Page 12 of Daddy's Little Librarian
It had been a long time since he’d had a Little, the Daddy-Dom inside him whispered.
He was absolutely not going to take the ‘Little’ his grandmother found and brought home for him, like a little lost puppy.
Stifling a sigh, he followed her. “I took the job.”
“Of course, you did,” she said smugly. “I raised you right. Plus, you were never able to resist helping when you knew someone needed it.”
God, he hated being predictable.
“Straighten up,” he said, because he literally had nothing else to tease her about. “There’s nothing wrong with your back, and you know it.”
Chuckling, the old woman cast him a wink. “People are always watching, honey. Always leave them guessing.”
“Con artist,” he said, not unfondly.
“Convict,” she replied in kind, then giggled. “Did you hear how that just rolls off the tongue? Oh, I like that much better than ‘cop.’ Convict,” she enunciated, and giggled again.
God help him.
* * * * *
“So,” Scotti asked, feigning cheerfulness while he knelt on her porch under the amber glow of her too-dim porch light and tried to pick her lock. “Why do you hate Mondays?”
“Because of crap like this.” Snatching a quick glance up and down the dark, residential street behind them, Kurt returned his attention to the task at hand. He jiggled the bobby pin in the front door lock. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.”
“They don’t send you to jail for breaking into your own house. Besides, I do have a key. I was just so rattled when I left this morning, I think I left it on the entertainment center. On any other day, I’d show you this trick I have with the kitchen window, but that’s how Gopher got in last night, so I put a wedge in it after he left.” She bent, hands on knees as she watched him jiggle the hairpin. “Something tells me breaking and entering was not your criminal career of choice.”
He stopped fidgeting with the door long enough to give her a dirty look. “Do you want to do this?”
“No,” she said, contrite. “I’m not trying to be a pain. Also, you don’t have to yell at me.”
“I’m not yelling,” he growled, once more back to the task at hand. “I can’t yell. I don’t have any voice left after you slammed my hand in the car door.”
“That was an accident.” She sounded hurt. “I was nervous and never saw your hand. I’ve already apologized three times for that. You need to forgive me and move on.”
He flashed her another quelling (he hoped) look just as a sharp metallic click emanated from the lock. “We’re in.”
“Oh,” Scotti said as he opened the door. “Awesome.”
Only she didn’t sound like it was awesome at all. She flashed an immediate smile when he glanced at her, but it never once touched her eyes. She gripped her hands, folding them tightly over her stomach as he swung the door wider, and made no effort to step inside. She was scared to go in, he realized. Honestly, legitimately scared in a way that someone ‘pranking’ 911 or staging things to get attention from friends, family, or even police wouldn’t be.
Admittedly, he’d only been halfway convinced of her story back at the library when he reluctantly accepted the job. He became completely convinced when he stepped inside, flicked the main light switch on, and suddenly a carpet-muted thump hit the second-floor ceiling almost directly above them.
He immediately flicked the light back off again.
Her breath turned instantly shaky as they both looked up at the popcorn ceiling.
“You said you lived alone,” Kurt softly clarified.
She nodded every bit as shakily as her breathing had become.
“No dogs or cats?”
She shook her head, her hands betraying all the fear that her face was trying so hard to hide.
“Stay here,” he told her. “Don’t move from this spot unless someone other than me comes down these stairs. If someone does, I want you to run like hell for the nearest neighbor, understand?”
Wringing her hands, she nodded.
