Daddy's Naughty Author (Naughty Girls #1)

Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

I got exactly zero minutes of sleep last night. I stayed up all night working on my deadline for my new book and trying to get KC from my mind. Now, as daylight peeks through my window, I send off my manuscript to my editor. Yawning, I realize how tired I am. Exhausted doesn’t even begin to touch it. My forearm is in so much pain, and I rub it frantically, feeling the heat radiating from it. Ice. I need ice. As I pad into the kitchen, I notice the overflowing garbage can from the number of takeout dinners I’ve eaten in the last three days. Sighing, I grab the bag and head outside.

I'm starting to think KC has a sixth sense for when things go awry in my life. Just as I'm wrestling with the overstuffed trash bag, threatening to spew it all over the ground, there he is—KC, in his military PT uniform.

"Need a hand with that?" His voice carries that signature blend of authority and concern, the kind that simultaneously irks and reassures me.

"Only if you've brought your hazmat suit," I quip, but I'm secretly grateful as he strides over and effortlessly hoists the bag from my grip. It's unsettling how quickly I've become accustomed to his presence. We’ve gone from barely waving hello to talking constantly.

"Thanks, Knight in Shining Armor," I say, half-mocking, half-sincere. "My kingdom for a man who knows his way around a trash bag." Am I over the top? Yes. Will that change anytime soon? Nope. But also, the more exhausted I am, the more sarcasm comes out.

"Your kingdom seems to run heavily on caffeine and takeout," he observes with a smirk, and I stick out my tongue in response. Mature, I know.

"Speaking of caffeine..." KC trails off, “stay there.” A second later he returns. “I ran by our spot after PT and picked you up one, too. I remember you said you had a deadline and were working around the clock.”

Our spot.

He said our spot, is he even aware of his word choice? Technically, was that our first date? I mean, was it even a date at all? My thoughts whirl as I take the coffee from him, the familiar warmth seeping into my palms. "Thank you. You're spoiling me, Campbell. What's next? Breakfast in bed?"

"Let's not give the neighbors more to talk about," he says, and we share a conspiratorial grin. Our retired neighbor across the street had made a comment about the two of us spending more time together. Our fake relationship might be new to us, but it's already old gossip on the block.

"God forbid we become the scandal of the century when we fake break up." I sip the coffee, letting the rich bitterness play against my tongue, and it's perfect. Of course, it is. KC is annoyingly good at getting things right. He pays more attention to the small details than any man I really dated.

"Scandal is just foreplay for the bored," he retorts. “I have little time for scandal or drama.”

"Look at you, quoting my book club's motto." I tease, raising an eyebrow. There's an undeniable chemistry running between us, charging our banter with an energy that feels both dangerous and exhilarating.

"Can't have you thinking I don't pay attention," he winks, and my stomach does this ridiculous little flip that I'll blame on the extra shot of espresso.

"Careful, or I'll start believing you're actually enjoying this charade," I say, my voice light, but my gaze locked onto his. There's something in the way he looks back at me, a spark of something genuine, that makes my heart race.

"Who says I'm not?" The corner of his lip quirks up, and I'm hit by the sudden realization that, despite our contrived circumstances, there might just be a kernel of truth to this whole facade. I mean, he did kiss me last night. Even if it was super brief. Even if he did apologize after. Even if it was chaste. I’m too tired right now to think clearly. I bite my lip to keep from saying something I shouldn’t and decide on sarcasm instead.

"Touché, Sergeant Casanova," I mutter, hiding my surprise behind another sip of coffee. For a moment, we simply stand there, sharing the silence, until he coughs.

"Better head inside and shower before I’m late for work," he says, “don’t forget about tomorrow.” Is there a hint of reluctance in his departure as he turns to go or is it only wishful thinking? As he heads off to his house, I head inside and to my bed. My last thought before drifting off is wishing I could be in the shower with him.

