Page 97 of Driven Daddy

“Bacon trumps all. Be there in ten.” Then he clicked off.

I shoved my phone in my pocket and went back inside. Bruce was sitting pretty in front of Rita, and she was bending down to give his big head a kiss. The sun kissed her lemon-blond hair, and the rightness of this moment knocked me back a step.

I could picture this happening every morning—or at least on the occasional Sunday.

Something I never thought would be possible in my life.

It had been work and more work with a side of schmoozing parties with Larsen when I absolutely needed to. For a guy who lived in the city, I definitely acted more like the small-town guy I used to be these days.

“Larsen is stopping by.”

She looked up at me and Bruce took that moment to lick her face. She wrinkled her nose in that cute way she had—the one I didn’t see all that often. And damn, I had to stop myself from striding across the room to haul her into my arms again.

I was so fucking gone for her.

When the hell had that happened?

“Well, I guess I need to go get dressed.” She reached over to turn the oven on. “Keep cooking the bacon, and I’ll be back in a second.”

I snagged her around the waist before she could get by me. “I like you in my shirt.”

“Think you need your shirt back.” She whipped it off and threw it in my face.

I pulled it down, but before I could react, she was sprinting for the stairs absolutely naked.

“Goddammit, Duchess, are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

Her laughter floated down the stairs, and I was grinning like a fool as I went back to the frying pan that was still popping and spitting. I pulled my shirt on against bacon spatter and cooked the rest of the package.

I rummaged through the cupboards and found a handy box of pancake mix.

By the time Larsen knocked on the sliding glass door, I had found a griddle and made a mess on the kitchen island.

“Come in!” I called out.

Bruce lumbered to his feet as Larsen waltzed through. “Oh, shit. Why do you have a grizzly bear in your house?”

“Larsen, meet Bruce.”

Bruce padded over to him and shoved his big head against his hip.

“He won’t hurt you,” I said as I dumped the mix into a bowl.

Larsen lightly patted his head, then the massive dog decided he liked him and gave him the hard lean. Larsen staggered then caught himself. A moment later, he crouched down to give him a good rub. “Reminds me of those big dogs I used to see in the hills at home. Pyrenees, maybe?”

“Yeah, Great Pyrenees. Great guard dogs.”

Larsen grinned up at me. “You know the oddest information.”

“Insomnia makes for good reading time. Hope you brought your appetite.”

“Where’s the missus?”

“Shut up. Don’t be an ass.”

He stood, giving the dog one more scratch. “You’re the one playing house with a woman.”

“The woman has a name.”

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