Page 44 of Backed By You
I will never tire of this man’s mouth.
When he pulls away, I’m gasping for air and begging for more. “What was that for?”
“The thought of you,” he groans the words, “making me breakfast and wearing nothing but that dog-themed apron you have hanging behind you.”
I glance over my shoulder at the apron in question and look back at him with a giggle, my hands running over his chest. “That could be arranged.”
Beau growls low, his girth growing against my stomach. “I’ll tell you what, help me get this set up, and afterward, I’ll haveyoufor breakfast instead.”
Four times, Callie.Fourtimes.
I bite my lip. “Deal.”
His answering smile is wicked and…
A sudden knock at the door has me jumping into Beau’s arms. I whip my head around, startled. Hulk barks, hobbling toward me. I shush him as I break away from Beau’s embrace and head for the window. “Did you order anything else?” I ask over my shoulder.
“No,” he grunts, following closely.
My stomach drops as I peer behind the curtain. What is he doing here? “Shit.”
“Who is it?”
“My dad,” I hiss, whipping around with wide eyes. If he sees me like this, I’ll never hear the end of it. “You need to go.”
Beau stiffens. “What?”
Panicked, I push him gently, urging him toward the back door. “Please.”
He grabs my forearms, his expression crestfallen and hard. No longer the playful, sexy Beau from a moment ago. “No.”
“Beau,” I whine. “You don’t understand. My father is—”
“Callie,” Dad calls from the other side of the door. He knocks again. Harder this time. “Open the door. I know you’re in there.”
I stare at Beau with pleading eyes, but his stance remains firm. His jaw ticking in what I can only assume is anger. I don’t blame him for being angry. I’m not prepared to explain this unexplainable thing that’s barely begun between us.
I may be twenty-eight, but Matthew Ryan still sees me as a gullible, naïve teenager who saw the world through rose-colored glasses.
At the sound of another knock, I call back, “One second.” I whip off Beau’s shirt and toss it to him, then make a beeline for my bedroom, wincing as the rushed movement twinges my ankle without the walking boot on. I grab the nearest sweater I can find and pull it over my head before returning to the front door. Beau’s chest is covered—thank god—and I spare him one last pleading look.
His stance is firm. The stubborn jerk even crosses his arms over his annoyingly yummy chest just to make itone-thousand-percentclear he’snotleaving.
Fine. If he wants to meet him, he’ll meet him all right.
I take a deep breath and open the door. My father stands tall and rigid on my front porch, his usual salt and pepper hair sporting more salt these days. Slacks and a tucked-in polo complete his overbearing father attire. His height is comparable to the asshat behind me. Although my father is slimmer, not as broad, or muscular.
But he has all the bite of a California rattlesnake to make up for it.
Dad’s expression morphs three times in the span of a second. Annoyance to relief to suspicion. “Cal,” he starts, his gaze shifting between my face and beyond.
“Hi, Dad.” I pain a smile—and that’s exactly what it feels like:pain. “I didn’t know you were coming.”
He harrumphs. “Are you going to invite me in?”
He doesn’t respond to my query or acknowledge that I have company. He’s here for a reason, and there’s no stopping him when his mind is set.
“Right.” I force a laugh, waving him in. “Silly me. I must still be waking up. Come in.”
