Page 6 of Daddy's Naughty Author

I’m not nervous.

Nope.

Not at all.

I shoot a side-eye glance at KC, who’s completely at ease, his broad shoulders squared, his stride confident. He looks sexy as hell in his khaki dress pants and button up black shirt that seems to cling tightly to his toned body. Meanwhile, I’m regretting my choice of heels, my knee-length dress and possibly my entire existence. He must sense it because his hand presses lightly against my lower back, guiding me forward.

Damn him.

He’s done it all. From his hand on the small of my back, to opening doors, and putting my seatbelt on me in his truck. These are the little things I write about in my novels. The actions of a protective alpha male. I notice them, because honestly, I didn’t think any man actually did all of these things. Only made up book boyfriends were this attentive. As we walk on the sidewalk towards the large double doors of the looming hotel, he drops his hand from my back and smoothly switches places with me, guiding my body to his other side. I don’t miss how he puts himself between me and the road. Then, his hand returns. Right there. Right on the small of my back, fitting into the curve like we are made to be together.

His touch is subtle but firm, the warmth of his palm bleeding through the fabric of my dress, sending a shiver up my spine. My nipples tighten under my bra, and I glance down, praying they can’t be seen. Phew. No headlights visible. I swear my body has no self-preservation instincts around this man. I’ve never been putty in a man’s hands before. But with KC? I’m constantly having to check to make sure I’m not a melted puddle laying at his feet. Once through the doors, I hesitate and take a deep breath.

“You’re not backing out on me now, are you?” KC murmurs, leaning down just enough so that his breath tickles my ear. He smells delicious. A mixture of cologne and masculinity. Pure male. Every inch of him.

I huff. “Of course not. I’m just mentally preparing for my performance.”

“You’ll be fine,” he says. “Don’t overdo it. Stick to what we’ve talked about. It’s only one night. Don’t try to win an Emmy, okay?”

I roll my eyes at him. “We’ve talked about this.”

“Don’t roll your eyes at me, it’s rude,” he scolds.

I let his comment slide because we’ve reached our table, and suddenly, I’m face-to-face with Margaret Campbell. There she sat, the woman that I need to convince I’m madly in love with her son.

Margaret is… adorable. I’m not expecting her to be cute. In my head, I’ve built her up to look something akin to Cruella Deville. Instead, she looks approachable. Petite but polished, with silver-streaked dark hair swept into an elegant twist. She’s wearing pearls, over a soft pink blouse, and the kind of expression that tells me she sees straight through bullshit. KC did mention his mom’s ability to read him and his brothers and know they were lying before they even opened their mouths.

Fantastic.

No pressure. No pressure at all.

“There’s my boy!” she says, beaming as KC leans down to kiss her cheek. Then, she turns to me, and I swear I see a flicker of assessment before her warm smile settles in place. “And you must be Rebecca! I’ve heard so much about you!”

“Everyone calls me RJ,” I correct automatically. “It’s so nice to meet you, Mrs. Campbell.”

“Please, call me Margaret.” She gestures for us to sit. KC, ever the gentleman, pulls out my chair and again, that damn warm hand finds my lower back as he helps guide me into the chair. He drops a kiss on my forehead before sitting next to me. Once in his seat, he reaches over and covers my hand with his andsqueezes it reassuringly. It feels natural and I have to convince myself that I’m merely acting. Playing a part.

It’s nothing.

It’s fake.

And yet my entire body registers his presence like a slow burn.

After drinks are ordered and the waiter walks away, I raise the menu higher than I normally would to cover my face and try to catch my breath. On the outside, I look calm, cool and collected when in reality, deep inside, I’m struggling to slow my racing heart. We’d practiced for this moment and yet, I hadn’t prepared for the nerves that would come when the day finally came. I can do this. I can pretend to be his girlfriend for a weekend. I mean, how hard could it be?

“So,” Margaret says, her sharp gaze bouncing between us. “How did you two meet?”

I slowly lower the menu and look at KC. Wow. She wasted no time at all. He meets my gaze, a barely-there smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Oh, he’s enjoying this.

I clear my throat, set the menu on the table, and tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “I am sure by now, KC’s told you that we are neighbors?”

Margaret’s lips tighten briefly into a frown before she replaces it with a smile and nod. I wonder briefly about the look… what’s that about?

She nods and I continue. “It was a cold, winter day when KC moved in. As he was coming up our shared sidewalk, I was going down to check the mail. I was excited about what I’d hoped was waiting for me and not paying a lot of attention. As I stepped aside to let him pass, I, um… slipped on a patch of ice.”

Margaret’s brows rise, her lips twitching. “Slipped?”

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