Page 33 of Teasing

But there’s something else... something in her eyes when she gives me shit.

Something electric.

Something I enjoy seeing there.

Something I can’t fucking act on, no matter that I want to. Even if it’s the first time I’ve wanted to in a long damn time. But I still enjoy teasing her. “Apology accepted.” I grin, and she shakes her head and giggles quietly. “I said you were right.”

“And . . .” she pushes.

“And I’m sorry for being an overbearing asshole,” I admit.

“It’s okay, Cujo. I’m used to it.” She leans over and kisses Rosie’s head, and I think I’m actually jealous of my kid. “Do you want me to leave her on the couch?”

Nothing about this interaction should be sexy.

None of it should make me desperate for Emmie Monroe.

But it does. It all fucking does.

“I’m gonna put her to bed. Think you could hang around for a few minutes? I want to talk to you about something.” A plan begins to form. One I’m not thrilled with.

“Sure,” she answers with an uneasy voice.

I lift Rosie from Emmie’s lap, and her sleepy eyes open. “Daddy?”

“Yeah,mia picolla rosa. I’m home.”

“I don’t feel so good, Daddy.” Her sleepy voice trails off as her eyes close again.

“I know, sweets.” I carry her upstairs and tuck her in bed. “Try to get some sleep, okay? I’ll check on you in a little bit.”

She wraps her arms around her new stuffed pony—thanks, Mom—and drifts back off again before I even leave the room. I pull the door shut behind me—not wanting Butters jumping in bed with her right now—and head back downstairs to talk to Emmie, but of course my little fairy isn’t where I left her.

“Em,” I call out.

“In the kitchen...” She’s cleaning up when I find her, and I find the messy room reassuring. Rosie must have felt okay earlier.

I cross the room, stepping on glitter as I go and lean back against the counter, close but not touching as I watch the way she methodically cleans up art supplies and what I’m guessing are snack plates. “How was art class?”

Emmie’s hands freeze for a split second before she rinses the plates. She doesn’t look away from the sink, but even an asshole like me can see something’s wrong. There’s sadness in her pretty golden-green eyes.

“Hey... You okay?” I turn and press my palm to the center of her back because the draw to comfort her is the only thing stronger than the need to find out what upset her.

She places the plates in the drying rack I hadn’t even realized we had and wipes at her eyes as she finally turns toward me,bringing us face-to-face. Close enough that I can see the golden flecks in her eyes shimmering with unshed tears, and I want to kill who ever put them there. “I’m fine. Rosie had a great time. She was the belle of the ball. Everyone loved her, and she loved everyone. We worked on tissue paper flowers today. Rosie and I decided we’re turning the art wall into a garden.”

“Sounds like a nice time.” I slide my hands to her bare arms and run them up and down her smooth skin. “Now, you want to tell me why you’re upset?”

“Not really...” Her voice cracks, and a tear slips down her cheek.

I’m not sure why I do what I do next, but it feels so damn right when I wrap my arms around her and tug her against my chest. More right than it has any fucking business feeling.

Emmie buries her face in her hands against my chest, and I inhale the sweet scent of cherries and vanilla. “I’m sorry. Some days are just...”

She pulls in a few deep breaths before taking a step back.

With distance between us, I can see the pain etched on her pretty face, but I don’t drop my hold. Not yet. Not when my normally happy girl looks devastated.

Fuck. Notmygirl.

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