Page 26 of Daddy's Heart

And Colt... God, when I asked about kids, he said "hell no" like the idea was repulsive. What kind of mother am I, gettinginvolved with someone who clearly doesn't want children? Legend is my whole world. He has to come first.

But then Colt's hand trails up my spine, and his voice is soft against my ear. "What's going on in that head of yours, baby girl?"

I look up at him—this big, protective man who carried me up his steps in the rain, who makes me coffee exactly how I like it, who holds me like I'm precious. The same man who leaves emergency supplies in my car and insists on following me home.

"Just thinking," I whisper.

Maybe I misunderstood what he meant about kids. Maybe "hell no" meant not with anyone else, not no way ever. And maybe... maybe Legend needs this too. Needs to see what it looks like when a man takes care of someone. Needs a strong male figure who won't disappear.

Besides, this is just physical, right? Just this overwhelming need between us. It doesn't have to mean anything more.

"Needy little thing," he murmurs against my ear. "Can't get enough of Daddy, can you?"

And just like that, rational thought disappears under a wave of pure want.

Damn it, I'm a woman with needs. I haven't had sex in almost four years—not since Legend's father. Four years of being nothing but "Mama," of putting every desire on the back burner, of telling myself I didn't need anyone.

But I do need this. Need him. My body is screaming for his touch, and I'm so tired of being responsible all the time. So tired of denying myself everything.

This doesn't have to be forever. It can just be... this. A fling. A few stolen moments where I get to be Emery instead of just Legend's mom. Where I get to feel wanted and desired and completely claimed.

My hormones have officially hijacked my brain, and for once in my life, I don't care.

"No," I admit breathlessly. "I can't."

"Good." His hand slides up my thigh, fingers finding me wet and ready again. "Because I'm nowhere near done with you."

This time he takes me right there in the kitchen chair, his fingers working magic while I ride his hand and fall apart in his arms over and over again until I'm sobbing with pleasure.

By the time we're finally sated, it's past eight in the morning and the storm has completely cleared. I'm thoroughly wrecked and wearing nothing but his flannel. My body feels like liquid, every nerve ending singing with satisfaction.

"I should go," I say reluctantly, checking the time on the phone he finally returns to me. "I have patients scheduled, and you probably need to get to the station."

"Probably," he agrees, but his hands don't stop their lazy exploration of my thighs. "Sheriff duties and all that."

"Colt—"

"I know." He sighs and finally pulls away. "Real world's calling."

Twenty minutes later, I'm dressed and walking to my car on shaky legs, hyperaware of the way he's watching me from his porch. When I slide behind the wheel, he's already heading to his truck.

"Where are you going?" I call out.

"Following you down. Storm like that, there could be washouts, trees across the road." He gives me a look like I should have known better than to ask. "You don't drive these mountain roads alone after weather like that."

Of course he's going to escort me. Again.

The drive down is careful and cautious, his headlights steady in my rearview mirror. True to his prediction, we have tonavigate around two small rockslides and a fallen branch, but his truck easily pushes through what my car couldn't handle.

When we reach the main road, he pulls up beside me and rolls down his window.

"Call me when you get to the office," he says.

"You just watched me drive the dangerous part."

"Call me anyway." He leans out and motions me closer until he can kiss me through our windows, slow and possessive. "And baby girl? I'll pick you up at six. We're going back up tonight."

It's not a question.

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