by Amber Bardan
I clear my throat. “What do you like best?”
He falls silent, and his eyes are like marbles. I see nothing in them.
Disappointment hits me like a boxing glove to the chest. “Ah, the sex.”
I nod. It’s okay. I take a breath. That’s fine. There’s a reason men like me. I’m not needy.
I clear my throat. “That’s okay.”
I’m fine.
My eyes burn. I look at his jaw. It’s okay. I’m okay. I didn’t need anything more than that.
“Katie.”
The bite in his voice cuts right into me. I clamp my teeth over my lower lip.
“I like…” His gravel-deep tone wraps around me. “How you make me feel invincible,” he finishes.
My gaze flies to his.
“When you trust me, I feel like I could shift mountains.” He touches my cheek. “When I take care of you, it’s like I’m superman. You make me feel strong. Powerful.”
“Clay…” My chest feels like a truck just parked on me. I don’t know how to say it other than to just say it. “I really, really like you.”
A lot.
He takes a breath that seems to rattle from him to me then presses his mouth to mine. His lips are hot. He kisses me hard.
I wrap my arms around his neck and melt into him. Press my tongue into his mouth and kiss him the way I remember doing only as a teenager.
A soft, pulsing sound winds around us.
He stiffens then pulls back. His teeth creak so hard, I hear it. He glances at his phone.
“Rest, Katie.”
I sink back onto the pillow. Does he even know how screwed I am? That I want him. Want him. Like the way I want to wake up in the morning.
Maybe, if I be really good, he’ll want me that way, too.
“Yes, Daddy.”
He kisses my forehead then slides out of bed and tucks the blankets around me.
I love you.
Clay
Fuck me.
She snuggles into the pillow. What I wouldn’t give to crawl back into that bed with her. I’ve let things go too far. It’s not as if I wasn’t fully aware of how fixated on her I was when I allowed this to happen.
It’s not as if I didn’t know the moment I set eyes on her that she was mine. That no one else would ever do for me again.
But she deserves so much more than me.
I feel each of my muscles, as though I’ve trained too hard. I burn. If I could be all of the things we pretend to be together, I’d lock her in this house forever.
Never let her go.
My phone dings again. The sound is like a bullet.
I’m none of those things.
And I’ll protect her—even from myself.
I collect the phone and turn off the lamp.
Dixie slams into my legs the moment I leave the room.
I reach down and scruff the top of her head. “Come on.”
I go through the kitchen and take a beer from the fridge. Dixie follows me, her head down. She knows. She feels it. Even I know I’m stalling.
I drink the whole beer before listening to the message.
When it’s finished, I hit delete.
And go get another beer.
Dixie rests her chin on my lap. I flick through channels and pretend to watch something.
I glance down at Dixie. “Stop looking at me like that.”
Her puppy eyes seem to get sadder.
I push her off my lap. “Go to bed.”
She slinks off and curls in her doggy bed.
I’m okay. I scruff my face. Holy shit.
I drink the second beer—healthy-lifestyle shit out the window. It’s not as if it’s going to matter in the long run.
The television flashes, and noise drones.
A soft touch on my knee jerks my jaw up.
There she stands, all rumpled and mussed up beside me, appearing like a phantom.
“Katie, what’s wrong?”
She chews on her delicious pink lip. “I can’t sleep, Daddy.”
A shudder of lust has my cock instantly hard. There she goes with her Daddies. But how the fuck can she be horny again?
She sashays closer and places her little hand on my shoulder. “I need a cuddle.”
Oh, no. I see it on her face, but it’s too late to resist. I haul her onto my lap and squeeze her close.
It’s not fair—I need this so badly that it’s wrong to pretend.
Her sugary smell fills me, and I could die.
Die.
“I love you, Daddy.”
Her words are pins and needles on my insides. Blades in my chest. Nails in my guts. I shouldn’t play.
She straddles me. Sweet little pussy, grinding on my erection.
Her soft lips press to my ear. “Tell me you love me.”
No. I can’t. I shouldn’t.
I’m fucked. So fucked.
Her fingers stream through my hair. Her body rubs against mine. “Please, Daddy.”
My fingers dig into her hips. The pressure in my lungs feels terminal. I’m not in a safe frame of mind.
Should send her back to bed.
I haul her closer and squeeze her until she releases a squeak. My heart pounds. I shouldn’t. “I love you, baby girl.”
She moans, so wet the musky scent reaches me, and she turns to liquid sex in my arms—moving and wriggling and grinding.
I tear her dress down her body and pull her up, closing my mouth over one dusky nipple.
“Love me, Daddy.”
I flip us over. How the fuck did this happen? She’s so sweet and dirty and perfect. “I love you, baby.”
My jeans open in a flash, her dress is up, then my cock is in her irresistible cunt.
She squeals. I cover her mouth, and it’s as if my mind departs my body—I fuck her like I’ve always wanted to.
Until she’s crying out under me and her cunt contracts.
Until my balls seize and I’m joining her over the edge.
Until she has me in the palm of her soft little hand.
