Page 69 of Painted Scars
I smile at the nickname. It’s starting to mean something. Maybe too much.
He takes my fork and stabs at my meat and feeds it to me. I love it when he takes care of me. “This is a family tradition, passed down from my Granny. The trick is nutmeg and garlic in the cream.”
“I’m having a mouth orgasm,” I tell him after I finish.
“There’s more where that came from.” He lifts another forkful.
“Don’t tease me, Daddy.” I grin and wrap my mouth over the food.
He laughs and then switches gears on me. “Categorize me.”
Ohh. Grumpy Daddy always surprises me.
I take him in with a slow pan of his body, and then I count them off on my fingers. “Stalker, touch her and die, and morally gray. Recent actions have you leaning towards a moral stalker, so I might have to demote you to morally orange.”
“I prefer morally orange.” His thumb brushes my thigh in slow, delicious circles. “It’s between red and a green flag. Just dangerous enough to keep it interesting for you Book Girlies.”
Did I mention that he’s paying attention and absorbing all he can about the book world? Bonus stalker points!
He feeds me another bite. Our fingers brush, and he doesn’t pull back, his thumb lingering on mine.
I swallow my food and grin. “Orange is becoming my favorite color.”
“You really want orange?” he asks, voice low.
“Yeah. Sparkly like the sunset.” The most beautiful time of day.
“Sunset?” he huffs. “What about amber?”
“Nope. Sunset. That’s when the light surrenders to the dark. It’s when you save me from nefarious people, visit my roof, burst through my window, and watch over me while I sleep. And now I’m adding cook for me!”
He groans. “You’re going to cost me my balls.”
“Oh, come on.” I shove at his arm. “That was romantic.”
“Exactly.” His visor tilts in my direction, and I’m left wondering what face he’s making.
“So grumpy, and I’m here for it.” I let him feed me the rest of my dinner.
“Keep next Saturday free, Glitter Bomb.” He switches gears again, and I’m getting a bit of whiplash. “We’re going for a ride. Pack light and bring something warm.”
He has one foot out the door and somehow still manages to make me feel like I belong. The contradiction is enough to makeme dizzy. So, I do what I always do. Lean into boldness and flirt like I’m terrified he’ll disappear.
“A hoodie or a knife?” I give a nod to my favorite scene inLights Out.
“Both,” he says. “You never know with me.”
“Why?” I ask. “Are we getting out of town for security reasons, or a good old-fashioned Lakehouse ravaging?”
“Business and some pleasure.” My toes curl at his husky reply.
“Define pleasure,” I purr again.
“No hints.” I imagine his stubborn mouth under the helmet.
I wrap my fingers around his bicep. “I need to feel safe, Grumpy Daddy.”
He gives in. “One clue—lake.”
