Page 80 of The Single Dad Project

Shock rocked through him, and for a long moment, he stood there, staring at his side of the door. Blinking, he shook his head and quickly opened it.

“Flo,” he greeted, unable to keep his surprise from his voice. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes.” Pause. “No.”

He arched an eyebrow and scanned her. Still dressed in the dark green, long-sleeved shirt and wide-legged jeans she’d worn at the picnic earlier, he didn’t notice any obvious signs of injury or hurt. But when he raised his gaze back to hers, he caught a glimpse of what might have brought her to his doorstep tonight.

“You want to come in?” he asked, and the need reflected in her eyes churned inside him. Roughened his voice.

She stared at him, hesitated. Then...

“Yes,” she whispered.

He shifted back a step, silently inviting her in. And she didn’t hesitate to enter.

For a moment he closed his eyes, her jasmine-and-cedarwood fragrance teasing him, tempting him. Slowly, he shut the door, acknowledging that he was probably making his biggest mistake yet by letting her into the house.

Letting her into the house when just the sight and scent of her had his cock hardening and his heart pounding.

Nothing good could come from this visit. Nothing.

And yet, he followed her into the living room, studying the elegant line of her back, the flare of her hips, that proud, sensual stride. On that dance floor he’d felt branded by her tight, curvy body pressed to his. Even now his palms tingled with the sensory memory of touching her.

Flo paused next to the couch, her fingers trailing along the arm. Was she thinking about what happened the last time they were together on that couch? Because hell, he couldn’t walk past his living room without picturing it, feeling it.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

He didn’t need to ask what she thanked him for; because of that connection he didn’t want to reflect on, he understood.

The dance. Listening to her. The conversation.

Jesus, Flo had been seconds from breaking him.

This beautiful, strong woman had allowed him to see her at her most vulnerable. Had clung to him. She’d allowed him to comfort her.

Andshethankedhim?

No, it should be the other way around. She’d blessed him with a gift.

“Is everything okay?” he asked again. “Did something happen with your family?”

“No.” She huffed out a short chuckle. “You don’t have to worry. There haven’t been any more meltdowns.”

“Is that why you’re here?” he pressed, stepping forward. Damn, he hadn’t intended to. He’d ordered himself to maintain distance, because that lowered the possibility of him getting his hands on her. But everything in him called to her, craved to be close because Florence Dennison fascinated him as much as she made his dick ache. It triggered his flight-or-fight response. And God help them both, he wasn’t running. “Are you looking for a father figure in me?” He moved closer. “Because your gratitude isn’t something I want.”

She studied him, not responding to his this-side-of-rude jab. Staring down into those dark brown eyes, he suspected she deciphered the verbal swipe for what it was—self-preservation. A defense.

This time she took the step forward. And another. And another.

And didn’t stop until her toes nudged his. Until their thighs and chests nearly brushed.

Until his cock nearly grazed her belly.

“I don’t have daddy issues. I have two fathers, actually, and I don’t need another one.” She tilted her head. “I came here because I was lying in my bed, and it was too big, too empty. And here with you, it’s not empty... I’m not alone.”

Dammit. He locked down a growl that worked its way up his chest.

“What’s not empty, queen?” he pushed.

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