by Maren Smith
My book.
I had a hard time believing that I was an author. I was doing something I loved and still couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that there were people who actually wanted to read my stories. Picking up my pen, I was soon too busy meeting people, signing my name, and smiling for selfies to give much thought to the fact that perhaps the reason why I had started writing was because I found fiction far more appealing than fact.
I’d lost count of the number of books I’d signed when another was slid in front of me. Opening the cover, I put the tip of my pen to the page. “Who should I sign it to?” I asked.
“How about Daddy.”
Daddy.
Who knew you could keep living even when your heart stopped beating? It seemed to take a lifetime to lift my head and yet far too soon I was looking at the very reason I’d jumped into the self-publishing pool to start with. All I could think was that it was a damn good thing I was sitting down because by the way my knees shook, I would have wound up on my ass otherwise. The gods were laughing when I lost the ability of coherent thought as I stared at the man standing just across the table from me.
He was the perfect male specimen. Hair the color of a raven’s wing was enhanced by the silver at his temples that had my fingers twitching to run through the strands. His suit jacket spanned broad shoulders that I remembered clinging to, and his white shirt covered a chest that I could attest was both rock hard and yet made the most comfortable pillow. A black belt encircled a washboard abdomen that I’d slowly traced with my tongue, teasing his flesh on the way to my ultimate destination. Dropping my gaze lower, I couldn’t help but wonder if his proclivity to go commando beneath his jeans also carried over to the fine wool of his trousers. Feeling my face heat, I forced myself to tear my eyes away to follow long, lean legs a mile long. My journey came to an end with the pair of hand-tooled leather cowboy boots on his feet. Yes, most definitely the poster boy for mouth-watering perfection.
“Jack?” Hearing how breathless I sounded, I cleared my throat and tried again. “What are you doing here?”
“Giving a very naughty girl a chance to make her case,” he said, placing his palms flat on the table’s surface before adding, “before I take her over my knees and spank her ass.”
Damning my genetics for the blush that I had never been able to control, I darted a glance around only to see that the room had basically emptied. My time had been scheduled for an hour and a half and evidently had ended as only a few stragglers remained, grabbing bottles of juice or plucking the last few cookies off massive trays used to feed hungry readers before they were ushered out the double doors at the front of the room.
“I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“I’m talking about fraud.”
At the risk of seeming a bit dense, I repeated myself. “I still have no idea what you are—”
“Surely you haven’t been out of the courtroom for so long that you’ve forgotten what evidence is,” he said, cutting me off.
I could hear him speaking, yet nothing he said made any sense. “Look, my time is up, and—”
“Especially when it is right before your eyes,” he continued as if I hadn’t even spoken. Lifting a hand from the table, he tapped the book which was still splayed open beneath my palm.
“Fraud, Ms. Kerrie Kenneth,” he said, emphasizing the name on the title page, “is defined as the intentional perversion of the truth in order to induce unsuspecting readers to surrender their hard-earned money.”
“Well, isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black,” I said. “How you can stand there and accuse me of being perverted when—”
“I didn’t call you perverted; I said fraud is a perversion of the truth.” Tapping the book again, he continued, “And, little girl, I would be willing to swear in court that what you wrote is not the truth, and since we are both well aware that I was there, any jury would have a hard time not believing every word of my testimony.”
Okay, enough was enough. Pulling the book away, I closed it as forcefully as one could a paperback. Tossing it into the box sitting on the table, I stood. “For your information, fiction is defined as literature that describes imaginary locales, events and people which—”
“Proves my case, since the location exists, the event happened, and if you remember, the fact that I spent a good half hour smoothing salve all over the bark burn you got on your ass proves the people were definitely there.”
“Jack!”
“Is everything okay?”
We both looked over to see we were no longer alone. Ellen looked between us, her curiosity blatantly palpable. How much had she heard? Since the floor was unlikely to open up and swallow me whole, I did the only thing I could think of, saying with forced cheerfulness, “Everything is just great! Jack here was just telling me how much he enjoyed my book.”
“Jack? Wait… is that short for Jackson as in the Jackson?”
“No,” I said even as Jack spoke at the exact same moment.
“The one and the same.”
Ellen’s head swiveled between us, and she practically squealed, “Oh my God, you are, aren’t you!”
Jack’s chuckle had her hand lifting to fan herself as she raked her eyes up and down his frame.
“You are even hotter in person than you are in the book. And, I’m willing to bet my next paycheck that makes you”—she turned to me, her eyes dancing— “Hanna!”
Eyes the color of lapis turned in my direction, pinning me as effectively as his hand had pinned my wrists to that tree. “The defense accepts this juror.”
Rolling my eyes, I said, “Very funny. Ellen, I assure you—”
“Oh, I’ve got the most amazing idea,” she said, cutting me off as well. “At the Author Spotlight Event tonight, if Jack is there, or better yet, you two sit together and then both sign the book, God, we could sell them tomorrow at the fair and make a ton! Can you imagine readers getting to actually meet the man in the flesh”—her smile grew even larger as she looked him over yet again before turning her eyes to me—”who won your heart—”
“Don’t you mean Hanna’s heart?” I interjected.
