Page 13 of Wrong Number, Right Single Dad
I bite back the fresh wave of laughter. I’ve been doing a lot of that. Based on all the fresh ingredients in the fridge, I had the impression he was a bit more… experienced in the kitchen.
It turns out, he mostly buys ingredients and the usual nanny does the cooking. He also hires someone to clean once a week.
Not that I’m judging. I’d do the same thing in his situation. It frees him up to spend more time with his daughter when he isn’t working.
But it does make me feel better about the number of takeout containers in my own fridge and the pile of dirty laundry still waiting to be washed back at my apartment.
Jared catches my amused stare. “What? Do I have something on my face?”
I choke on a near laugh. “Yeah. You do.”
He wipes his cheek with the back of his hand, smudging even more powdered sugar across his face.
“How’s that?”
A giggle bubbles out of me. “Not quite.”
“Then do you care to help a guy out?”
I brush the sugar away from his cheek with my thumb. Our bodies are practically touching. I’m all too aware of his broad shoulders, intense stare, and strong lips.
I wonder what they taste like. I know how they feel on my breasts and... other parts from previous experiences.
But I’ve never felt them against mine. That was never part of our arrangement. A way for us to keep things from getting serious.
Because neither of us wants to be serious.
Do we?
“There,” I murmur, all too aware of him.
I pull back, too quickly, and nearly trip over my own feet.
“Whoa.” He grabs hold of my waist to keep me from falling. “Steady there.”
I don’t move. Neither does he. We watch each other, with panting breaths and heated stares.
And then we both move.
My fingers are in the soft hair at the nape of his neck.
His hands are molded to my back and waist.
Our hips are pressed against each other.
And our mouths, oh our mouths, are moving together like they were always meant to be like this.
He applies soft pressure with his lips, parting my own. I moan into his mouth as I get my first taste. Spearmint from his toothpaste. Powdered sugar from our baking. And something else that’s uniquely him.
As his tongue presses tentatively against mine, I’m transported somewhere all new.
Somewhere where all this works out and isn’t nearly so complicated.
“Daddy, Delaney,” Hannah cries out. “Wait till you see what I made!”
We pull apart—chests rising up and down rapidly—just as she reaches the doorway, nearly out of breath herself.
She quickly takes in the two of us, still holding on to each other. Her face scrunches up.
