Page 11 of Wild Daddy

“You were at the wedding in jeans and flannel. But you weren’tatthe wedding at all, were you? You weren’t a guest?”

He shakes his head. “Naw. Just dropping off business cards when I saw you bolting for the bathroom with a glass of champagne and that bouquet that ‘bout knocked you out. But for the record, even if I was at the wedding, I’d still be in flannel. Nobody puts me in a fucking suit. Not now, not ever. Ties are just another form of noose.”

"This is..." I gesture helplessly between us. "We can't... I mean, after last night..."

"What about last night?" His voice is perfectly casual, but there's something dangerous in his eyes that makes me remember exactly how he commanded me to look at him while he made me come.

"Youknowwhat about last night!" The words come out sharper than I intended, fueled by panic and embarrassment and the fact that my body is already responding to his proximity like it has some kind of Pavlovian conditioning.

"I know a lot of things about last night." He straightens up, suddenly towering over me in a way that should be intimidating, but instead makes me want to climb him like a tree. "You'll have to be more specific."

Is he seriously going to make me say it? Out loud? In broad daylight? In his place of business?

"Thecoat room," I hiss, glancing around to make sure we're alone. "The... the things you did. The thingswedid."

"Ah." His mouth quirks up in what might be a smile. "You mean when I taught you what a real man feels like? What a real man makesyoufeel?"

Heat floods my cheeks. "Yes. That."

"What about it?"

I stare at him, completely at a loss. Is he pretending it doesn't matter? Is this some kind of test? Is he planning to act like nothing happened while we spend three days alone in the wilderness?

"We can't just..." I wave my hands around, trying to articulate the problem. "I mean, there are professional boundaries. Ethical considerations. This is completely inappropriate. Besides, what happened to the little boy?"

The reason for the abrupt ending to our little coat room rendezvous dawning on me.

"Found him within an hour. Cold but fine.”

I nod. “Good. People die out in the elements all the time, especially kids.”

“That is true Marley Voss, but you don’t have to worry about that. I will take good care of you.” He steps closer, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact.

“Okay, just as long as we keep things professional. I booked this for research, not romance.”

“Ah, of course. So, last night you came all over my hand, begging me not to stop. This morning you want to talk about professional boundaries?"

"That was different!"

"How?"

"Because last night I didn't know you were going to be my instructor!" The words burst out of me, way too loud for the small space.

"Because from where I'm standing, the only thing that's changed is now you know my name."

I open my mouth to argue, but he's already moving, walking around the counter to flip the sign on the front door from "Open" to "Back in 15 Minutes. Or an hour. Or tomorrow."

"What are you doing?"

"Making sure we're not interrupted while we sort this out." The lock clicks into place, and suddenly the walls feel like they are pushing inward, and those thoughts aboutmaybe he’s a serial killercome flooding back.

"There's nothing to sort out," I say, backing up until I hit a display of hiking boots knocking a pair of black leather boots to the floor with a thud. "This is a professional arrangement. Three days of wilderness instruction. That's it."

"Uh-huh." He stalks toward me with those eyes eating me bite by bite as he approaches. "And you think you can spend three days and two nights alone in the wilderness with me, and keep things professional? Or, maybe I should ask your pussy instead."

The question wiggles down into my belly, loaded with implications that make my pulse hammer against my throat.

"Yes. I can keep things professional," I say, straightening my spine but even I can hear how unconvincing I sound.

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