Page 11 of Claimed By Daddy

With my voice a deep, gravelly whisper, I ask, “Can you promise to be a good girl and listen to me?”

Her eyes go wide—a mixture of shock, need, and intrigue staring back at me. She swallows hard, the gulp audible, and I feel her pulse kick under my fingertip.

“Yes,” she chokes.

I lean a fraction closer—any further and my lips would be on hers. “Grab your shoes, princess.”

Her eyebrows scrunch together, and confusion floods her features. I can practically see a question forming on her tongue. “Cillian said I can’t leave the apartment,” she mutters, cautiously.

I shrug. “Cillian isn’t here.” That’s all it takes. She dips under my arm and launches herself from the couch like a kid who’s been told they’re going to Disney World. Her excitement is palpable, bouncing up the stairs two at a time with her long red locks swaying behind her.

Within minutes, she comes back down in a pair of heeled booties that make her legs look a mile long and a short denim jacket tossed over a knee-length floral dress that hugs every curve she’s got.Fuck, she looks good.

One hand on the knob, I pause at the front door and stare down at her. “Don’t make me regret this. You will not leave my side for a second.” She sassily bats her eyelashes and flashes me a coy smile in response. “Say it,” I demand.

She sighs dramatically. “I will not leave your side for a second,” she parrots, a devilish grin pulling at the corner of her mouth. “Because you’re totally overbearing and completely obsessed with me .”

Taking a deep breath—and struggling not to rollmyeyes—I pull open the door. As we step into the elevator, I glance at her sideways.I’m so going to regret this.

“Where are you taking me?” she chirps as I push the button for the lobby.

“There’s a bookstore down the street. You clearly like to read. I figured you would like something that doesn’t involve your brother’s taste in existential dread.” She laughs, and her face momentarily lights up.I fucking love that sound.

The short walk is casual and comfortable. As promised, she keeps pace beside me, occasionally brushing against my arm like she doesn’t notice she’s doing it. This temporary change in scenery has come with a matching change in her attitude. She’s smiling, bubbly, and I haven’t caught so much as a glimmer of her usual bratty defiance.

By the time we reach the bookstore, she’s practically buzzing. She walks with purpose between the shelves, following the signs straight to the romance section.Of course.I hang back, arms crossed and leaning against the end of the shelf, watching as she picks up book after book with ridiculous covers—shirtless, muscular men and titles full of suggestive plays on words.Okay, some of them are pretty clever.

“I see you have a type,” I tease when she picks up a book with a dark-haired man wearing nothing but sunglasses and a six-pack.

She glares at me, putting the book back on the shelf. “What? Strong, emotionally available men who pine for their women for hundreds of pages.”

“That sounds horrible.” I feign disgust.

“It’s vulnerable,” she corrects, playfully sticking out her tongue. “Maybe you should try it sometime, instead of being an arrogant flirt.”

I shake my head at her, but I’m smiling uncontrollably.

By the time we leave the bookstore, she has three books tucked under her arm and a satisfied glimmer in her eyes. Her happiness alone was worth paying for. We’re about a quarter of a block from the apartment, nearing a busy intersection, when a couple with a stroller accidentally cuts in front of me. I pause to avoid colliding with them. And just like that, Eavan is ahead of me.Too far ahead.

“Eavan!” I call, watching her step off the curb. Slipping between cars stopped at the traffic light, she glances over her shoulder and shouts, “It’s fine! The building is right there. I’ll meet you upstairs.”

“No!” I shout, my pulse surging. “Wait!” But she doesn’t stop. By the time my foot hits the curb, she’s disappearing into the crowd on the other side. A stream of speeding cars separates us, and I teeter between the sidewalk and approaching cars—jaw tight and heart hammering.

“Fuck,” I mutter.

The second the light flicks yellow, I step into traffic. Cars honk. Brakes screech. I dodge between stopped and slowing cars—my only focus is getting across the fucking street.

By the time I make it into the building’s lobby, my chest is heaving. Not from running. From the red-hot anger currentlycoursing through my veins. “Eavan!” I shout her name, spinning in a slow, desperate circle as I scan the large open lobby.Nothing.It’s quiet. Empty.Too empty.

I bolt toward the elevator bank and slip into a cab just as the doors start to close. Ignoring the woman inside, I slam the button for my floor. My reflection in the metal doors looks like a stranger. Wild eyes. Tight jaw. Struggling to contain my fury.

She didn’t listen.

She never listens.

But this time, it wasn’t cute. It wasn’t bratty in a way that gets under my skin. This was reckless. Dangerous. She walked away from me without a thought—without any hesitation—like the entire city isn’t a threat to her.

She promised she would listen. But, then again, she alsopromisedshe would stay by my side. She doesn’t get it—the responsibility her brother gave me to keep her safe. They were simple rules to make sure she was protected from all the threats she doesn’t know about and can’t see coming. But she thinks she’s clever—that this is a game. It’s fun for her to push boundaries and test my limits.But her life isn’t a game to me.

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