Page 1 of Broken Daddy

Chapter1

Genevieve

The guy fucking me against a brick wall in the back alley looks vaguely familiar, and that thought is what keeps edging me. Every time I’m close to coming, the rough feeling of the wall on my bare ass and his hip bones digging into my thighs wrapped around his waist, the image of his eyes flash through my mind.

Who are you?I want to ask.

Instead, I let out a moan, knocking my head back against the wall. A sliver of pain rushes down my spine and I arch my back.

It’s the right move; my clit rubs against his pelvic bone, andthere it is.

“Fuck, yes.”

The words come out as a groan as he keeps ramming into me, fingers digging into my ass cheeks as he rocks my hips against him. My pussy throbs around his ironhard cock and pleasure morphs into pain, then back as his grip tightens.

With a curse, he finishes, burying himself deep inside, panting against my neck.

In the dim light of the alley, his eyes are a deep forest green when he looks up. “Good?”

I nod and he carefully drops me to my feet. To most women, this guy would be deliciously tall. He’s only got a few inches on me, though, as I’m close to six feet myself. Dusting off the plain T-shirt I wore under my chef’s jacket tonight, I surreptitiously follow it up with yanking up my underwear and leggings.

This guy is adjusting himself. Practical, practiced—though, is that a blush on his face? I raise a brow and clear my throat and the color darkens.

Definitely a blush.

“You come here often?” I joke once we’re both relatively put together.

He stares at me, face like carved stone. It hits me all over again how handsome he is. Normally, I don’t go for older guys, but it’s been a while and…thisguy.

Again, there’s that nagging sensation I know him from somewhere…

“No. First time.”

Okay. So he’s not a regular customer, then. I definitely would’ve noticed him before.

My grin softens into an awkward smile as I skirt around him, walking toward the front of The Black Fig. It’s late, almost one in the morning. For whatever reason, he stuck around. Shouldn’t be surprising, really, since he propositioned me first.

“Do you know that guy?” Sienna, my pastry chef, asks. She jerks her chin toward the dining room—where only one table is still occupied.

“No.”

It’s obvious who she’s talking about. The single table has two women and one man sitting at it. The two women are a couple, I think. They keep linking fingers under the table and grazing one another’s thighs. Sweet. And kind of a relief, because the man hasdefinitelycaught my eye.

He glances my way again and the table shakes suddenly as his knees bump it. Wine glasses wobble, the women exclaim quietly, and Sienna chuckles at my side.

“Looks like he has eyes only for you, Gen.”

I bite back a smile and try to focus on cleaning the kitchen with my crew. Not that it’s often a mess; The Black Fig has an open kitchen, one that customers can see into, so I run a tight ship. Stainless steel has to sparkle. Wood must be well-oiled. Knives hung straight and pots and pans all facing one direction on their hooks.

I’m so focused on scrubbing down the prep counter, I don’t notice when he wanders over just after eleven. Technically, we’re closed. The women have left together. The guy sits at the bar a few feet away and asks for a whiskey.

Why bother playing games? I look up and meet his gaze directly as he takes his first sip.

What I want to say is,I feel like I know you from somewhere.Instead I ask, “Do you normally hang around in restaurants after hours?”

“No.” His answer is short, direct, and intriguing. I like when a man doesn’t play games.

“You don’t quite fit the bill of our usual clientele.” My eyes run over his outfit—a flannel shirt, jeans, and work boots.

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