. And for all the lies. Not to mention the way she talked about herself.

  This would take some thinking about. There wouldn’t be an issue of commitment or feelings.

  Should he be her Daddy when he wasn’t able to be anything more?

  For now, he needed to know how best to take care of her. Striding out of his bedroom, where he’d carried her after she’d vomited in her room, he bundled up the dirty bedding, and took it downstairs, putting it in the wash. Then he grabbed his phone, calling someone he knew could help.

  “Darling, you’ve got to stop calling me at home. My wife’s getting suspicious.”