Margaret’s college roommate, the woman KC calls, “Aunt Monica” had recently retired to a small-town in-between Colorado Springs and Denver. We pulled up to the beautiful house and are quickly welcomed inside. The house is warm, filled with the comforting scent of baked goods and the gentle hum of conversation. Monica, although recently moved in, has a home that feels lived in. She has soft throw blankets draped over the couches, framed photos cluttering the mantel, and a steady stream of iced tea being poured into glasses with fresh lemon slices. It reminds me of the kind of place you can’t help but relax in, which is exactly what I need since I’m already on edge. When KC and I decided to pull this off, it was one dinner, and maybe a coffee or brunch before his mom left. All week, he’d entertained his mother alone, using my deadline as an excuse. But today? Today was the day I’ll likely earn every one of those books he’s promising me.

After introductions and a quick tour, I find myself sitting on a couch in the living room while KC is outside with the men, tossing a football around. Darn him. He’s left me stranded in the lion’s den, or rather, lioness’ den. I’m pretty sure that lionesses are the hunters and more dangerous than lions, right? Or is that something I’ve made up in my mind?

“So, Rebekah,” Monica says, her eyes twinkling as she settles back into her chair, “you’re a writer, huh?”

I nod, wrapping my hands around my mug for comfort. “Yep. Romance.”

Tiffany, Monica’s daughter, perks up from her spot on the couch. “Like spicy romance?” she asks, grinning. “Anything I might have heard of?”

I hesitate, feeling Margaret’s curious eyes on me. “Some of it is spicy, yes,” I admit, trying not to squirm.

Monica laughs. “Oh, I like her already. I pay for Tif’s Kindle Unlimited subscription as a birthday present every year. We both enjoy reading all sorts of romance. For Tif, the darker the better. I enjoy a lighter, kinkier romance.”

Oh God.

If she reads light and kinky, there’s a chance she’s read my books. I’m not prepared for this. Not at all.

Margaret, to my surprise, just shakes her head with an amused expression. “KC didn’t mention what kind of romance books you wrote. But that doesn’t surprise me.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Why’s that?” I wonder briefly if there’s something about me that screams, I write naughty romance?

Margaret sips her tea. “It’s not what you write that doesn’t surprise me, it’s the fact that I don’t know. Because my son is about as open as his locked gun safe when it comes to personal details. He’s not exactly an open book. I mean, you were dating for months before he even brought you up, and only because I was arranging a date for him for a friend’s wedding.”

I huff out a laugh. “That sounds about right.”

Tiffany leans forward, clearly intrigued and wanting to change the topic back to books. I decide I like her already. “Okay, but like… are you one of those authors who writes about billionaires and secret babies? Sexy hockey players? Oh! Mafia? Do you write dark mafia?”

I smile. “No secret babies or mafia, but I’ve definitely written about my fair share of broody alpha males.”

Margaret tilts her head. “And KC? Would you say he fits the description?”

I nearly choke on my sweet tea. “Oh, uh?—”

Monica and Tiffany both burst out laughing, while Margaret just watches me, waiting for my answer. The weird part is, I’m not as flustered as I thought I’d be. Instead, my response comes surprisingly easy.

“He’s definitely broody,” I say, feeling a little smug. “And a little overprotective. Maybe a little bossy.”

Margaret smirks. “Sounds about right.”

Tiffany gasps. “So, are you’re saying KC is basically a romance hero? I can’t see it. Maybe it’s because I’ve literally known him my entire life.”

I think about the way he told me to wear a coat, how he scolded me for not locking my door, how he kissed me on his porch just days ago.

I swallow and remember I am supposed to be his girlfriend. “Maybe.”

Monica grins. “What’s your penname? I want read your books.”

I let out a nervous laugh. “Oh, uh, just… keep in mind, they’re fiction.”

“Fiction inspired by real life, I bet,” Margaret muses. “Where did you two go on your first date?”

I hesitate, knowing I need to stick to the fake relationship story KC, and I have been telling. But again, the answer comes easier than I expect.

“He took me out for coffee,” I say honestly. “I was helping him out with something, and he rewarded me by taking me to my favorite coffee shop.”

Margaret gives me a knowing look. “Helping him out, huh?”

