Page 7 of Broken Daddy

Damn.

I’m still attracted to him.

I was hoping that would wear off, after making an ass of myself at the gala.

But no, the man still looks absolutely tempting as I hand my own phone back to him. He’s quick to pull up the contacts and type a number in, leaving the name as Nate Sharpe. Habit, maybe? He seems to want to put a wall up, and the casual use of his name goes against that.

“Thanks.” I take the phone back and slip it into my pocket, trying not to get hung up on the way he runs a hand through his hair. The sunset glow catches in the grays, reflecting, and almost shimmering.

“Tomorrow,” he says shortly, seeming annoyed with something. I cast my mind about, trying to figure out what I did wrong now. “You start tomorrow.”

And with that, he walks back into the house, leaving me alone on the patio with my bags.

Chapter4

Nathan

In the dream, Gen is kneeling in front of me again. Only this time, the wine is onher.

It’s spilled down her breasts, running in a dark river between them, coiling at her hips and thighs. My mouth waters at the sight. I want to lap it off her. I want to drag my tongue over every inch of her naked skin.

Her hands brace on my knees, then slowly move up—fingers digging into my thighs, her eyes set on my cock. It gives an obvious twitch at her attention and Gen licks her lips.

Her eyes dart up to meet mine. “Trust me. I know how to play nice.”

* * *

An hourand a half after waking up, that damn dream is still lingering about like a fog. I try to shrug it off as I dress in a button down and jeans; casual, but the shirt will help me focus on work more than a T-shirt would since I’ll be in the home office today.

Summers are tough. Eva is out of school and I could pay for childcare, but it just doesn’t feel right. Instead I try to alternate my schedule, working from home when I can, going into the office only once or twice a week.

But still working. Still locked away in my office when I have to be, waving Eva off when I’m on a call. It breaks my heart every time. Hardens it a little.

As I open the door to my bedroom, barefoot, a waft of something sweet makes me lift my nose. It’s…familiar. But I can’t quite place it.

Curious, I step out into the hallway and follow the scent to the landing. Down the stairs. Into the kitchen.

Someone is singing.

“She’s got eyes of the bluest skies, and if they…thought of rain…”

My brow crinkles. Guns N’ Roses? Definitely not on my list of favorite bands, and a headache is already starting to form.

Not that the voice isn’tnice.It’s just unwanted at the moment. I’m used to quiet mornings, and now I can hear Eva joining in on the chorus, her childlike voice pitchy and uneven:

“Wooooah, oh, oh, sweet child o’ mine!”

Turning the corner, I pause for a moment and take it in. Gen is standing at the little butcher block island bopping around, Eva perched on the counter behind her, swinging her ponytail in time with the song.

“Oh!” Gen looks up and gives me a wide grin, pretty teeth flashing.Pretty teeth?The headache builds as she chirps, “Good morning! How do you feel about waffles? I’ve found people have pretty strong feelings about them—”

A little Bluetooth speaker on the counter is blasting the song, and something on the stovetop is frying. Bacon, by the smell of it. I grit my teeth and take a deep breath.

“I’m working here today.”

“That’s great,” Gen rambles, opening a waffle iron that was definitelynotin my kitchen the other day and shoveling out a massive Belgian waffle. Eva leans over, her eyes glued to the fluffy treat.

“You need to go get dressed, hon,” I say, taking in my daughter’s pj’s with a glance.

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