Page 7 of Dad Bod's Daring December

Her voice hitches, and my chest tightens. Did he hurt her? The thought makes my blood boil. I sit forward, resting my forearms on the table, trying to offer her the steadiness she needs to keep going.

“One night, I heard gunshots,” she says, her voice trembling slightly. “Sounded like a war zone outside. Sirens came next, and when I peeked out the window…” She stops, swallowing hard.

My hands ball into fists beneath the table.

“He didn’t make it. They carried him out under a sheet. Turns out he was a drug dealer, and his troubles didn’t care about property lines.”

The words settle like a stone in my gut. I clench my jaw, anger sparking at the thought of her being anywhere near something so dangerous. “And you were next door.”

She nods. “I saw it all, the aftermath, the b-bodies as the cops led me from the property.” The chill of the memory flickers across her face. “They never came after me, but I couldn’t stay there. Las Vegas wasn’t home anymore—it felt like a battlefield. The glitz and glamour is a façade. I needed… I needed somewhere quiet. Safe.”

Safe. She came here for safety, and somehow, her trouble still followed. Or rather, mine. It twists something inside me that shethought this small town could offer her peace, only to end up dealing with a different kind of danger.

“That’s why you came here,” I say, though it’s more of a statement than a question.

“Yeah.” Her eyes meet mine, a vulnerability in their depths that makes me want to wrap her in my arms and promise her the safety she’s been searching for.

I reach across the table and take her hand in mine. Her skin is warm against mine, her fingers trembling slightly. “It’s not fair what you went through. But I’m glad you’re here now.”

Her eyes well with unshed tears, and for a moment, I think she might look away, but she doesn’t. Instead, she squeezes my hand and says, “Me too.”

Silence falls between us, but it’s not the kind that pushes you apart. It’s the kind that binds you closer, where every breath and every glance says what words can’t. I let my thumb trace slow circles on the back of her hand, grounding both of us in the moment.

I don’t know what brought her here or why the universe saw fit to cross our paths, but as I sit here watching the flickering light play across her face, I know one thing for certain—I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her safe. Because Ember isn’t some woman who wandered into my life. She’s become my reason to fight.

It’s a powerful thought, one that unnerves me even as my resolve to watch over her strengthens. I can’t let her in. Can I?

Pushing away from the table, I stand, and Ember follows suit. We move into a rhythm that’s almost domestic, her washing,me drying. As I slot the plates into the cupboard, I realize this farmhouse, with its creaking floorboards and the scent of fresh paint, feels more like home than my place ever has.

Suddenly, Ember steps back to reach for a dish towel, her softness pressing against me. Instinctively, my hands shoot up to her shoulders, steadying her, even as a surge of heat rushes through me. I’m rock hard in an instant, cursing silently at my traitorous body.

“Sorry,” she murmurs, clearly unaware of the storm she’s stirred up inside me.

“Uh, no problem,” I manage, my voice strangled.

She continues to clean up, and I’m left battling the urge to pull her close again, to breathe in the scent of her hair that I swear is laced with something as intoxicating as whiskey. But when she leans down to put away a pan, the fabric of her sweater stretches, revealing the gentle slope of her back.

“Edward?” Her voice snaps me out of the trance.

“Yeah?” I reply a little too quickly.

“Can you grab that bowl up there for me?”

“Sure.” My hands are less steady than I’d like as I reach for the bowl, my fingers grazing hers as I hand it to her.

“Thanks.” She smiles, and everything about this moment, the intimacy, the simplicity, makes me want to forget why I’m here. I want to kiss her until we’re both breathless, to take her right here on this newly sanded floor that still smells faintly of sawdust.

My head tells me to release her, but my body has other ideas, and my hands tighten instead. Being near her is an aphrodisiac—the fine tremor of her body, the delicate aroma of coconut from her shampoo, the curve of her neck where it meets her shoulder. God, I want to bury my face in that curve and fill my lungs with her addictive scent. Withher.

Tingles bubble over my skin as if I’ve bathed in champagne. Without my permission, my hand grips her nape, tilting her head back so she can’t avoid my gaze. The yearning in those deep brown eyes and the hurried rise and fall of her breasts strike me hard and low.

“Edward?” Ember whispers, leaning toward me imperceptibly.

Hearing her whisper my name is enough to shatter my reservations. I can’t resist the lure of those soft lips any longer. I need to taste her.

Seconds after my mouth lands on hers, I realize two things: she’s inexperienced, and I’ll never get enough of her.

The first realization is evident as her plump mouth slides against mine eagerly yet awkwardly. She moans and fists my t-shirt, grinding my lips into my teeth as she kisses me with more enthusiasm than skill.

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