Page 90 of Under Daddy's Spell

“You’re on.”

The spell book didn’t mention how much of the potion equaled a dose. By using only the herbs, it was only half of what the spell called for to begin with. Slicing the muffin into quarters, and using a napkin rather than dirtying a plate, she brought it, along with a cup of milk, to where he was reclined on the couch.

“Here you go!” She laid the napkin on his belly and set the milk on the table. Then, she returned to her spot and snuggled up against him again, feeling like the lowest human being who ever lived.

“Not so fast. I can’t eat all of this. You’re splitting it with me.”

Her head came up, and she stared at him in horror.

If she had some, too, what would that do to her? Would the magic affecting one of them cancel the other’s out? Or would Tessa become bewitched with lust while Jordan was set free?

Mercy sakes! There were so many unanswered questions and variables with this stuff, it was really beginning to tick her off.

He held one of the pieces to her lips.

“But, Daddy, I—”

Talking...big mistake.

It gave him an opening, and he popped the small bite of sweet bread right in. While she chewed, struggling against the overwhelming urge to spit it out, Jordan ate his portion then set the rest of it on the table, snubbing the milk.

Oblivious to the fact they’d consumed a juju-infused muffin, he pulled her into his arms again and settled back.

“What did you think?” she asked after she swallowed.

“It was good,” he replied with a distinct rasp in his voice.

The big liar. It was awful, a heck of a lot worse than wonky, and it was all she could do to keep it down. But the question remained, had Jordan had enough for it to work? Since she was unsure, she needed to get him to eat more.

“Want the other half?” she offered, although she felt like a monster for doing so.

“No!” he said, too quickly. “I need some water.”

He practically leaped over her to get to the kitchen island and put his mouth to the faucet without bothering with a glass. As Tessa watched him chug water for a really long time, she drained the cup of milk.

When he returned without a word and took her in his arms again, she wanted to curl up in a ball and cry. She knew what he was doing. Thinking she’d baked them, rather than be honest and admit the muffin-shaped bar of soap she’d served him was so foul it made him gag, her sweet daddy was sparing her feelings.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he observed after several moments ticked by.

“Just tired,” she lied, yet again.

“Maybe I should tuck you in now?”

“Not until we walk Rufus.” Hearing his name, her dog trotted up, tail wagging a mile a minute.

“I’ll do it while you rest.”

“No, Daddy, please. I want to go.”

In case he woke up next to her in the morning and wondered why he had a boring, big-bootied bookworm beside him instead of someone gorgeous like Rebecca Harlowe or the equally beautiful sports announcer, Allie LaForce in his bed—who also had something in common with him—she wanted to spend every second with him.

“It’ll help burn off dinner,” she went on, since he didn’t look convinced. “Besides, I feel worse when I don’t get my morning run and my evening walk, like Rufus does.”

With his chin angled to his chest, he searched her face for several minutes. “Something is going on.”

“Do you feel sick?”

This random question prompted a frown. “I meant with you.”

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