Page 2 of Navy Daddy

“Smaller,” she finishes his sentence, but like Bart, her eyes travel down. They linger on my body much longer than his did.

I don’t speak. Without a question from either of them, I don’t see the need to. It’s best to let them take me in and get over it themselves. But the moment of silence gives me a chance to get a better look at the tiny thing I’m supposed to be training. Themore I do, the more I realize how difficult getting up close and personal with her is going to be.

Big tits, a tiny waist, and childbearing hips. Genetic perfection—from bleached blonde hair right down to what I can only assume are tiny toes hidden in a pair of sneakers. An apple to any man’s eye, and she’s caught mine before I’ve had the pleasure of hearing her name.

“Arthur Hancock.” I shut the trunk and extend a hand to Bart. We’ve gone through introductions over the phone, but I like to seal them with a handshake.

She chuckles at the mention of my family name, and her eyes twinkle with a naughtiness she’d have shared had her father not been standing right beside her.

She’s. Fucking. Perfect.

The whole package wrapped up in a pint-sized box. Looks aside, her giggling is enough to tell me she’s not some stuck-up prude who shies away from anything. Naughty, naughty, naughty.

My kind of woman. All mine.

Careful, Arthur, thoughts like those might make doing your job a whole lot harder.

“Bart Collins,” he says, trying to apply pressure against my hand for a firm shake. It’s barely a tickle. “And this is my daughter and your student, Eva.”

“It’s a pleasure,” she says, offering me a hand. I take it, and the feeling of her soft skin against my palm sends shivers up my spine.

“You’re the little killer, then?” I ask.

Bart scoffs, and he shakes his head. “My little girl couldn’t hurt a fly, and that’s the problem.”

“Why?” I find myself struggling to let go of her hand. If given the chance, I never would. “A fly hasn’t done her any harm.”

A smile beams across Eva’s face at my reply, much to her father’s chagrin.

“Don’t think smooth talk changes my opinion of you, Mr. Hancock,” Eva says sternly, yet her cheeks flush with a light shade of pink. “I still find your kind repulsive.”

“My kind?” I ask. She pulls her arm back, and I instantly feel a rush of cold where our hands just touched. “And Arthur will do. Don’t buy much into the formalities.”

“Killers and warmongers,” she says fearlessly.

Bart’s eyes bulge out of their sockets at her honesty.

“Eva, you can’t say that,” he hisses in a raspy whisper, as if it would stop me from hearing him.

“Why not? It’s the truth. You asked me to do this, so I’m going to do it, but I won’t pretend I believe in his ideals.” There it is. All it took for Eva to jump out of her shell was enough time to get used to my physique.

Good. Now the real fun can begin.

I listen while they talk instead of interrupting. A skill I learned during my time serving. You can learn a lot about a person based on a single conversation alone. And what I’m learning about Eva is that she has a problem with authority. She’s gentle and caring, playing into her father’s wants and wishes, but she’s going to do it kicking and screaming.

A tender soul with a fighter’s spirit. She’d have done well under my command.

“We’re not doing this again. Not now.” Bart’s shoulders slump at his side. “Apologize to Mr. Hancock. Now.”

“No need.” I lean against the side of my car and cross my arms over my chest. “It’ll take a lot more than a few mean words to get me running. Eva’s not getting out of this that easily. And really, it’s just Arthur.”

“Who says I’m trying to get out of anything?” Eva tucks a lock of golden hair behind her ear and meets my gaze squarely with a sheepish smile.

“Why else would you be mean and call me names?” I raise a brow.

Eva immediately scrambles to find words to remedy the situation. She stammers at first before finally settling on. “I didn’t intend to be mean. Just pressing buttons to figure out the man I’m dealing with.”

The way her brow crinkles and her face sinks while she’s floundering to shrug off the slap at my good name is awfully cute.

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