Page 40 of Boss Daddy

I slip out into the hall and pad over to the room Samuel had originally shown me as mine. The sheets are untouched, the room pristine, and it feels foreign compared to the warmth of his space.

I rummage through my bag and pull on a tank top and shorts. As I do, the woman from the photo appears in my mind again.

Is he married? My stomach tenses at the idea. I’d been in such a daze when he’d carried me up to the bedroom last night that I hadn’t noticed the picture. Had he forgotten to hide it?But if he’s married, why would he insist on me staying with him? Is this really his home, or just a place he brings women he wants to fuck? He doesn’t seem the type, but then again, I don’t really know him.

I push all of those thoughts from my mind and finish getting dressed.

As I head down the hall, the sounds of the kitchen grow louder. The clink of a pan, the hiss of something sizzling, and Samuel’s low hum—off-key, but charming as hell.

I pause just before entering the kitchen, letting myself take it all in. The man, the scent of coffee and eggs, the warmth in my chest I can’t seem to shake.

Don’t get used to this, I think to myself. But I know I already am. All the same, he might be hiding something from me, so I need to stay on my guard.

I step into the kitchen to find Samuel standing at the stove, his back to me, the muscles in his broad shoulders shifting beneath his fitted T-shirt as he flips something in a pan.His dark hair is slightly messy, and somehow, that only makes him look hotter.

“Good morning,” I say, my voice softer than I intended.

He turns, and when he smiles, my heart stumbles over itself. Damn it. No man should be this handsome. His sharp jawline, those piercing brown eyes, the way the corners of his mouth lift just enough to give him that mix of charm and danger. It’s unfair.

“You hungry?” he asks.

“Sure am. Something smells amazing.”

“Just a little sausage and eggs. There’s toast, too, if you want it.” He nods toward one of the kitchen bar stools. “Sit. It’s almost ready.”

The counter is already set with silverware and glasses of orange juice. I watch him work, his arms moving with precision as he plates everything, the delicious smells wrapping around me.

When he places the food in front of me, I’m momentarily speechless. The omelet is golden, fluffy, and stuffed with what looks like spinach, cheese, and diced tomatoes. Next to it, perfectly cooked sausage glistens under the morning light, paired with toast just the right shade of brown.

“This looks incredible.”

“Wait until you taste it,” he says, taking the seat beside me.

I cut into the omelet, the cheese stretching in gooey ribbons, and take a bite. It’s rich, savory, and so damn good I can’t stop the small moan that escapes me. His chuckle pulls my attention away, and I glance up to see him watching me with an amused expression.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he says.

“Trust me, it is,” I reply, pointing my fork at him before taking another bite.

For a few minutes, we eat in comfortable silence.Then he looks at me in an odd way, like he’s trying to stare right into my soul.

“What is it?” I ask, my mouth full. “You look like you’re trying to read my mind.”

“Maybe I am, in a manner of speaking. Tell me about yourself, Erin.”

I force a smirk as I take another bite of my omelet.“Tell you about myself? Why?”

He grins. “Because I’m too into you to not be all kinds of curious about who you are, where you came from.”

The moment feels too easy, too intimate, and for a second, I debate telling him anything about my past. I’ve got too much baggage, too much history. Maybe I should keep him in the dark, let him see me as Erin the bartender, not the woman running from a life I can’t erase.

All it would take would be a few well-placed lies, lies I’ve perfected over the years about how I’m just a middle-class girl from Schaumburg, Illinois, how I lost my parents when I was a teenager, and I moved to Denver to leave all of that behind.

Just a few little lies, same as always.

So why does lying to Samuel seem totally unacceptable?

I glance at him, arching a brow. “And if my past sounds like something out of a mob movie?”

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