Page 40 of Peaches

“What about your mother?” I ask, although I know a little having spoken to Marie just this afternoon about her during one of our garden chats.

He sighs heavily and looks away.

“She held the world on her shoulders, with no help from my father. A fact that I know killed her in the end, even if he won’t admit it. Something I swear to never inflict on my wife.”

He looks back, and fuck, another piece of a bigger puzzle clicks into place between us.

“Kinda like my parents,” I whisper.

He nods. An understanding of sorts. No need to say more.

And just that act, that one small gesture of an agreement sends a hysteria through my bloodstream and makes me need to feel more of whatever it is that just happened between us.

An attachment.

A bond.

Connecting us more than I fear we even know.

He turns to walk away, and that hysteria turns into a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I go to speak but can’t even force out one word until he is halfway across the room.

“Three!” I shout, making myself jump a little and forcing Brett to stop in his tracks.

He turns slowly, sharpens his stare on me, and I almost loose the confidence to continue. “Three,” I whisper, a little more aware of how loud I was a moment before

He slips his hands in his pant’s pockets and I wait for him to respond. A mischievous look graces his face as he lets me squirm in front of him.

Damn this man and the way he can twist me.

“Five.”

My eyes grow wide as I stare back, suddenly a little scared for whoever he thinks will squeeze those kids out of her vagina.

“Says the guy who was an only child,” I sass with a laugh. “Why don’t you start with one, maybe two, Daddy, and then go from there. It’s a lot more than you’re thinking.”

“Daddy,” he growls suddenly, causing my throat to immediately go dry as I force a swallow and realize what I just said. I know I should look away, break the connection by adverting my eyes, but his stare is so intense I can feel it through my whole body. It’s a high making me suddenly feel more alive than ever before.

“Say it again,” he rasps in his smokey voice, and God, my entire core clenches in response.

“It’s a lot more than…”

“Don’t play games, Grace!”

My heartbeat hammers against my chest as I stare at the man before me. I can’t go there. It breaks every rule we’ve tried to establish here. It crosses every line, and as tempting as it is, that’s not what either of us want.

Or is it?

“That’s not what I wanted to hear,” he sternly commands.

Oh, I know what he wanted. But there is no way he will ever hear me saythatword.

“Say it!” He demands, and suddenly I find it hard to breathe.

I don’t have daddy issues. Well, not in the way you’re thinking, and never in my wildest dreams ever thought of calling a man that in any sort of sexual way. But his intense eyes hold mine and force my body to go limp as my mouth falls open, and a wetness begins pooling between my thighs. Thighs that lead to a very bare center covered by some sheer sorry excuse for pajama shorts, I might add.

Fuck, what I wouldn’t give to call him that and mean it!

Quiet, evil Grace!

---