Page 31 of Babydoll

A thud on the table in front of me has my head snapping back and up where he towers over me. There’s a sandwich on the table in front of me.

“I’ll keep my damn pudding, thank you very much, but you’ll damn well eat this.” He stabs a finger on the table beside the cellophane wrapped square.

I snort. “Who died and made you king?”

He leans on the table, getting right in my face. “Not a king, honey, a Daddy. Your Daddy.”

“Oh, for f—” I swallow the rest of my sentence when his brow arches menacingly, and instead roll my eyes purposefully slowly. Before I can attempt to predict his reaction, he grabs my face and crushes my mouth with his in a punishing kiss. His lips are harsh, angry even, and his hands move to fist my hair, tugging my head back to more fully invade my mouth. Fuck! Maybe conquer is a more fitting description.

Daddy Grizz, the conqueror.

As lights begin to flash behind my lids, his lips release mine. Not even an inch separates us as we draw in ragged breaths.

“What was that for?” I ask in a husky whisper.

“It was either that or I toss you over my knee and spank your infuriating ass.”

A bolt of heat drives straight through me and then it’s me who’s roughly closing the distance between us. Yanking him by the collar back to my mouth, I moan against his lips.

But when our mouths reunite, he takes the lead, slowing things down. I melt into him, his mouth teasing mine to relax and savor the kiss.

I release his collar and reach around to massage his neck. One of his hands leaves my hair to slide down to my ass. Pulling me up, he gives it a dirty, dirty squeeze. God, yes! And as if the possessive squeeze isn’t enough, his other hand joins in and he hoists me up until I’m on my tiptoes.

“Mine,” he growls against my lips before continuing our kiss. I moan into his mouth when one of his hands leaves my ass to give it a hard swat.

When our kiss finally breaks, I’m dizzy and bereft. I even stumble back a bit, though I’m loath to admit it. Especially when his mouth curves in satisfaction as he steadies me. I’d never believed romance novels that said someone could be kissed breathless or have their wits stolen by a kiss, not until now.

Not until him. Not until my Grizzly Daddy.

Now that we’re no longer touching, a gap of a few feet between us, he taps the table. “You gonna eat, babydoll, or do I have to make you?”

I eye him and then the sandwich. “Depends on how you plan on making me.”

My mouth curves at the corner and his own cocky grin widens.

“Test me and find out.” He walks forward, grabs my hips, and pushes me down into the chair. I gather a breath, blow it out with exaggeration and pull the sandwich toward me.

“Fine.” My eyes flick to his. “But only because you make me hungry.”

His grin turns into a full-on smile at my innuendo. I unwrap the cellophane and take a bite of oozy PB&J on whole wheat.

“My car?” I ask, through my mouthful. “The bus takes forever and I keep getting to my other job late.”

“Back in the lot. A friend took care of the dents and the broken windows.” He studies my face and holds up a hand in surrender at my look. “He owed me a favor.”

“Good, I took a night shift. But don’t think I owe you one.” I take another bite, this time forcefully, and stare him down, challenging him to suggest it.

“I wouldn’t dare.” He smirks. Ignoring me, he gets his own lunch and we eat in silence. It’s unnerving, but only because it feels completely natural. How much sense does that make? I’ve been eating alone and in a rush, ducking down in my car for so long I forgot what it was like to share a meal with someone. A few more bites is all I can manage though, so I wrap the sandwich up and push it aside. It takes very little to fill me these days, but I usually ignore the cues and push through since I never know when my next meal will come. But tonight I have a different excuse for my lack of appetite.

As I stare at the incredibly handsome and generous man across the table from me, my current trouble makes my stomach churn with dread.

I expect Jeff to say something about the abandoned sandwich, but he only pushes a vanilla pudding across the table at me. I fiddle with it but make no move to open it.

“It’s not mine.” He points at the top. On it, in pink sharpie, the name Lulah is clearly scrawled in a child’s unsteady lettering. There’s a mix of upper and lowercase letters and the H is backwards, butI trace the letters with my finger and smile.

My heart squeezes in my chest. And not just because the sweet little girl that doesn’t know me still finds a kindness to share with me, but because maybe Lulah is who I really am. NotLu and not Tallulah. Not a perky people pleaser, but also not a bitter jackass. Just something in the middle.

I look up at Jeff. What if they kill him? What would that do to his niece? My heart drops in my gut. Even if I disappeared today and never came back, they’d still hurt him. They’d make an example out of him.

---