Page 23 of Daddy's Little Spy

“It almost sounds like you’re in the mob or something.” Heart pounding, she stared up at him with wide eyes, watching for any flicker of guilt or shock.

But he simply threw his head back and laughed. “I can see why you might think that.” Eyes twinkling with amusement, he leaned down to brush a kiss across her lips. “I might not be the godfather, but I do have an offer you can’t refuse.”

“That is so cheesy,” she groaned, grinning despite herself. Goddammit, why did he have to be so likeable? This would be so much easier if he was an asshole. Where was that violence she’d seen in him last night, to remind her of the monster he truly was? “What kind of offer?”

“Cinnamon buns and coffee before I have to get you to the office. Can you afford to be a little late this morning?”

“Actually, I was thinking of playing hooky for the day.” Well, so much for keeping her day off to herself.

“In that case, how about cinnamon buns and coffee, followed by a nice long soak in the tub?”

“That sounds wonderful.” And it did, damn him. “But I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

“Nonsense. Grab your teddy and we’ll go have our breakfast. Have you given him a name, yet?”

“I can name him?” An unexpected thrill shot through her and she bounced on the mattress.

“Of course, silly girl.” Leaning over her, Benito grabbed the bear and handed it to her. “He’s yours, after all.”

Everything inside of her went warm and soft as she ran a hand over the soft fur. “I haven’t had a stuffed animal in years. Even when I was little, I didn’t have many.”

“That’s a shame. Little girls should be drowning in stuffed animals.”

Gripping the bear in one hand, she slipped the other into Benito’s and let him help her off the bed and lead her across the room to a door she hadn’t noticed before, that was now standing slightly ajar. They passed through the door into a room even larger than his bedroom. On the far side was what appeared to be a living room with two large, comfortable-looking couches facing a giant television. Along the wall were rows of built-in shelves, home to rows and rows of books.

Closer to them was a small dining table, holding the source of the cinnamon-sugar smell she’d woken up to. In the middle of the table was a large serving platter, loaded with giant, gooey cinnamon buns.

Letting go of her hand, Benito picked up a gorgeous silk robe in a deep rose color and helped her into it, tying the belt loosely around her waist.

He nudged her toward a chair and she went obediently, wincing slightly when her ass met the padded seat of the dining chair. To his credit, Benito didn’t comment on her discomfort as he served her half of a cinnamon bun and poured her a cup of coffee. He slid the other half of the bun onto his own plate before taking the seat to her right.

Part of her, the part she was beginning to think of as her inner child, pouted at being denied the full cinnamon bun, even as the logical, adult part of her brain recognized that she’d never eat the whole thing anyway. It was gigantic, and way too much sugar first thing in the morning.

Deciding not to risk another spanking by arguing about it, she broke off a piece of the pastry and popped it into her mouth. A quiet moan slipped out at the explosion of flavor on her tongue. “Oh my god, this is amazing. You could make a fortune selling these.”

“I don’t know about that.” But the smile playing at his lips told her he’d appreciated the praise.

They ate in silence for a while, the companionable kind she hadn’t expected to feel with a man she’d just met, nonetheless a criminal. What did it say about her, that she was finding it so easy, slipping into his life this way? Could she really be bought for nothing more than some good sex and delicious pastries?

“You never answered my question earlier, bambolina.”

The quiet statement pulled her out of her head and back into the moment. Looking up, she found him watching her, his dark eyes suddenly serious. “What question was that?”

“When I found you snooping earlier, you said ‘Focus, Clarke’. Who is Clarke?”

Oh, hell. She’d completely forgotten about that. Forcing herself not to openly react, despite the outrageous pounding of her heart and the panic skittering down her spine, she blinked as if she had no idea what he was talking about. “I did?”

“Yes, you did. Right before you hit your knee.”

“It’s um, from a movie, I think. I don’t know, my dad used to say it all the time and it’s just something I picked up. I don’t even know what it’s supposed to mean.”

Again with that damned eyebrow. It made her want to squirm in her seat, but she managed to keep still. “Diana, I am going to give you one, and only one warning on this. I do not tolerate lies. If you are being dishonest, tell me now and I may be willing to overlook it. But if I discover later you lied to me, for whatever reason, sitting comfortably will be a fond, distant memory for you.”

A spanking was an acceptable risk against having her true identity discovered. “I’m not lying.”

If she hadn’t known any better, she could have sworn she saw disappointment flash in his eyes just for a moment before they went carefully blank again. “Very well. Finish your breakfast and then we’ll get you cleaned up.”

Sometimes lies were necessary, especially in her line of work. She’d done what she’d needed to do in order to protect herself, and her investigation. It was a perfectly normal, acceptable part of police work.

So there was no reason for her to feel such a tightness in her gut, or this overwhelming need to confess. There was only one person at the table who should feel guilty about anything, and it wasn’t her.

Right?

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