“Sometimes, when he has to go out of town for work, I keep an eye on his place. Actually, he helps me out a lot more than I help him. He’s very helpful.”

Tiffany wiggles her eyebrows. “I bet he is.”

I groan. I stepped right into that one. “You guys are relentless.”

Monica waves me off. “Oh, come on, we’re just having fun. Besides, you’re the first woman KC has ever brought around. You can’t blame us for being a little curious.”

Margaret nods. “Exactly. And for what it’s worth, I like you.”

The words take me by surprise. Margaret doesn’t say it like she’s just being polite. She says it like she means it.

A warmth spreads through me. “I like you too,” I admit. “I was a bit worried about meeting you. You know, meeting your boyfriend’s mom for the first time can be intimidating and all, but you’ve been great. I enjoyed our dinner the other night.”

Margaret smiles, and just like that, the conversation shifts.

“Now, tell me,” Monica says, leaning back on the couch. “Mags, what do you think of this crazy Colorado weather? I swear, yesterday we had snow covering everything, and today it’s in the sixties. It is nothing at all like South Carolina, am I right?”

“Most people retire to warmer places. Not Monica here. She went from sunny year-round to Colorado.”

“My youngest is attending college at The Air Force Academy,” Monica explains. “And Tif is engaged to an airman stationed at Peterson. It made sense. The weather however…”

I laugh, grateful for the change in subject. “Oh, it’s insane. I still don’t understand how one day I’m bundled up like an Eskimo and the next I’m in a t-shirt and flipflops.”

Tiffany laughs. “The next day? Sometimes it’s the next hour!”

Monica nods. “I’ve picked up one of the local sayings; if you don’t like the weather, just wait an hour.”

We all laugh, and for the first time since walking into this house, I feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. I am truly enjoying the company of these women.

Outside, I hear the muffled sound of KC’s deep laugh, and something in my chest tightens.

I might be in trouble.

Later that evening, after we’ve finished dinner, KC and I are headed back into the living room when we hear Monica and Margaret talking. He stops me with a hand on my arm, and I feel especially naughty eavesdropping.

“You know, for being deeply in love, I haven’t seen them kiss yet,” Margaret is saying.

“Maybe he isn’t a public display of affection type of person,” Monica volunteers.

“I don’t know, KC is very physical. We all did the love language study and his is sense of touch. I don’t know. Something might be off…” Margaret says.

I see the look in KC’s eyes and before I can figure it out, he’s maneuvered me back into the living room. “We’re going to go ahead and head back home. Early start tomorrow,” he tells the women. Everyone stands to say goodbye and I find myself embraced by both Margaret and Monica. Tiffany and I exchange numbers, promising to meet up later in the week. I turn and see KC motioning for me.

"Come here, baby girl," he says, the endearment sending a shiver straight down to my toes.

Before I can process, he's there, right there, leaning in with the certainty of someone who's done this a thousand times—except he hasn't, at least not with me. His hand snakes around my neck and he grasps it firmly. His lips touch mine, and it's soft at first, a tentative question, but then something shifts, and the kiss deepens. The kiss is aggressively possessive. I forget where I am. I forget this is pretend and I kiss him back.

Our mouths move together with an intensity that takes me by surprise. Well damn, maybe there's a reason those romance novels sell so well after all. This kiss is way beyond anything I could have ever written.

The world tilts on its axis as KC's lips continue to claim mine, and for a disorienting second, I'm not the in a fake relationship. I’m in a real one. This kiss is anything but make believe. My heart thuds and my knees are about as stable as a house of cards in a windstorm. It’s a good thing KC’s arm is around my waist and his hand is grasping my neck, otherwise, I might have collapsed.

His touch is fire, sparking through my veins and igniting something wild within me. I've penned countless kisses, and experienced more than a couple myself, but this kiss? It's hotter than any scene I've ever committed to paper.

"KC," I finally manage, my voice a breathless whisper against his mouth, a plea or maybe a protest—it's hard to tell when every nerve ending in my body is screaming.

As we come up for air, and the world comes rushing back and I hear Monica tell Margaret, “I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

Maybe she doesn’t, but I do.