Page 78 of Marrying the Billionaire Single Dad
"It’s late."
"For you, Daddy." She laughs lightly.
My cock jerks. Hell, is it because she called me the D word? Or is it simply her laugh. This is crazy. I have a five-year-old who calls me Daddy, so why the hell does Flower calling me by the same title make me want to reach across the phone line and drag her flush against me?
"Go home," I order.
"What?" she says, breathless, "No."
"Don’t defy me."
"Don’t order me around." I sense her pout, see those pink lips in my head. And I'm instantly hard. This crazy reaction to her; I'll never get used to it.
"I’ll do what I bloody want and you’ll obey me, you understand?"
Her breathing grows ragged. Hell, is she turned on by my show of dominance? Of course, she is. The woman’s the most natural submissive in denial that I have met, and she doesn’t even know it yet.
"Hey, baby," a male voice calls out, "who are you talking to there, when all the man you can handle is standing right here in front of you?"
"Who’s that? I can only see a jackass," she snaps.
"Julia," I begin to pace… When the hell did I stand up from my seat, huh? "Julia what the fuck is happening there?"
"Nothing," she hiccups. "Need to teach this guy a lesson."
"Don’t," I roar, then dig my fingers in my hair and tug at it. "Don’t do anything that will end up with you being hurt."
"Hold on—"
"Don’t you dare put me on hold. Don’t—"
Crash.
The sound rips through the phone and up my spine. Fuck. Did she drop the phone? I hear the sound of scuffling, "You ass, take that." The sound of someone’s palm connecting with a face. Her’s? His?
"Hey, you little bitch—" the man howls.
"Julia," I yell into the phone, "Julia, what the hell? Are you all right, babe?"
My heart begins to thud. Why the hell am I not there, taking care of her? Why the hell am I not able to manage everything better? My daughter, my woman… She’s not my woman… But hell, if something were to happen to her... Why the hell haven’t I done a better job of protecting her? I can’t lose another person I am beginning to care about, and when the fuck had that happened? When had I begun to feel some kind of ownership toward her? "Julia?" I roar, "What the fuck—?"
"Damian?"
A woman’s voice, not Julia’s, comes over the phone.
"Karina?" I draw in a breath. "You’re with her?"
"Of course, you told me to keep an eye on her, remember?" Her voice is calm.
Male groans, a woman’s chuckle floats over the phone.
"What the fuck is happening there? Is she okay?"
"Your woman’s a fighter." She half chuckles, "I think you underestimated her."
"You’re telling me," I rake my fingers through my hair, "And she’s not my woman—"
"Gotta go."
