Page 53 of Daddy, Sir

“How many times do I have to tell you, it’sassnot arse?”

The new voice came from behind me and was as deep and smooth as the aged bourbon I’d just attempted to swallow. Instead, I whipped my head around and in a very unladylike manner, spewed at least $300 worth of Pappy Van Winkle’s Family Reserve all over his suit. To top it off, I almost fell in an attempt to put my glass on the desk before grabbing a handful of tissues from the box, and then tripped over my chair’s leg to land on my knees at his feet.

Where was a lightning bolt when one needed it!

Forget stalkers threatening to show me the way, the scariest thing I’d done in years was to lift my head. My gaze traveled over a pair of legs clad in black trousers, the fabric damp where the bourbon had landed. The cut of the suit, the tailoring, was perfection. My eyes lifted higher to see how smoothly the fabric laid over thighs I imagined were the circumference of my waist. I could feel my face flush as my focus moved to his crotch, trying to convince myself I was checking to find perhaps at least a wrinkle or the slight puckering of a seam. My concentration might have remained on the area that zipper hid beneath the cloth except for one thing. Right above that zipper was a buckle, and threaded through that buckle was a thin black leather belt.

I was positive I quit breathing at that moment, but the masochist living inside me didn’t stop my gaze’s journey. The suit jacket’s button hid what I’d bet my life would be an abdomen as hard as steel and as flat as the desktop. A white button-down shirt’s collar was the last chance I had of not confirming what I’d known the moment I’d heard that voice.

Tilting my head back another fraction of an inch, my gaze slid over a chin that had just the right amount of stubble to have my thighs clench in anticipation of the slight scratch against tender flesh as he smiled up at me just before he lowered his mouth to my core. The thought of his lips parting to take my throbbing clit between his teeth had me biting my lower lip. His nose was just slightly crooked, having been broken when he’d been the town’s local hero on the football field, as the quarterback, of course.

After what felt like both an eternity and at the same time no more than a second, I finally met eyes that had always brought to mind the waters of the Caribbean. I felt as if I were in a dream, could feel my body swaying. For the briefest of moments, I didn’t know what I wanted to do. Beg his forgiveness for spitting on him, beg him to tell me why I hadn’t heard from him in over a decade, or beg him for permission to suck his cock.

Instead, when he grinned and his right eyebrow quirked, all confusion fell away and I did the only thing to be done. I jumped to my feet, pulled back my arm, made a fist with my right hand, and slugged him as hard as I could right above that stupid shiny gold belt buckle.

I’d love to say I lifted my fisted hands over my head in victory as I did a happy dance around the room. But, though I did dance, it was more like jogging in place as I clenched my right fist in my left palm and… well, I guess you’d call it whined.

“Oww, oww, oww, oww!” Even as I furiously blinked back tears, I glared up at the slab of granite that had most likely broken my poor hand. “Don’t you ever eat a damn cookie? How in the hell do you stay so fucking hard?”

“Don’t swear.”

If I had any sense, which I’d already proven I didn’t, I wouldn’t have pulled back my arm again when the order came without so much as a whisper of pain. As I launched my next punch, Landon Westerly simply reached out, caught my fist in mid-air with one hand, wrapped his other arm around my waist and pulled me in close enough that all I could see was an expanse of white and feel the button holding his shirt closed as my nose pressed against it.

It took a moment for my fury to finish its course through me, and another to chastise myself for reveling in the feel of his arm around me, but I was suddenly too exhausted to be angry.

“Uncle.”

As it had in our youth, uttering that one word was enough for the steel band of his hold to relax and for his hand to lift my chin and tilt my head back. “Good to see you too, Foo-Foo.”

“Don’t call me that!” Even my best growl sounded more like I was suffering from a bad case of laryngitis. My throat still burned from the bourbon it had half swallowed before shooting it out again.

“I take it you two know each other?”

I had to hand it to the statuesque blonde. Audra wasn’t only beautiful, professional, and compassionate, there was a good chance she was related to her countryman, Sherlock Holmes. Her investigative skills were proving legendary.

Being catty isn’t a good look for you, Fiona. And she is not the one you’re upset about is she?

I hated it when that stupid inner voice was right. In an attempt to save what little dignity I still had left, I pushed away from Landon’s chest and swiped my hands down my body as if they could remove the wrinkles in my shirt or the back splatter of alcohol on my jeans.

“Let’s just say that before I grew older and wiser, I was that clueless teenager who not only thought this jerk was the man of my dreams, I got laryngitis from screaming out his name.”

Audra looked between Landon and me, finally settling on Landon. “I’d say I see, but I’m afraid I don’t. The fact you aren’t strangers would be obvious to a blind man simply from the electricity I can feel sparking between you.” Her gaze shifted to me. “I’d say it was a case of unrequited love as rejection does tend to return one to our basic urges butscreaming outhis name? That seems to contradict the unrequited portion, so I’m gathering you two were…?” Audra asked, leaving the last word unspoken as she poured another shot into my empty glass and held it out.

I took it, this time throwing it back successfully, the bourbon warming me the instant it hit my bloodstream. I honestly regretted wasting such a treasure and decided then and there that I’d suck on those spots of damp denim before I threw my jeans in the wash. Realizing I’d never answered Audra’s question, I shook my head. “No, I was a cheerleader. Any screaming was a requirement for my position on the squad and not for any, as you Brits say, shagging.”

“Fiona—”

“She wasn’t fucking asking you?—”

“If my memory serves me correctly, and it does, I believeyoutwoincludes me as well,” Landon cut in. “And stop swearing.”

“I didn’t swear. I saidshagging!”

“Doesn’t matter. We all know they mean the same thing and you also managed to utter both.” He spoke with authority as well as a bit of humor mixed in. His chuckle was a full-throated rumble that invoked a sense of warmth and comfort. My hand might still be a bit achy from punching him, but that grin told me all was forgiven and made me want to crawl onto his lap, bury my face in his shirt and…

Oh shit!

Startled and way too late, I finally stomped on my libido and ripped my gaze from the sexiest grin I’d ever seen. Pulling myself up to my full height of five foot four and three-quarters of an inch, I looked at Audra.

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