Chapter 9
Katie
Sunlight filters through the curtains. I roll over in bed, my fingers splaying on cool sheets. We fell asleep on the couch. I don’t even remember getting back in bed.
A sigh floods me.
I drag off the covers and climb off the mattress then freshen up in the bathroom, before rushing to the kitchen. The scent of toast warms the air. Clay’s broad back faces me. I sneak up behind him and throw my arms around his waist.
“Mmm,” I hum. “Peanut butter?”
He turns, and I nearly fall at his feet. He’s so damn handsome.
“Sit down, Katie.”
I grin and sashay to the table.
He sets the plate of toast in front of me. Honestly, though, today I could eat an entire pig and the contents of a chicken coop. But I eat his peanut butter as though it’s a feast.
He settles down next to me with his coffee. The cup makes a grating sound on the wood.
My gaze flicks from my plate to the way he rotates the cup.
I swallow.
“I have some good news for you.”
I look up at his face, and my shoulders brace. His expression is way too tight. “What is it?”
“I talked to a friend of mine this morning.”
“Oh.” I wipe my hand on my thigh. What does that have to do with me?
He brushes a non-existent crumb from his chin. “Clement Roux.”
I feel my mouth fall open. My head goes light. He’s only the best freaking pastry chef in the whole damn city. “No way!”
“Yes, way.” His lips tweak, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “He’ll take you on if you’re ready for it.”
What?
“Of course, I’m ready.” A laugh floods me, and I stand up. “Is this for real?”
“It will be early mornings and hard work, but I know you’ll make me proud.” He no longer looks at me and takes a gulp of coffee.
&n
bsp; My chest swells. Damn straight, I’ll make him proud.
I reach out for him, but my fingers still, hovering above his hand. There’s a tension vibrating through him.
“What’s wrong?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing. Everything is how it’s supposed to be.”
I frown and scan his features. Then it hits me. If I take this job, I’ll be working mornings. I won’t be able to work for him anymore.
“Don’t worry, Clay.” I get out of the chair and walk around the table to him and sit on the edge. “I’ll find someone lovely to walk Dixie.”
I touch his cheek.
He takes my fingers. “It’s okay. That’s not for you to worry about.”
A sliver of something cold trickles through my insides, but I shake it off. “We’ll see each other in my free time.”
He kisses the palm of my hand then releases it.
I clutch my hand to my chest. Won’t we?
The cold turns to an icicle. I hear white noise.
“If you’re finished with breakfast, I’ll drive you home.”
Hurt cracks through my lungs. I can’t answer but manage a nod.
“Good girl,” he says.
But to my ears, for some reason, the words sound a lot like good-bye.
“Katie-kat?” The high little voice tugs me out of sleep.
I slide my arm off my face and blink into the mellow orange glow. “Yes, bud?”
Jake stands by my narrow, kid-sized bed in the room I’m temporarily sharing with him.
“Are you awake yet?”
I groan. I don’t want to do awake. Work begins far too early not to embrace the afternoon nap ritual. This kid doesn’t understand the concept of do-not-disturb—not the most relaxing roommate, but at least he doesn’t snore. Now I’ve quit nannying, I’m here until I sort out living arrangements.
“No, Jake, I’m still resting.”
He turns a ball in his little hands. “Will you catch with me when you get up?”
“Won’t one of the older boys…?” My gaze sticks on the baseball. It’s Clay’s; he left it here with the kids. “Get one of the other boys to play.”
“Okay.” He drops his head forward then leaves the room.
I lunge over the bed, yanking my phone so hard the charger almost tugs out of the wall. My thumbs move on the screen. I tap phone messages, emails, social media—I’ve contacted Clay everywhere.
Nothing.
He’s ghosted me. Fucking ghosted me. I swallow what feels like a beehive. I’ve ghosted people. Nice guys whose feelings I didn’t want to hurt but wasn’t into.
That’s not us.
That’s not how he feels about me.
I know this. I know it like I know every other important thing I can’t physically see. My eyes prickle. An urgent, itchy feeling streams through me, this strange desperateness, like running to make a flight and seeing the gate close.
I can hardly breathe through it.
I scan the messages I’ve sent, and I wish there were a retract button. It’s been a week since he drove me home. My are-you-okay messages turned into what’s-wrong messages, then somehow descended into what-did-I-do-wrong messages.
Then turned into more desperate ones.
But it’s too late to salvage my pride.
I just want to see Clay. Just set eyes on him. Even if all he does is reject me to my face. Then maybe I can deal. Maybe. My chest is a festering mound of hurt and longing.
I sniff and look at the time. He might still be at work. I’ve already tried his house, only to get no answer.
Well, I won’t be ignored any longer.
I throw on jeans and a t-shirt and the adorable fucking shoes he gave me and collect my bag and keys.
“Where are you going?”
I turn to face Mom with my hand on the front doorknob. “To see Clay.”
Her brow furrows, but she sighs. “Okay, but let me know if you’ll be home late.”
I nod and smile. We’ve sorted things out between us. Not that it matters much anymore when it comes to Clay. I doubt I’ll be home late even if I do see him. “I’ll message you.”