Ellen actually laughed. “Don’t worry. Your secret is perfectly safe with me,” she said, putting her finger to her lips, making a zipping motion before she clapped her hands. “Tonight is going to be epic! Fans are going to eat you two up!”
“Absolutely not!”
“I’d love to.”
Staring across the table, I was sure I hadn’t just heard him correctly.
“Perfect!” Ellen said, clapping her hands. “This is going to be so much fun. It will be the best surprise ever! We’ve got a few hours before we need to be back, so why don’t you two grab something to eat. You can take it to the park just a few blocks away with some very pretty paths. You can have a… picnic.”
With the way she said the word accompanied with the wagging of her eyebrows and a giggle as she fanned herself again, she might as well have given us the species of the tree she was obviously expecting us to picnic beneath or, knowing her dirty little mind, fuck against. I felt my face heating anew.
“I don’t have time to eat. I-I need to clean up, and I’m sure Jack has other plans—”
“None that don’t include you,” Jack said.
Looking up, I saw him grinning. At least one of us seemed to be enjoying the world spinning off its axis.
“Perfect,” Ellen said, flapping her hands as if we were sheep and she was herding us out to pasture. “Don’t give another thought to cleaning up. That’s my job. You don’t need to worry about a thing. I’ve got it covered. You two just go have some fun.”
“That’s very kind of you, Ms…”
“Please, call me Ellen,” she said, and then actually giggled. “Oh wait, tonight should I introduce you as Jackson or Daddy Jack?”
God save me, I thought even as I swore I could hear the sound of the devil laughing his ass off.
“Jack Carey will do jus
t fine,” Jack said as he leaned over to pluck the book from the box where I’d thrown it. Flipping it open, he tapped the title page again. “You forgot to sign my copy,” he said, and I would swear the devil chortled louder when those damned dimples appeared. “Make it out to Daddy Dearest if you please.”
Chapter Three
Jack
This was working out even better than I could have hoped. Savannah wasn’t one to make a scene so when Ellen provided me the perfect opportunity, I grabbed it. The selfish part of me wasn’t particularly looking forward to sharing Savannah with anybody, but I couldn’t deny how proud I was of her, and if what I’d seen so far was any indication, there were hordes of people who agreed she was a pretty incredible woman. But pride in her didn’t negate the fact that beneath the confident, successful persona she conveyed, there was a little girl who desperately needed someone to step in. I knew I was the perfect candidate for that position… the only step left to be taken was for one very stubborn woman to admit that she knew it as well.
I’d been watching her from the moment she’d entered the room and seen her hands shaking even as she downed not just one large coffee, which I’d be willing to bet was not her first of the morning, but then drank another when a staff member offered them around. Not only hadn’t there been any protein on the plate that same assistant had set before her, she’d not taken a single bite of the yogurt and fruit parfait either. She’d lost weight she couldn’t afford to as well. Sharp angles had taken the place of soft curves that had fit my hands so beautifully. While some might find the fact having no silhouette the epitome of beauty, I found it further proof that she wasn’t taking care of herself. Don’t get me wrong, she was still gorgeous as hell, but my palms were already itching to pull her over my lap and spank some sense into that pretty little head of hers.
Highly accomplished or not, Savannah needed someone to step in and take control. She’d fought like a tiger just to escape a childhood filled with emptiness and no support of parents who couldn’t care less about their only offspring. She also worked her ass off putting herself through law school and had become a successful litigator. By the amount of people who’d come to listen to her reading, she looked to be on the fast track to be an even more successful author. And though she might bluster and deny it, she’d made her need known when she’d put pen to paper and written that book.
“I’m sorry about Ellen,” Savannah said the moment the door closed behind us. “I’ll tell her you were just being polite, but had to go, and—”
“And add another dozen swats to the count you already have coming.”
“What?” Her eyes grew huge as her mouth opened and closed several times, but it took another moment before actual words came out. “Stop threatening me with… with—”
“A spanking?” I provided when she was unable to continue. “And, it’s not a threat, it’s a promise,” I said, cutting Savannah off and when she huffed and came to an abrupt stop, putting her hands on her hips, I grinned and leaned close. “Careful, little girl. There are about a zillion eyes in this place and if any of them are as astute as your friend, Ellen, well”—shrugging my shoulders, I pulled back—”they just might be lining up to sell tickets to the event.” I chuckled as a woman stopped mid-stride to tug at her companion’s arm before waving at us and holding up a copy of the book. Savannah lifted her hand to return the wave, and I had to smile as she darted furtive glances at the hundreds of people milling about the halls. I took advantage of her inattention to splay my hand against her lower back. The contact, though completely innocent, sent a jolt of electricity surging through me as if recognizing that a vital connection that had been missing for far too long had been found.
“Oh, wait, I need coffee…”
“You definitely don’t,” I said, cutting off her attempt to deviate from my chosen path by slipping my palm from her back to take the hand she’d lifted toward the door of a coffee shop along the corridor.
