Page 36 of Off-Limits Daddy
I rolled my eyes. Cael knew that every year I pitched in for the Fourth of July holiday. I was part of the community, so I would be remiss to not lend my support to anything that I could to encourage community spirit.
But before I could call him out on what he said, movement caught my eye, and just like that, I forgot the sun, the sweat, Cael, everything.
Ari.
He wore a loose tank, paint smudged on his cheek, curls damp like he’d been at it for hours—sweaty, focused, and completely unaware of the attention he drew. He was bent over a sketch taped to a folding table, His lip caught between his teeth in concentration, making it way too easy to imagine what else that mouth could do, or what I could do with him bent over like that.
Something low and hot unspooled in my gut. A punch of want, like my body got the message before my brain did.
Cael whistled low. “You’re about as subtle as a damn marching band. Might want to work on that.”
I could’ve responded. Chose oxygen instead. Breathed deep.
Ari glanced up—and it hit like it always did. Warm, bright. It was like looking at something beautiful you weren’t supposed to touch.
Like hell that was stopping me.
“Back in a sec,” I muttered.
Cael didn’t bother hiding his wicked grin. “Atta boy.”
By the time I was a few feet from him, Ari straightened, stretching like a cat who’d been pretending to nap but was waiting for a reason to pounce. His lips curled like he had some clever little barb locked and loaded just for me.
“Volunteer labor from the fire department?” he asked, voice light.
Ari’s grin was pure trouble before I even reached him. “If this is you offering artistic input,” he said, tapping the side of the sketch with his knuckle, “I’m afraid I’m fully loaded with creative genius today.”
Smart little shit.
I stepped closer, close enough to smell whatever soap he used, something faint and clean beneath the sharper scent of acrylic paint. “Actually, Mrs. Evans wants this taped up better. One gust of wind and the whole thing’s folding like a cheap lawn chair.”
“Scandalous.” His fingers hovered by mine as I reached for the edge of the canvas banner, his thumb brushing my knuckles like he wasn’t even thinking about it—but I knew better. Ari thought abouteverythinghe did.
The canvas shifted under my grip. I peeled the corner up carefully, but the roll of tape had other plans—springing loose, snapping back against my hand like it had something personal against me. Paint streaked my palm.
“You had one job,” Ari drawled, gaze sliding to my fingers.
Then his thumb skimmed across the smear, slow and deliberate—like he was being helpful, but there was nothing innocent about the curl of his mouth.
“I could wash that off for you,” he added, voice dropping just enough to make my pulse kick, “but I don’t think you’d keep still long enough.”
He gave me a wink, like he hadn’t just set off a five-alarm fire in my bloodstream.
Heat burned below my waist, a throb I knew too well.
This bratty boy gets me so hard.
“Behave,” I warned under my breath, voice tight. “People are watching.”
Ari’s lashes lifted, innocent as hell. “That’s half the fun.”
Christ.
I pressed the edge of the tape hard against the canvas, hoping the bite in my palm would ground me.
It didn’t.
There was a crash behind us—metal slamming hard against pavement.
