Page 3 of Seducing Daddy

After I made a point of studying him—not because he was drop dead gorgeous, mind, just because I’ve never come across a man like him before—I came to one conclusion. His looks would make the angels sing and a nun drop her panties faster than you could say Hail Mary.

Yet he somehow remained humble. After conducting my surveillance, I realized his charm wasn’t a tool he used to get people to do what he wanted, like most good-looking dudes. He was genuinely a nice guy, and the first devilishly handsome male I’d ever met who didn’t take advantage of it.

Maybe he was gay.

That’s what most women in town speculated. The theory let them down easy.

Surely, that was the reason he politely refused their advances. Not because they weren’t pretty or interesting enough. But because he was batting for the other team.

Oh, my. I didn’t realize how long I’d been staring at him.

He caught my eye just as I lifted my gaze from his powerful set of shoulders. The wind and sun had bronzed his face because he spent most of his time outside on his ranch. His brilliant blue eyes watched me with what appeared to be a glint of wonder, and the longer I failed to look away, the stronger his pull.

If the soul that peered back at me was a gay man, then I was the freaking Madonna.

In her typical style, Nonna’s voice projected across the entire room. “If I were ten years younger, I’d give that preacher a ride for his money. I’d ride him so hard he’d think the devil was on his tail.”

“Nonna. Keep it down,” I muttered harshly.

If anyone’s ego could handle a little criticism, it was hers. She remained impervious to the way she sometimes brought a blush to our cheeks.

With a mouth like a sailor, an appetite like a glutton, and a thirst for Blue Hawaiians, we loved her beyond description. “You just can’t say things like that about a man of the cloth,” I admonished.

“Why not?” She raised her voice. “It’s not like he’s a priest or something. Not a real father. He’s one of these New World, made-up church fellas. He doesn’t have to keep his pecorino in his pocket. Can even make babies if he wants to. Maybe you should ask him out, Jolene.” She took a generous gulp of her drink. “Show him a good time and let that man butter your biscuit.” She snickered gleefully.

I reached over to the table and picked up her blue drink, polishing it off for her since I could tell her tiny figure had had enough.

It settled my nerves, but only slightly.

My body needed more than just liquid anesthetic to put an end to the persistent throb that the preacher awakened.

“Nonna, I’ll get you some snacks. The buffet looks amazing. Have a seat, and I’ll bring you a plate.” I pointed to a comfy-looking chair and plumped the pillows for her, knowing how much she liked to be waited on. I said a quick prayer that she’d not spill anything on the white upholstery and that she’d take me up on my offer so I’d be safe from her embarrassing observations about the delectable creature who stared, startling me with the smoldering flame in his eyes. “I’ll get you a bit of everything,” I proposed.

“Please,” she said, all manners and grace now, fluffing her party skirt like a young Sandra Dee and crossing her still slender-ankles to better showcase her assets.

“Nonna’s in rare form tonight,” Jessica said from behind me.

“You can say that again,” I responded. “Par for the course. I guess she keeps life interesting, doesn’t she?”

“That she does,” Jessica bubbled, raising her voice to be heard over Ella Fitzgerald’s “Santa Claus Got Stuck in My Chimney,” which someone put on the stereo. My bestie regarded me with amusement. “To tell you the truth, though? What she said there about Reverend Pritchett? She was kind of echoing my thoughts. Maybe you should have a go at him.”

I lowered my voice to a hushed whisper. “‘Have a go,’ Jessica?” She had the good graces to look embarrassed. My friends respected me enough to refrain from constantly inquiring about whether I was ever going to date again. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t on their minds. They didn’t have to speak a word to let me know that was the case.

Why was it that people were so interested in the sex lives of others?

I left Jessica to keep Nonna company and headed to the buffet. How ironic was it that, thanks to my business, Peen-Unseen, I made my living by encouraging sexual positivity, when my actual, nonelectronic sex life was as dry as a desert?

The charmingly crocheted vibrator cases allowed a woman to maintain discretion and fed not only me but also the young women in a local treatment program. Some of Nonna’s relatives bought a craftsman-style home in Briarville with separate bungalows built around the rest of the property. They helped girls who were abducted by, hired, or coerced into working for human and drug traffickers, and with the profits from my business, I made substantial donations every quarter.

I never thought when I moved to this area that my life would become complete: my own business and a circle of friends who loved me. I chose to remain single, and there was nothing wrong with that.

Was there?

At the buffet line, I piled Nonna’s plate high with food while putting a sampling of everything on my own.

“Let me help you with that,” spoke a deep voice beside me.

I didn’t need to turn to see who was talking, but I did anyway. It was the very same confounded rancher-slash-reverend that lived down the road from my place and who’d seemingly jump-started my sex drive. Even though the sound was familiar and I had absolutely no reason to startle, that’s exactly what I did.

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