Page 17 of Sexy Bad Daddy

Ready to see my girl. And this taxi driver is driving too damn slow.

I smile as I type out a reply.

He’s just making sure you get here in one piece. I hope you’re hungry.

You have no idea.

My smile widens. If only he meant what I wish he meant. I’m hungry for you, Erin. I want to feast on you, to lay you out on the dining room table and lick you until you scream my name.

I clench my thighs and swallow more wine; my hands shake as I reply.

I made your favorite, at least according to Abby.

Oh great, so we’re having mac and cheese for dinner?

That’s what I get for listening to a three-year-old.

You don’t like mac and cheese?

Sure. Just not as much as Abby does. It’ll be fine. You haven’t let me down yet.

No, not yet. And it’s the last thing I want to do. Which means I need to keep these torturous thoughts to myself.

Five minutes, his next text says. I give in to the impulse and scoop Abby into my arms.

“Your dad’s almost here,” I tell the toddler. Yeah, I’m trying to convince myself my excitement is for her benefit, but really, I’m eager to see him too. That whole “absence makes the heart grow fonder” must cover friends, too. And employers and employees.

I hear a key being thrust into the keyhole, so I fling open the door. Abby shrieks, “Daddy,” as she reaches for him, propelling us both forward into Garrett’s arms.

“Well, this is a hell of a welcome home,” he says, his arms wrapped around me with Abby squished between us. She squeezes my neck while leaning toward him, and I go with her until she can throw her other hand around his shoulders. When I look up, his lips are right there, slightly parted, so close that if I lean a fraction closer…

Abby launches herself at him and he lets go of me to keep her from falling. Laughing, he situates her on his hip and says, “I guess you missed me, huh?”

“We both did,” Abby says.

Garrett lifts his gaze to me, those mesmerizing blue eyes watching, reading me, probably guessing that I started fantasizing about him somewhere between bedtime stories and nothing-but-shorts. Since last night, in my head, he’s not only feasted on me on the dining room table, we’ve fucked while I sat in his lap outside on the balcony, and I’ve sat in a bathtub full of bubbles and took him into my mouth while he stood next to me, gloriously naked and hard and desperate for me. Yeah, we’ve been busy over the course of twenty-four hours. We should be exhausted.

“It’s been a long week,” I say, resisting the urge to fan my face. And because it feels right, this moment, this sensation of being a family, I add, “She’s right.”

“Good,” he says, and he passes Abby back to me so he can drag his bag and golf clubs into the apartment. “It smells good, by the way. I thought we were having mac and cheese for dinner.”

“Well, I added a couple steaks to the side.”

“Hell, you can make mac and cheese every damn night if it includes steak. Any chance I can have a beer, too?”

“I opened a cabernet to go with dinner, although I may have polished off a fair amount of it already.”

He lifts his eyebrows. “Oh yeah? This could be a real interesting evening, then.”

Clearing my throat, I fight the blush I can feel staining my cheeks, and lead the way into the kitchen. “Do you want a glass?”

“Sure. Look at this. Applesauce too. You know this is Abby’s favorite meal, right?”

I give the kid a mock dirty look. “She said it was your favorite.”

He accepts the wine I pour for him and watches me over the rim of the glass while he takes a sip. “My favorite meal isn’t appropriate to share with a three-year-old.”

I gasp, a quick intake of breath, and snag my own drink. I need the liquid courage more now that he’s here, in person, all that delicious-looking flesh covering amazingly sharp, sleek muscles.

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