Page 11 of Daddy's Naughty Author

And more importantly… Why do I want it to happen again?

CHAPTER 5

Igot exactly zero minutes of sleep last night. I stayed up all night working on my deadline for my new book and trying to get KC from my mind. Now, as daylight peeks through my window, I send off my manuscript to my editor. Yawning, I realize how tired I am. Exhausted doesn’t even begin to touch it. My forearm is in so much pain, and I rub it frantically, feeling the heat radiating from it. Ice. I need ice. As I pad into the kitchen, I notice the overflowing garbage can from the number of takeout dinners I’ve eaten in the last three days. Sighing, I grab the bag and head outside.

I'm starting to think KC has a sixth sense for when things go awry in my life. Just as I'm wrestling with the overstuffed trash bag, threatening to spew it all over the ground, there he is—KC, in his military PT uniform.

"Need a hand with that?" His voice carries that signature blend of authority and concern, the kind that simultaneously irks and reassures me.

"Only if you've brought your hazmat suit," I quip, but I'm secretly grateful as he strides over and effortlessly hoists the bag from my grip. It's unsettling how quickly I've becomeaccustomed to his presence. We’ve gone from barely waving hello to talking constantly.

"Thanks, Knight in Shining Armor," I say, half-mocking, half-sincere. "My kingdom for a man who knows his way around a trash bag." Am I over the top? Yes. Will that change anytime soon? Nope. But also, the more exhausted I am, the more sarcasm comes out.

"Your kingdom seems to run heavily on caffeine and takeout," he observes with a smirk, and I stick out my tongue in response. Mature, I know.

"Speaking of caffeine..." KC trails off, “stay there.” A second later he returns. “I ran by our spot after PT and picked you up one, too. I remember you said you had a deadline and were working around the clock.”

Our spot.

He said our spot, is he even aware of his word choice? Technically, was that our first date? I mean, was it even a date at all? My thoughts whirl as I take the coffee from him, the familiar warmth seeping into my palms. "Thank you. You're spoiling me, Campbell. What's next? Breakfast in bed?"

"Let's not give the neighbors more to talk about," he says, and we share a conspiratorial grin. Our retired neighbor across the street had made a comment about the two of us spending more time together. Our fake relationship might be new to us, but it's already old gossip on the block.

"God forbid we become the scandal of the century when we fake break up." I sip the coffee, letting the rich bitterness play against my tongue, and it's perfect. Of course, it is. KC is annoyingly good at getting things right. He pays more attention to the small details than any man I really dated.

"Scandal is just foreplay for the bored," he retorts. “I have little time for scandal or drama.”

"Look at you, quoting my book club's motto." I tease, raising an eyebrow. There's an undeniable chemistry running between us, charging our banter with an energy that feels both dangerous and exhilarating.

"Can't have you thinking I don't pay attention," he winks, and my stomach does this ridiculous little flip that I'll blame on the extra shot of espresso.

"Careful, or I'll start believing you're actually enjoying this charade," I say, my voice light, but my gaze locked onto his. There's something in the way he looks back at me, a spark of something genuine, that makes my heart race.

"Who says I'm not?" The corner of his lip quirks up, and I'm hit by the sudden realization that, despite our contrived circumstances, there might just be a kernel of truth to this whole façade. I mean, he did kiss me last night. Even if it was super brief. Even if he did apologize after. Even if it was chaste. I’m too tired right now to think clearly. I bite my lip to keep from saying something I shouldn’t and decide on sarcasm instead.

"Touché, Sergeant Casanova," I mutter, hiding my surprise behind another sip of coffee. For a moment, we simply stand there, sharing the silence, until he coughs.

"Better head inside and shower before I’m late for work," he says, “don’t forget about tomorrow.” Is there a hint of reluctance in his departure as he turns to go or is it only wishful thinking? As he heads off to his house, I head inside and to my bed. My last thought before drifting off is wishing I could be in the shower with him.

Margaret’s college roommate, the woman KC calls, “Aunt Monica” had recently retired to a small-town in-betweenColorado Springs and Denver. We pulled up to the beautiful house and are quickly welcomed inside. The house is warm, filled with the comforting scent of baked goods and the gentle hum of conversation. Monica, although recently moved in, has a home that feels lived in. She has soft throw blankets draped over the couches, framed photos cluttering the mantel, and a steady stream of iced tea being poured into glasses with fresh lemon slices. It reminds me of the kind of place you can’t help but relax in, which is exactly what I need since I’m already on edge. When KC and I decided to pull this off, it was one dinner, and maybe a coffee or brunch before his mom left. All week, he’d entertained his mother alone, using my deadline as an excuse. But today? Today was the day I’ll likely earn every one of those books he’s promising me.

After introductions and a quick tour, I find myself sitting on a couch in the living room while KC is outside with the men, tossing a football around. Darn him. He’s left me stranded in the lion’s den, or rather, lioness’ den. I’m pretty sure that lionesses are the hunters and more dangerous than lions, right? Or is that something I’ve made up in my mind?

“So, Rebekah,” Monica says, her eyes twinkling as she settles back into her chair, “you’re a writer, huh?”

I nod, wrapping my hands around my mug for comfort. “Yep. Romance.”

Tiffany, Monica’s daughter, perks up from her spot on the couch. “Like spicy romance?” she asks, grinning. “Anything I might have heard of?”

I hesitate, feeling Margaret’s curious eyes on me. “Some of it is spicy, yes,” I admit, trying not to squirm.

Monica laughs. “Oh, I like her already. I pay for Tif’s Kindle Unlimited subscription as a birthday present every year. We both enjoy reading all sorts of romance. For Tif, the darker the better. I enjoy a lighter, kinkier romance.”

Oh God.

If she reads light and kinky, there’s a chance she’s read my books. I’m not prepared for this. Not at all.

Margaret, to my surprise, just shakes her head with an amused expression. “KC didn’t mention what kind of romance books you wrote. But that doesn’t surprise me.”

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