Page 68 of Small Town Daddy

"Yeah?" His tone was teasing, but his grip on me tightened, firm, possessive. Commanding in a way that made warmth pool low in my belly.

"Just . . . kiss me already."

"Your wish, Little girl." His voice dropped even lower, almost dangerous, before his lips crushed down onto mine.

It wasn’t soft or tentative. It was slow-burning fire and pent-up hunger, all control and no hesitation. His beard scraped against my skin, grounding me, while his hands roamed—one sliding up my spine, the other curling protectively at my hip.

I melted into him, my arms winding around his neck, pulling him closer until there was nothing between us but heat and need. The edge of the rocking chair bumped into my leg, but I barely noticed.

"Lucy," he rasped against my mouth, pulling away just far enough to look at me. His pupils were blown wide, dark swallowing blue.

"Yeah?" My voice was breathy, unfamiliar even to me.

"Say it again."

"Say what?" I blinked up at him, dazed.

"That you're mine." His tone was rough now, demanding.

"Always," I promised without thinking, the truth spilling out before doubt could catch up.

"Good girl," he growled, and it sent a shiver racing down my spine.

Before I could respond, his lips were on mine again, stealing every coherent thought I might’ve had left.

Chapter 18

Marcus

Ileaned against thedoor frame of the living room, arms crossed, watching Lucy dart between the kitchen and the entryway like a hummingbird. Her auburn hair bounced with each step, strands slipping from the loose braid she’d thrown together earlier. She muttered to herself as she adjusted a stack of plates on the buffet table, then spun back toward the kitchen, only to stop mid-step and pivot toward the bookshelf instead.

"Lucy," I called, keeping my voice low but firm. "It’s a housewarming party, not a presidential gala."

She shot me a glare over her shoulder, green eyes sharp and bright. "If you’re just gonna stand there looking pretty, Marcus, at least stay out of my way." A flicker of a smile tugged at her lips.

"Yes, ma’am," I said, unable to keep the smirk off my face. I wasn’t exactly a “Party guy” but when Lucy had asked to put together a little housewarming thing, I hadn’t been able to say no.

"So, Daddy?" Lucy snapped, hands on her hips. "Are you going to stare all day, or are you going to help?"

"Staring’s easier," I teased, pushing off the door frame. Before I could take a step, though, the front door swung open, and Brett strolled in without so much as a knock, a six-pack dangling from one hand. He was already grinning.

"Well, look who’s domesticated," Brett said, his voice a warm rumble that filled the room. He set the beer on the counter and clapped me hard on the shoulder. "Thought I’d come early and see if you needed help setting up—or if Lucy needed me to rescue her from your party-pooper vibe."

"Funny," I said, shaking my head, though I couldn’t help but grin. "Feel free to take over. She’s got me running laps."

"Hey, Brett," Lucy chimed from across the room, flashing him a quick smile before disappearing into the kitchen. She was all energy tonight, half nerves, half excitement. I loved seeing her this alive.

"Finally making an honest woman out of her, huh?" Brett said, leaning on the counter next to me. His tone was playful, but his eyes softened just enough to give him away. That old softy.

"Yeah," I said, glancing toward the kitchen doorway, where Lucy’s hum drifted through. "Something like that."

"About damn time." Brett cracked open a beer and took a long sip, then turned serious, his hazel eyes locking on mine. "I’m proud of you, man. After everything with Emily . . . I wasn’t sure—I mean, I didn’t know if you’d ever—" He stopped, shook his head. "You know what I’m saying."

"Yeah," I said quietly.

Marie burst through the front door like a whirlwind, nearly knocking over Lucy’s carefully arranged welcome sign in the process. “Honey, I’m home!” she sang out, her voice carrying through the house. She was loaded down with an enormouswicker basket that looked ready to collapse under the weight of pastries stacked inside it.

“We should really consider locking the front door,” I said, stepping aside as she barreled past me without so much as a glance. Her wild curls bounced as she moved, a force of nature in bright yellow sneakers and a denim jacket covered in enamel pins. "Lucy! These are fresh outta The Daily Grind oven. You’re welcome."

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