Page 94 of Painted Scars
He squeezes my arm. “You survive the packing and lifting without breaking your back, and I keep feeding and massaging you. That’s the deal.”
My feet may be on the floor, but my heart’s exploding glitter, and I’m floating in giddy happiness after Daddy’s words last night. For once, there’s no shadow, and I finally feel free of the dark clouds and storms, the sunlight grazing my skin.
I smile into his shoulders and drum my palms on his pecs. “Bonus book boyfriend points.”
He turns his helmet enough to show the steam film on his visor. “Boyfriend, huh?” His way of playing it down.
“It’s just an expression,” I backpedal, tipping my chin, searching the black polycarbonate wall, desperate for his eyes.
“I’ve been interning,” he says low. “I’m thinking of applying for the job.”
The pulse on his neck beats fast, and I question if he weighs whether to walk the words back.
I squeeze him harder. “Did my grumpy, masked vengeance-obsessed stalker just take the next step?”
He clasps my hand. “Yep, and I want good perks for the job. Permission to disappear your boss, torture Blackthorn, and get rid of anyone else that made you cry. Then deliver you roses, chocolates, fill a bath, and light candles.”
Colored nightclub lights strobe in my chest. A nervous laugh threatens to tumble up my throat and spill out. I want to shriek, dance, make a joke, deflect the way I always do when something is raw and frightening. I can’t. Not this time.
“I think we need to renegotiate,” I reply. “Those sound like perks for me.”
“I’m not in this for dental or overtime.” His thumb strokes mine. “I take my compensation in you.”
Can this man get any more perfect?
He turns back to the stove and stills like he regrets saying it and letting me glimpse behind the fortified wall he doesn’t let anyone see behind.
Temptation zaps in my fingers to pry off that helmet, throw myself into his arms, and kiss him like I mean it.
I settle for the contract signed in fire this time. “That’s an offer I can’t refuse. You’re hired, Daddy!”
“Good.” He moves around my kitchen, grabbing spices from the rack, flavoring the sauce.
He’s making himself at home. The worst part is, Ireallylike his warmth and presence. If I let him in too far, I don’t know if I’ll have the heart or strength to prevent him from burrowing deeper into my world.
“Keep stirring this for me, would you, Glitter Bomb?” He slips away as if the vulnerability is too much and tries to cover it with his next task.
I let him have that moment because I need to breathe after a declaration like that. Somehow, my chest feels too small for the bonfire he ignited, and any second now, I’m going to combust. I stir the pot and pretend the steam is the reason my eyes water, giving him the space to retreat while I fall deeper into him.
“I’ve been trying to get PJ3 to eat,” he says. “I’m worried he’s sick.”
I crush my lips together and try not to laugh. Joke’s on my grumpy stalker. I stay quiet and observe, absently stirring the sauce so it doesn’t burn.
Grumpy Daddy picks up Josh and plops him near his bowl of fresh sliced beef and waits by him. The little prince sniffs and turns his nose up.
My stalker picks up a slice and tries to feed the finicky terrier. “Is he a fussy eater? Doesn’t he like beef? I bought him the good stuff from the butcher, not the supermarket crap.”
Fussy? Understatement.
“There’s a protocol to the feeding ritual.” I move to join them and pet the little prince. “The key is reciting magical phrases and petting him at the same time. Josh has a praise kink.”
“Don’t be a smartass,” Daddy grumbles, trying again and picking up the meat to hand-feed to no avail.
Pet praise kink is one hundred percent real, but I’m about to ham it up to really get my grumpy savior going.
“His favorite line is ‘Good boy.’” I wag my brows and tease Daddy, but pet praise kink is no laughing matter if my dog starves.
Daddy side eyes me, shakes his head, crouches down and lifts the bowl to Josh’s face. The canine sniffs but plants his butt on the ground in a clear statement of N.O.
