Page 17 of Daddy Devious

Perhaps he’ll give me the name of his decorator when I’m returned to New York with the ten million dollars he’s promised me.

Jesus.

“Come, little one. You’ll have plenty of time to explore tomorrow.”

Mr. Stone gives my arm a gentle tug, breaking the spell his house has woven around me, and I fall in step behind him, tripping a bit as I swivel my head around to try and take everything in.

Pausing at the bottom of a giant, curved staircase that looks like it was transplanted directly from the set of some old Hollywood movie, he frowns down at me. “Are you all right?”

“What? Yeah I’m fine, just a little distracted.”

His frown deepens. “Come here.”

Before I can ask what he means, he bends and scoops me up. Just like at the airport, I’m forced to wrap myself around him, clinging to him as he carries me up the stairs.

“What are you doing?” I ask, immediately feeling like an idiot considering how obvious the answer is.

“Carrying you. I can’t have my Little girl gettingdistractedon the stairs.”

The words have a scolding tone to them that brings a rush of embarrassed heat to my face. “I won’t. You can put me down.”

“No, I don’t think I will.”

“I can walk on my own.”

At the top of the stairs, he takes a right turn toward a room with a pretty pink sign hanging on the door. “You can, but you may not.”

Okay, apparently that’s going to be a thing with him. “Whatever.”

He stops outside the room with the pink sign, his expression stern. “If you keep giving me attitude, you will be going to bed with a very sore bottom. Consider that your one and only warning, little girl.”

The last thing I want is another spanking, even if I do think he’s being a bit ridiculous. “Sorry,” I mumble, my face heating with embarrassment.

“Thank you. Now, would you like to see your room?”

“My room?”

“Yes. Didn’t you see the sign?”

I turn my head, and for the first time, I really look at the piece of wood hanging on the door. From a distance, all I’d been able to see were the flowers, but up close I can finally read what it says. And the words, carefully printed in beautiful calligraphy on the painted wood, have my stomach dropping to my knees.

Victoria’s Nursery.

Chapter Seven

Victoria

“Wh-why does it have my name on it?” And why the fuck does it saynursery?

“I told you,” Mr. Stone says easily, as if he hasn’t just rocked my entire world—again. “It’s your room.”

“But… how did you…?”

The corner of his mouth kicks up in a smirk. “Daddies have to have some secrets. Do you want to see your room now, my little thief?”

I’m sure the correct answer is “Yes, Daddy” but I can’t quite bring myself to say the words so I just nod instead. Juggling me in his arms, Daddy reaches for the doorknob and turns it, slowly pushing open the door.

To my nursery.

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