Page 17 of Protected By the Single Dad Sheriff

His consideration for his daughters' emotional wellbeing only makes him more attractive to me. Sebastian saw children as an eventual necessity—heirs to continue the family name and business—not as actual people with feelings and needs.

"That's understandable," I say softly, shifting a little closer. "They're lucky to have a father who thinks so deeply about their happiness."

He glances up, a hint of surprise in his expression. "Most women I've met aren't exactly thrilled at the prospect of instant motherhood. It's a lot to ask."

"I think it depends on the children," I reply honestly. "And the father."

I feel my heart accelerating, my palms growing damp. I've never been good at this, the delicate dance of attraction and timing.My romantic history consists of men selected and vetted by my parents, relationships that developed through structured dates and social expectations.

This—this organic, unexpected connection—is entirely new territory.

I lean closer, hoping he'll bridge the gap between us. But Jake remains perfectly still, clearly confused. Is he oblivious to what I'm trying to communicate, or deliberately holding back?

My courage falters. Maybe I've misread everything. Maybe he's just being kind to a woman in crisis, and I'm projecting attraction where there is only compassion.

"You seem distracted," he says, his voice lower than before. "Everything okay?"

"I'm thinking," I admit.

"About what?"

About how your mouth would feel against mine. About how those strong hands would feel on my skin. About how long it's been since I felt genuinely desired rather than merely suitable.

"About regrets," I say instead, the word hanging between us. "About all the moments I let pass by because I was too afraid to act, too concerned with what others might think."

His eyes darken slightly. "And what are you afraid of now?"

I've spent my entire life waiting for permission—from my parents, from society, from the constructed rules that have governed my existence. Today, I finally broke free of those constraints. Why stop now?

Before I can overthink it, I lean forward and press my lips to his.

It's clumsy at first.

The angle isn't quite right, and I nearly miss his mouth entirely. For one horrifying second, I think I've made a catastrophic mistake. But then his hand comes up to cradle my cheek, calloused palm warm against my skin, and he guides me gently, correcting the trajectory until our mouths align perfectly.

The first real contact sends electricity coursing through me. His lips are surprisingly soft against mine, the contrast with the roughness of his hand making my skin tingle in the most delicious way. The kiss is gentle for only a moment before something seems to snap inside both of us.

Suddenly we're devouring each other, months—years—of loneliness and restraint evaporating in the heat between us. His hand slides from my cheek to the back of my neck, fingers threading through my hair, holding me close as his mouth moves hungrily against mine.

I make a small, desperate sound in the back of my throat that would embarrass me if I had any capacity for embarrassment left. But all social conditioning has disappeared, replaced by pure, primal need. I want more. More contact, more pressure, more of him.

As if reading my mind, Jake's strong hands move to my waist, and in one fluid motion, he lifts me onto his lap. I find myself straddling him, my knees on either side of his hips, our bodies pressed together in a way that makes my head spin.

"Isabella," he breathes against my mouth, my name a question and a prayer.

"Yes," I answer, though he hasn't actually asked anything. Yes to whatever this is. Yes to wherever it leads.

His hands slide up my sides, respectful but hungry, as if he's rediscovering sensations long forgotten. I arch into his touch,chasing the warmth of his palms through the thin fabric of my green t-shirt.

When his tongue traces the seam of my lips, I open to him without hesitation. The taste of him—coffee and chocolate ice cream—floods my senses, making me dizzy with lust.

I press closer, my body acting on instinct rather than experience. Sebastian's kisses were always controlled, performative. This is raw, honest, consuming.

Jake's hands settle at my hips, his fingers flexing slightly as if he's restraining himself. Even in this moment of abandon, he's considerate, careful. It makes me want him more.

I slide my fingers into his hair, marveling at the texture—softer than it looks, with those threads of silver at the temples that caught my attention from the first moment. He groans when I tug gently, the sound vibrating through me, settling low in my belly.

This is madness. I've known this man less than twelve hours. I just ran away from my wedding to another man. I have no plan, no stability, nothing to offer but complications and baggage.

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