Page 67 of Daddy's Wild Girl

She gaped at him.

He’d just raised his voice at her. Corbin never raised his voice. All right, he might have done it at the skate park, but she’d understood that. He’d thought she was hurt.

This was different.

“You’re yelling at me,” she said in a sad-sounding voice.

His eyes widened as her lower lip started to tremble. She really didn’t mean to do that. It just happened.

Sometimes, a lip did what a lip had to do.

“I’m not yelling at you!”

“Yes, you are. You’re still doing it.”

“Shit. Am I?” He ran his hand over his face. “Fuck. I didn’t mean to yell at you, okay?”

“I don’t like it.”

Crap.

Had her voice just grown higher-pitched? Was she . . . was her Little close to the surface?

That was unacceptable.

She shut that down super-fast, pushing her Little back into that locked box where she kept her.

Even though she cried as she did it.

Sometimes, Bebe wondered if she had a split personality. If other people thought this way. If they had to keep their Little side on lockdown.

“I’m sorry, Bebe.” He reached out to take her hand and she flinched away.

Shoot.

She hated the look of surprised concern that filled his face. Followed by a hint of hurt.

The last thing she wanted to do was hurt Corbin.

“Is your hand all right?”

“What? Yes, why?” She was tempted to cradle her hand to her chest, to hide her hand from his gaze.

“You pulled it away from me. I thought it might be hurting you. I’ve noticed that sometimes you favor it. And that you wince if someone grabs it too hard.”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

How was he so observant?

“It’s fine,” she said, standing abruptly. “I’m fine. I need to go.”

“Where are you going?”

“To look up how to tell whether a wall is load-bearing. And to find my darn sledgehammer!”

And to get far away from him. Before she was tempted to throw herself into his arms.

And beg him to never let her go.

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