Page 27 of Sexy Bad Daddy

“Arr,” she yelps. With a jump, she spins to face me while waving the spatula she’s holding.

“Sorry to scare you.” The pale, creamy dollop on the end of the flat surface does little to take my mind off my dirty thoughts.

“It’s okay.” She continues stirring as I lean against the counter beside her. “I thought you weren’t coming home for a couple more days.”

“I missed the cut. There wasn’t exactly any point in sticking around.” I shrug and take a sip of the dark brew, praying she can’t tell I’m semi-hard and that it would take one seductive smile from her to topple me over the edge.

“I’m sorry you didn’t make the cut,” she says, wrinkling her brow.

I nudge her gently and chuckle. “You don’t know what that is, do you?”

“Would it be awful of me if I admitted I’m not sure?”

“Okay, so in tournaments there’s usually a score that a player needs to achieve by the time they get to a certain hole if they’re to continue playing. Otherwise it’s over.”

“You get cut from the list of players?”

“Basically.” I nod. “What are you making?”

“Oh.” She glances at the bowl in front of her where she’s stirring more of whatever the creamy mixture is. “Uh, it’s boyfriend cheesecake.”

“Boyfriend cheesecake?” Well, that certainly has a deflating effect.

“It’s my day off tomorrow, and I’m catching up with Danny.” Picking up the glass bowl, she rests her hip against the counter and digs the spatula back into the mixture. “Thought I’d make him something special.”

“Right. I forgot it was your day off.” I snap the words. Danny’s probably a nice guy, but he’s nowhere near good enough for her. Or this cheesecake she’s making. Erin deserves something more. A man who can treat her right both in and out of the bedroom. A guy with a good job and the maturity to provide a decent lifestyle. Not someone who doesn’t have his shit together.

“I’m sorry. Did you need me? I thought with you away and Abby spending the day with Paynter and Chloe that it would be okay to keep my regular day off.” The utensil in her hand stills. “But if you—if Abby needs me, I can change days.”

Then, yes, you should cancel. But how I feel about her spending time with her boyfriend is my problem. The fact that I want to hike up her little dress and ask her to sit on my face is also my problem. And I’m a grown-ass man who can control himself around the damn nanny. The only one so far my daughter has really taken a shine to.

“No. Abby and I will be just fine. Go and enjoy yourself.” I dig my little finger into the mix and taste it. “Why do they call this boyfriend cheesecake anyway?”

Dropping her gaze from my mouth, she blushes. “Because they say it can take any relationship to the next level.”

“Oh, and you want that? With Danny?” My pulse pounds in my ears while I wait for her to respond.

“No.” Turning away from me, she pours the mixture over the cookie crumbs she’s pressed into a tin sitting on the island.

“No?” I inch closer, vibrating with need. If she’s in love with him, wouldn’t she want that commitment? “You don’t want more from him?”

“I mean, not right now.” She peers at me through her lashes, almost cautiously. “Not any time in the near future.”

“Why is that?”

“Danny and I…” She presses her lips together, the lines in her forehead gathering while she drops the spatula back in the empty bowl. “Me and Danny. It’s not exactly—”

“The right time?” I pick up the utensil and scoop up some of the filling with my finger.

She’s right about the damn cheesecake. It’s making me want to take things to a whole other level with her. Preferably a horizontal one. Instead I smoosh a little onto the tip of her nose and grin at how sexy she is when she stops stammering and gives me her undivided attention.

“No, it’s not the right time.”

“Good.”

“Good,” she echoes.

I don’t know why I can’t say anything else. Can’t steer this conversation in a different direction. Can’t stop this train wreck before it happens, even when I know that’s exactly what it is. My hand finds her hair, fingers digging through the fiery tresses to cup her neck as I shift closer.

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