Page 2 of Teasing

“Hi there, cutie. I’m taking a picture. What are you doing?” I ask as I drop my camera to my side and squat down in front of her.

“I’m exploring. Daddy says I can if I stay in the backyard where he can see me and don’t go near the creek.” Her head bobbles like she’s nodding her agreement, and I look over her shoulder for her father but come up empty.

Typical girl.

We agree to do what we’re told, but pushing the boundaries is so much more fun.

“Well, I think you might have just left your yard,” I tell her softly. “Your daddy might worry.”

“Nah. Daddy is like Superman, and Superman never worries.” Her eyes dart around my yard, big and soft brown, soaking it all in before her whole face lights up. “You have roses?”

I look at the beautifully deep pink and white variegated roses I cut this morning to take just the right photo for my Instagram account and lift one from the blanket, careful to make sure it doesn’t have any thorns. “I do. Would you like one?”

She nods again as her smile grows so wide, her chubby little cheeks practically touch her eyes. “Daddy buys me roses all the time. He says it’s cause I’m his rose.” She leans in as if she’s about to tell me the secret to the universe, and I clamp my lips closed to stop from giggling at her seriousness. “But really it’s cause my name is Briar Rose, but everybody calls me Rosie.”

“Well, that’s a very pretty name, Rosie. I’m Emily Rose. But my friends call me Emmie.”

Her face lights up with a beautifully innocent excitement as she giggles. “We have the same name,” she squeals, and the puppy contentedly snoring loudly at her feet jolts.

“We do,” I agree as I hear a loud, frightened man’s voice call out my new friend’s name. “Uh-oh. It sounds like your daddy is looking for you.”

“Oopsie,” she whispers, and her face pinches like she’s finally realized she’s not in her yard.

“She’s over here,” I answer and look up from my squatting position in front of Rosie as the man I saw yesterday, who does indeed resemble a tank, shoves his way through my trees. His shoulders visibly relax when he sees her, and he runs his massive, tattooed hand over her head and down her hair.

My body unintentionally warms as I silently wonder what it must feel like to have this man’s enormous hands on your body.

Rosie’s mom is certainly a lucky woman.

He cups her chin and smiles at the little girl. “I thought I told you to stay in our yard. How did you slip away from Uncle Ryker?”

“Sorry, Daddy. But me and Butterfly were exploring, and we saw Emmie having fun through the trees. We’re explorers, Daddy. We had to see what she’s doing.” Rosie looks up at me, bites down on her lip, and winks.

Winks.

Oh, this man is in trouble because this kid knows exactly how to play him already, and I’m surprisingly here for it.

He sighs, but it sounds more like a grunt before he looks at me—more precisely, at the camera in my hand. And that’s when he steps in front of his daughter with the fury of a thousand angry suns focused on me.

Oh damn.

“Take Butters and go inside, Rosie. Lunch is ready, and Uncle Ryker is in the kitchen.”

Butters... I cock a brow, wishing so badly I could ask him which it is—Butters or Butterfly. But luckily, I have some sense of self-preservation and keep my comment to myself, even if neither name looks like it should be coming out of this man’s mouth.

“But Daddy . . .”

“Now, please,” he tells her softly but leaves no room for argument. He also never removes his eyes from my camera until he turns to watch her cross the yards and she’s safely behind her door and in her house. Only then, with a tight jaw and a now cold, hard fury in his eyes, he seems to become even angrier than a minute ago. “The. Camera.”

He holds out that big palm I was fantasizing about just moments before, like I’m going to give him my camera.

Ummm. I don’t think so. “Excuse me?”

I realize I’m still squatting and stand and step back, so I don’t have to crane my neck quite as much to look at him.

Oh my. I’m not sure I’ve ever met anyone as tall as him before. Even my brother is only six foot five. But he’s leaner than this man. He might be nicer too.

A smarter woman would probably be intimidated.

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