Page 39 of Boss Daddy

She’d tell me to live, to find happiness, but moving forward feels like betrayal.

All the same, it needs to be done.

Picture in hand, I slowly open the nightstand drawer and slip the frame inside. The last thing I see before sliding the drawer shut is Kara’s eyes, blue as the sky.

It feels wrong, but also necessary. My past doesn’t define me, but it’s part of me. And if I want to have a future with Erin—a real one—I need to make space for her.

Not to mention the sight of a woman’s picture on my nightstand would make Erin want to ask questions, questions I’m not ready to answer.

Quietly, I slip out of the room, tugging on sweatpants and a T-shirt as I make my way downstairs. The kitchen is calm and quiet, the only sound the hum of the fridge. I fill a glass of water and drink it quickly, like I’m trying to put out a fire inside.

Breakfast. My stomach grumbles, as if agreeing with the thought, and I go to work. I open the fridge, taking out eggs, butter, and sausage.

For a few moments, I manage to lose myself in the process of cracking eggs, heating the butter, and slicing the sausage.

Memories of Kara surface as I pour the mixture into the skillet. She used to sit at the counter, sipping coffee, her bare feet tucked under her on the stool. She’d watch me cook with a small smile, asking me what I had planned for the day.

Kara was like a hand reaching out in a storm, the kind of person who made you feel like no matter what happened, things would always turn out alright. Erin is nothing like that. She’s fire and sharp edges, unpredictable and unapologetic.Where Kara was soft and serene, Erin is fierce and defiant. Both beautiful, both intelligent, but so different.

I flip one of the omelets, the scent of food cooking filling the kitchen. Over and over, my mind drifts to the woman down the hall. I find myself thinking of her face, her smell, the way she feels underneath me.

She’s something entirely new—she’s intoxicating and exciting, but damned if it doesn’t scare the hell out of me.

Chapter 15

Erin

“Oh, man.”

The sun sneaks through the curtains, teasing my eyelids open. I stretch a little, my body aching from the previous night’s activities. I roll over and check my phone.

It’s almost eleven. I hear the faint clatter of dishes coming from down the hall, mingling with the heavenly scent of breakfast.

My stomach growls, reminding me I barely ate last night.

Stretching lazily, I again feel that delicious ache in my muscles. Heat rushes to my cheeks as fragments of the night flash through my mind: his hands gripping my hips, his lips trailing fire across my skin, his body pressing me into the mattress.

I remember the way he looked on top of me, those gorgeous muscles flexing and tensing. I remember the final thrust, the one that pushed us both over the edge, his cock erupting inside me.

The way he pulled me close afterward, his hand absently tracing circles on my back, his steady breathing lulling me into a peace I hadn’t felt in years.

The cuddling. That part still surprises me. I’ve never been the type. It can become too messy. Too intimate. But with Samuel, it felt right. Like I belonged there, wrapped up in him.

The faint scent of him lingers in the sheets, woodsy and masculine, and I bury my face in the pillow for a moment, breathing it in. I want to bottle it up, wrap myself in it.

I get up and head over to the window, the view taking my breath away. The trees sway in a gentle breeze, and I’m amazed again by the quiet and pure beauty. Although the view from the guest room is nice, this is a sight I haven’t seen in a long time. My apartment views offered nothing but rusted fire escapes and trash-strewn alleys. This is something else entirely.

My stomach growls again, louder this time, and I chuckle softly to myself.

I turn, hoping to find one of his T-shirts to put on, spotting a nightstand drawer not fully closed.

It’s not my business, but all the same, I can’t help myself. I need to know who the hell Samuel is, even if I have to snoop a little to find out.

I go over to the drawer and pull it open. Inside is a framed photo of a beautiful woman. She looks to be in her early thirties, with dark, almost black, curly hair and eyes blue as the sky.I take out the photo and stare. She’s stunning. The warm smile on her face makes it seem like the person taking the picture is the only thing that matters to her.

Who is she?

A clatter sounds from the kitchen, and I come back to my senses. I slip the picture back into the drawer and shut it.

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