Page 38 of The Single Dad Dilemma

He squeezes his eyes shut for a long moment, inhaling deeply. He presses his palms to his eye sockets, applying pressure like he’s trying to rid a headache. And then he drops his hands, his eyes back on me in an instant.

“I’m going to ask you something, Darcy. And you have to be honest with me. No matter what.” His face is serious.

“Okay.”

“I’m a thirty-five-year-old man, Darcy. I’m a single dad, which somehow always has my life in a state of crazy. And then there’s you. And you’re young and beautiful and vibrant. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you, and you could literally have or be anything you want. You know?” He exhales. All of that tumbled out of him in one breath and now he’s looking at me like I should totally understand.

“I don’t understand,” I admit.

“Just—” He straightens his shoulders and takes a moment to compose himself. “Just stand up, please.”

Without hesitation, I crawl to the edge of the bed and step off, making sure my shirt doesn’t ride up. I’m mere inches from him, but still, he steps closer. His body is humming. I can feel the energy rolling off him. But I don’t move.

My hands are clasped behind me, my fingers threading into knots again and again. Maybe I’ve got a little nervous energy too. Because is this actually happening? Is what I think might be happening real?

Ridge lifts his hand between us, suspended there like he was about to touch me but thought better of it. Then he leans down, and the next thing I feel are his fingers playing with the bottom edge of my sleep shirt. The hem hits mid-thigh, the backs of his knuckles grazing my flesh with each movement.

I don’t say anything. I don’t move. Our eyes are fixed, like we’re in a trance. I watch his muscles in his throat work, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he swallows.

His hand lifts, and with it, my shirt does too. His other hand comes down to the other side as he continues to lift my shirt upward. Ridge’s eyes never leave mine. Before he lifts it high enough to expose my breasts, he pauses.

I should be telling him to stop. I should be pushing my shirt back down over my body. I should be offended and in protest. But I’m not. No part of me wants to stop what’s happening. I’ve only scarcely allowed myself to imagine what it might be like. I never dreamed it would happen one day. I had led myself to believe there was no way a man like him would desire me like this.

“Lift your arms,” he whispers, his voice deep and gruff.

I follow his instructions again, still not hesitating even though maybe I should. But there’s something about him, aboutthe way he makes me feel safe. I know instinctively that I can trust him.

Slowly, he raises the garment over my head and discards it to the floor. In any other situation, with any other guy in front of me, I’d be trying to cover myself up. But with him, I don’t even try.

His eyes fall to my chest as he inhales deeply. Something in his gaze makes me feel empowered. He’s admiring me. It’s not a cheap ogling the way other have in the past. There’s wonder and appreciation when his eyes make their way back to mine, a silent thank-you that doesn’t pass his lips.

“I’ve been thinking about what you might look like under those little dresses you wear,” he says. He reaches out, cupping just above my hip. He squeezes. “What your skin might feel like if I ever got my hands on it.” He licks his lips, the heat from his gaze igniting something deep inside me. “And I’ve thought about what you might taste like if I ever gave into my baser urges to kiss you, to… devour you.”

Before I can say anything in agreement or protest, the fingers of his free hand twirl around a loose strand of my hair. He tucks it back behind my ear and then uses two fingers to tilt my chin up toward him.

There’s a riot in my chest, a chant with every thud of my heart. My body is vibrating, begging him to take what he wants.

His hand coils around the back of my neck as his mouth crashes against mine. I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him down toward me. His tongue probes and laps at mine as he grips my hips. I nibble at his bottom lip, pulling at it with my teeth.

I slide one of my hands from his neck, down his throat, over his chest, and then lower. I cup his erection against my palm and he stills, pulling his mouth from mine.

“Fuck,” he hisses, stilling my touch.

Ridge falls to his knees in front of me. He looks up, his expression dark, filled with desire. Like maybe he really could devour me. I’ve never been looked at like this before.

He uses two fingers to hook around the crotch of my panties and tugs them to the side. I spread my legs wider, the sudden rush of cool air against my warm skin causing me to shiver.

“You never asked me,” I say, my breathing ragged and a bit shallow.

“What?” His gaze searches mine.

“You never asked me anything. You said you were going to ask me something and to be honest with you. And then you rambled a bit, and then we kissed, and here we are. But you never asked me anything.” I laugh a bit.

“I was going to ask…” He pauses, attempting to suppress a grin before he starts again. “I was going to ask if you could ever see yourself being attracted to me. Or if you could ever see yourself being with someone like me.”

If someone were to walk in right now, they’d see Ridge on his knees in front of me with my panties pulled to the side. They’re the only stitch of clothing I’m wearing. Despite that, we’ve paused for a conversation. And I could end the exchange and get us back to doing what we were before, but a simple “yes” doesn’t feel like enough.

“Once, when I was folding your shirts, I smelled them,” I say. “Like I pushed my face into it and inhaled deeply. And when I woke up with a hangover in your bed, I buried my face into your pillow and inhaled that, too.”

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