Page 10 of Daddy's Girl

He turns, leaning against the counter, studying me like I'm a puzzle he's determined to solve. One of his precious Rubik's cubes, but infinitely more complex.

"Hungry?" he asks, drying his hands methodically. His eyes narrow when I don’t respond. "What and when did you eat last?"

I blink, a little surprised by the direct question. "I... yesterday, I think? I had a granola bar on the bus."

"A granola bar." His tone makes it clear that doesn't count as food. "And before that?"

"Why does it matter?" I extend my legs, then draw them up again under the flannel, clasping my hands around my knees, suddenly feeling exposed in a way that has nothing to do with clothing.

He crosses the space between us in three long strides, drops to one knee beside the couch. Even kneeling, he's nearly at eye level.

"Because,that’s why. You’re on my mountain, remember? My mountain, my way." His voice drops lower, something primal threading through it. "And that means I decide when you eat, how much you eat, and what you eat."

My mouth goes dry. "I'm perfectly capable of—"

"I didn't ask if you were capable." His hand comes up, thumb brushing my bottom lip with surprising gentleness. "I'm telling you how things work here. You eat regular meals. You sleep proper hours. You tell me when something's wrong. That's the price of my protection."

Something hot and unfamiliar coils in my belly. This should feel controlling. Should remind me of David. Instead, it feels like safety with teeth.

"Fine," I whisper, unwilling to give him anymore because this is still strange. And honestly, he is a stranger.

"Okay, glad we got that settled. Now, are you feeling better?" His voice is gravel and smoke.

"Yes." The room is warming with him so close. "Thank you. For everything."

He grunts but doesn’t move. Those eyes—steel blue rimmed with a darker, more dangerous shade like the ocean under the moon—catch the light coming through the window. For a moment, neither of us speaks.

I wiggle nervously, running my hands down my flannel-covered calves, his eyes following the movements, and something flashes across his rough features, his jaw muscles moving under the black covering of his beard.

"Those bruises on your wrists. They're not from the river."

My breath catches. I thought the flannel sleeves were long enough...

"No," I admit, more heat climbing up my spine and exploding on my face.

"Name," he demands.

"It doesn't matter anymore. I'm here now."

"Name." Not a request. A command.

I swallow, an instant debate over what to reveal decided when my lips move before my brain can engage. "David. David Mercer."

Jack's breathing slows, a muscle ticking beneath the skin below his left eye. He stands, one hand sliding down his mouth, squeezing its way down his beard before he clears his throat. “That won’t ever happen again.”

The certainty in his voice should frighten me. Instead, it unravels something tight inside my chest. There’s ten seconds of silence that feels like a spring being wound too tight. His nostrils flare, teeth biting into his lower lip as a low rumble grows in his chest.

The air is primed, like runners waiting for the starting gun to go off. Tension mounts in my belly, pressure building in my ears.

Something is about to happen. I wiggle on the sofa cushion, lowering my legs from their flannel prison, crisscrossing them, then following where his eyes are pinned on my chest.

Oh shit.

“Oh, God. Wardrobe malfunction…” A flush creeps like wildfire up my neck as I adjust the popped buttons on his shirt that are giving him full view of my right boob and tightened pink nipple through the brown and black plaid flannel.

"I need to... do... something," he says, abruptly leaving me wide-eyed as he turns and stomps toward a hallway that leads out of the kitchen and toward a closed door. "In the workshop. You rest. I’ll be back."

Did my boob flash send him running? Was it embarrassment or excitement? The recognition sends a thrill through me I can't quite name. I feel powerful, one little nip slip, and I’ve turned the grumpy mountain man on his head.

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