Page 186 of Sweet Temptation

I wondered if they always called her “princess” and “sweetie,” or if this was a post-attempted-break-in outpouring of love and parental guilt.

I wondered at which point I should leave them to some privacy.

“Really, Mom,” Summer said. “Stop fussing. I’m completely safe.”

On that note, her dad turned to me and said, “And what, exactly, are you doing to keep my daughter safe?”

Summer met my eyes. And for once, she didn’t have a sassy quip to offer. She just bit her lip and raised her eyebrows at me.

That look seemed to say Please help, or Don’t fuck this up.

I wasn’t sure which.

“Why don’t I show you, sir?” I offered, nodding toward the front door.

Gunnar glanced at his daughter, who smiled a little. Then he made a little grudging noise of agreement in the back of his throat and went to put his shoes on.

Summer mouthed Thank you at me.

I nodded and led her dad out the front door.

* * *

I took my time showing Summer’s father around the exterior of the house. I figured Summer and her mom would appreciate the alone time for girl talk. And her dad, despite the polished loafers and baby-blue argyle dress socks, definitely seemed like the hands-on type. The I’ll-believe-it-when-I-see-it-with-my-own-damn-eyes type.

So I took him around and personally showed him the alarm system. The new locks on the doors and the high-security keys. The new motion sensor lights I’d had installed around the yard.

Along the way, I fielded a barrage of questions about my experience, my company, my business partners, my employees, my special skills training, and even the neighborhood where I grew up. Summer’s father seemed particularly interested in knowing about my father, and at that point I steered the conversation toward my uncle, who was way more impressive both on paper and in real life.

In the side yard, Gunnar came to a stop next to the fence. He put his hand on the new post I’d put in. I hadn’t had a chance to stain it to match the others yet.

“What happened here?” he said gruffly.

“There was a rotten fence post there.”

He eyed me. “I know there was a rotten fence post.”

“I replaced it.”

He examined the post, checking out my work. “You did this yourself?”

“I did. Bodyguard duty can be… a little dry,” I explained. “Especially when your daughter’s locked in her studio for hours at a time. I like to keep busy.”

He bent down to inspect the fence some more. Then he straightened, eying me again. He slipped his hands in his pockets and gazed up at the house.

“This attempted break-in,” he said. “Was that the whole story you gave my wife and I inside? Or was there more to it?”

“Like what?” I asked.

He gave me a narrow look that told me he could smell bullshit a mile away. “Is my daughter keeping anything else from me?”

“I think she really meant it when she said she wants you not to worry about her,” I said. Out of respect for Summer, I wanted to honor her privacy.

But I also respected a man’s need to know his daughter was safe. And having to ask me for answers was probably frustrating as shit.

He made a grumpy hmph noise, and kept walking.

I escorted him around the back of the house. At his request, I showed him where Blair Sanchuk had climbed up the wall and onto the balcony. And like any caring father would, he ran his hands over the sunroom windows, feeling the edges and doing what he could to make sure, himself, that it was secure.

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