Page 34 of Daddy, Take Me Away
His fists tightened.
“Is something wrong?”
Startled, Hamish snapped around to find Chloe standing not far from him, just watching with that well-traveled suitcase he'd got for her dangled from her hand. She was back in the same white sundress with little blue and yellow flowers she'd worn the first time they'd met. The one that became damn near transparent in bright light.
He wanted to rip it off her, if for no other reason than to ensure no one else saw her like that.
Yeah, and put her in what? A baggy pair of gardening coveralls? A shrouding Hijab that would hide her lovely body and face from anyone else's sight? Oh, who was he kidding? Every man she encountered from the moment she left his care right up until the end of her life, they were going to see her for exactly what she was. Gorgeous, sweet, and without a single clue for how irresistible he knew her to be.
He needed to put her in a Little dress that barely covered her panties and her short hair in twin bunny tails with pretty pink ribbons. And do what? Hide her in his house until the impending threat of her departing plane was well on its way to America, without her?
“The supper is burning,” she hesitantly pointed out.
Shit.
He quickly turned off the heat and moved the pan to a cool burner, giving it a quick stir until he realized it really wasn't salvageable. Steaks and bread for dinner it was. Sighing, he put the pan in the sink to cool.
“Sorry about that. I got sidetracked, I guess.” He wiped his hands on the towel he kept slung over his shoulder when he cooked, then gathered enough of himself to fake a smile. “The steaks are good, though. Come on, lassie. Let’s eat. We’ve plenty of time before we need to go.”
She turned her head away, eyes cast to the floor as far from him as the tiny cabin would allow.
He went to her, putting his hand on her shoulder first, and when she didn’t immediately respond, he let his fingers comb up into her hair before capturing as much as he could hold in his fist. Gentle but firm, he pulled until she relented, tipping her head back until they were eyes on watery eyes and the coffee-sweet taste of her trembling breaths was what he too breathed.
“I’m sorry,” she started to whisper, but cupping the back of her neck, he kissed her beautiful lips, silencing the silly apology before she could complete it. They were adults. They both knew what they were getting into right from the start, but he had to admit, if he’d known it would hurt this much, he would have fought harder to resist the temptation that was Chloe Hardt.
He kissed her again, his achingly empty arms wrapping her, pulling her into his chest. She hugged him back, and for the longest time, they just stood there, holding onto one another, with him keeping back all the things that needed saying, except it wouldn't do any good. There was nothing he could say to stop this and every reason to just keep his mouth shut.
They'd known each other for a week. A week! Love at first fucking sight ought to be the song they danced to, and he didn't even believe in that shite!
But he'd be damned if he wanted to let her leave.
As if he could stop it.
Because of course she wanted to leave. How could she not? Her whole life waited across the pond for her to return. Her home, car, clothes, family and friends, work, hell… everything was there. Except him. He was here, with his everything cluttered around him, every bit as important to him as her things–her life–had to be to her.
There was no way he could leave his family home, his sheep, his B&B which made up the vast majority of his income. What the hell would he do with himself in America?
So where did that leave them?
Nowhere, which was exactly where vacation flings went.
He cupped her face in both hands, his kiss deepening with all the desperation that came with knowing he was about to lose the Little of his dreams, the only woman he'd yet met that actually made his wish he could change the whole of his life for. If only he could get his PTSD under control. If only he was safe for her, at least to the point they could share a bed without the fear he might attack her in his sleep or in that dangerous moment as he transitioned from nightmares to waking up.
He needed to get his ass back to therapy, and this time actually give it a chance to work.
And in the meantime risk beating his lassie bairn every time his PTSD reared its ugly head? No way in hell was he going to risk that. Never.
He had to let her go.
Just not yet.
Wrapping his arms around her waist, he picked her up, the thunk of her suitcase hitting the floor, his favorite sound in the whole wide world. she clung to his neck, the fingers of one equally desperate hand gripping onto the neck of his t-shirt as if she ached to rip it off him.
Daddy’s took care of all their Little's aches, especially this kind.
Bed shmed. There was no time for that. He laid her down right where they were, his body covering her so much smaller one as he ravaged her, her ribbon-pink lips as they flushed and swelled with the minutes scrapes of his bearded kisses, the gentle slope of her beautiful neck, the luscious handful of her breasts, making her arched and sigh as he nibbled the diamond peaks of her swollen nipples.
Her back arched and his hunger soared. Launching up onto his knees, he grabbed at her dress, yanking the skirt out from under her before sweeping it off over her head. He threw it across the kitchen, where his own shirt quickly joined it.