“I’m perfectly capable of deciding when I’ve had enough coffee,” she huffed, her attempt to pull her hand free from mine as unsuccessful as her attempt at grab another hit of caffeine.
“The only thing you’ve proved to be quite capable of is not taking care of yourself,” I said, passing a café and taking a left turn away from the revolving door that would lead us outside. “You’ve lost at least fifteen pounds, you look exhausted which means you haven’t been getting anywhere near enough sleep, and you’re shaking—”
“I’m not!”
My response was to lift our joined hands, opening mine to reveal hers which was visibly trembling. Before she could snatch it away, I closed my fingers and pulled her into the elevator that had just emptied its passengers. “Evidence doesn’t lie,” I said.
“How do you know what floor I’m on?” she asked, purposefully ignoring my point as I reached out to push the button for the eighteenth floor. When I quirked my eyebrow, she rolled her eyes. “Right, I suppose you can get the desk to give you even supposedly confidential info since you’re a cop.”
“Detective,” I corrected.
“Really? That’s great!” she said in a tone that I believed surprised us both before she seemed to remember she was no longer supposed to convey anything close to warmth. “I mean, um, I know that was a goal of yours when we… um before you… I mean before we broke…”
“Careful, counselor,” I cautioned when she paused. Looking from the display above the closed doors to see her face flushing, I added, “Lying to yourself is one thing, but lying to me”—dropping my free hand to her ass, I gave her right buttock a squeeze—”will guarantee some little girl is going to be sitting uncomfortably at her fancy shindig tonight.” The elevator doors opening to reveal several people cut off any snarky reply she might have attempted, but her face turning even redder told me that my comment had hit its target.
“Some detective,” she muttered as I stopped outside a door. “My room is…” She stared, speechless as I pulled a keycard from my pocket. “Seriously? You actually got a room here? And it just happens to be right next to mine?”
“No, I got a room that connects to yours,” I said, opening the door after the light turned green. Pulling her inside, I turned and slipped the “Do Not Disturb” hanger over the knob and shut the door. Pocketing the card, I had moved through the short foyer into the room proper and had taken a seat on the large leather ottoman, captured her other hand and pulled her to stand between my spread knees before she had a chance to react.
“You have one chance to come clean—”
“Jack…”
“Daddy.”
Chestnut curls swung as she shook her head, jade green eyes widened and her breath caught as she tried again to pull her hands away, but it was the fact that her cheeks were flushed and her nipples were now tight little pebbles pushing against the fabric of her dress that told the truth. She could shake her head, she could protest, hell, she could run, but her body was incapable of lying. Savannah craved having a daddy with every cell of her physical being. The only thing that was hampering her happiness… not to mention killing me slowly… was that something had happened between that incredible day at the arboretum and the day she’d run that had caused her mind to deny that fact.
“Talk to me,” I said.
“I-I can’t,” she said softly.
I wasn’t about to accept that. I’d given her space thinking perhaps she needed some time to adjust to the shift in our dynamic even though she’d never seemed happier than when she’d finally allowed herself to give up some control to me. Hell, I’d never been more content than when making sure she got enough rest and ate properly. Her body got stronger with daily exercise, though granted, a great deal of that had been cardio workouts we’d done together in bed, on the rug in front of the fire, on the couch, over the kitchen table, or in the shower. We’d enjoyed long walks or simply sitting in an overstuffed chair, Savannah on my lap as we talked about our days, books we’d read, debated the best movies ever made,
or our dreams of a future… a future that had included the both of us. It had been perfection. Until one day, I’d come home to discover a note in the middle of the coffee table that tore my life apart.
Perhaps if the note hadn’t smelled of her perfume or if the ink hadn’t been blotched as if tears had fallen as she’d written the words, I might have been able to accept the fact that she was choosing a different future. But the fact that she’d addressed the envelope to “Daddy” and signed it “Love, Your Savannah,” assured that I’d never rest until I learned the true reason she was walking away. Still, she had left and enough time had passed that I knew that despite my actions today, the choice had to ultimately be hers.
“Is it because you’re scared of me?”
“Oh, no!” she said instantly. “I’ve never been scared of you.”
“Even when I’ve spanked you?” I asked.
She blushed and shifted on her feet. “No. I-I mean I didn’t always like you very much when you… um… punished me, but, no, not even then.”
Satisfied that she’d never considered me a physical threat, I continued with the question that had the power to have me release her forever. “Is it because you don’t love me?”
This time her answer wasn’t immediate. Instead, her gaze met mine, her silence causing my heart to threaten to stop beating until I saw her bottom lip begin to tremble.
“Oh, baby,” I said, scooping her up and pulling her onto my lap. “Savannah, don’t cry. It’s going to be okay.” Pressing my lips to the top of her head, I hugged her close as I tried to be a far better man than I felt like being. I was pretty damn sure I would never be okay again, but this woman deserved to find happiness with someone even if that person wasn’t me. “I don’t understand what happened, but all I’ve ever wanted was for you to be happy. I just want you to know that I’ve never stopped loving you—”