I leave, relying on my phone to navigate to the Colson Magnus offices. It’s a small building in an industrial part of town. Not the schmancy city offices I’d have pictured. But then Clay’s never been all that extravagant. Yet another thing to like about him.
I park then enter the building.
The receptionist looks up.
Her gaze does a startled flicker over me. “Can I help you?”
“I’m here for Clay.” I brace my hands on my waist. “I’m going to need you to show me to his office.”
Her mouth opens then closes. “Do you have an appointment?”
“No, we’re personal friends.”
Her gaze moves over me again. Oh, god, is everyone going to look at me like I’m either the housemaid or a deluded fan? “Never mind.”
I glance around then head down the hallway to the right, which looks officey.
“Wait.” Footsteps trail behind me.
It’s too late to stop me. My heart pounds. I throw open a door. Two people in a crowded office glance up.
I shut the door and go to the next then the next until the door opens to a familiar face. “Where is he?”
Blake looks up, blinking, then sets the phone in his hand back on the cradle. “You.”
“Yes, me.” I swallow. All the adrenaline that got me here seems to have been dumped from my system, and my throat closes. “Where’s Cole?”
His expression slides downward. “You should really talk to him.”
“I’ve tried.” I stumble into the office. “He’s ghosted me.”
The receptionist hurries up behind me, and he stands and gestures for her to leave.
“Please.” My throat burns. “I just want to talk to him.”
He sighs and rounds his desk but his mouth works before he speaks. “Whatever it is, I’m sure he has his reasons.”
The gravity of his tone hits me like an anvil.
My heart drops down my body. “No, not that.”
No. My ribs seem to crack. I pray for it to all be regular old rejection. Anything over this.
He shakes his head. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to.” I cover my mouth. Tears stream over my hand.
“I don’t know for sure.” He pats my shoulder.
Nothing except seeing Clay can comfort me now.
I swipe my face. “Where is he?”
“At home, I think.” He drops his hand.
I nod and back toward the doors. “Thanks.”
Then I’m out of the building and running to my car.
Chapter 10
I sprint up the bluestone steps winding up the side of the enormous Atlanta property to the gate and twist the handle. The damn thing is locked again. I wedge my sneaker into the gap in the fence beside the gate and jump, grabbing hold of the top of the gate to haul up my body. The flat wooden pickets press into my ribs, knocking air out of my chest.
I hold on to the edge, wobbling, and attempt to swing up my leg. My balance shifts, and I squeal, before steadying myself, and then I inch my foot up until it reaches the top, and straddle the edge. You’d think with so many siblings to chase, I’d be a little more agile—but nope.
I release a long, slow breath.
“What did I tell you about using the front door?”
The voice jerks through me, and I fall. Right into sturdy arms.
The thud of the impact jerks my bones.
Clay.
I grab on to him. His scent wraps around me. I cling, never wanting to let go. “Last time I tried, I couldn’t get in.”
He frowns his meanest frown. It’s different now, buried under several days of stubble. I touch his beard. It’s rough and wonderful. Speckled with different colors.
My fingers slide on his cheek. I want these whiskers. Want them against my face. On my tits. Scraping my back. “D
addy, you hurt me.”
Pain pushes through me until I feel like passing out.
His jaw gets tighter under my hand, but he presses his forehead to mine. “I’m protecting you. That’s what I’m supposed to do.”
I wrap my arms around his neck. “It’s not working.”
His jagged breath fans my ear, and he carries me inside, all the way through the living room then sets me on the kitchen counter and passes me a tissue.
I wipe my face and leaking eyes. “Is it because of what I said that last night?”
“What are you talking about?” He hands me another tissue.
“When we were playing, and I said I love you.” The words burn. I already know it’s not the reason, but the fact I do truly love him means I pray it is.
I’d rather a broken heart from rejection a thousand times over the alternative.
“No. I’m sorry you think that.” He sighs. “But it did remind me that I need to be responsible for your sake.”
“How is it responsible to make me miss you like this?” I hiccup.
“Katie.” He takes my hands and looks right at me. “I can’t be who you deserve right now.”
I wiggle closer to the edge—to him. “What do I deserve?”
“Someone strong.” He shuts his eyes. “Someone who can be there for you whenever you need, and forever.”
“Clay.” The clarity of my voice startles even me. “I love you.”
He shakes his head. “No, you’re just confused. It’s the play.”
“Don’t you patronize me.” I drop his hands. “I said I love you, and I know what that means. I love the way you’ve always looked out for me and always will.” I reach for his face again. “How you understand and respect me. I love how you pretend to be gruff when you’re so damn sweet. I love so many things about you, I couldn’t fit them on a list.”
His eyes squeeze tighter. I’ve never seen someone look so agonized. I pull him closer. He drops his face into my neck.
“You don’t understand, Katie.”
I can’t bring myself to say it out loud, so I whisper. “Is it back?”
I don’t need to say what. The whole world saw Clay Colson on the front cover of every magazine, cut down in his prime. They sure did like to catch him leaving treatment without his beanie.
He squeezes me tighter, fingers biting into my back. “I believe it may be.”