Daddy's Naughty Author (Naughty Girls #1)

Daddy’s Naughty Realtor

T he house is quiet, the open house is just about to end. For the moment, it’s just me, a glass of chilled rosé, and my phone, lighting up with the latest chatter from the Naughty Girls Book Club.

I settle against the sleek kitchen island, scrolling through the messages, waiting for the time to pass. I won’t leave until the end time on the open house announcements, just in case there are any last minute stragglers.

RJ: Ladies, I’m officially off the market. That announcement sends the chat into a frenzy.

Maggie: WHAT?! Our queen of smutty romances has been claimed?

Tessa: Wait, wait, back up. Is it HIM? The sexy neighbor?!

RJ: KC, the Special Forces dreamboat? Yeah, it’s him. And let’s just say, he does NOT disappoint.

I grin, shaking my head. RJ is one of my favorite authors and the mastermind behind our little online book club, where we indulge in all things steamy and dominant. We’d bonded over our shared love of alpha heroes who knew exactly how to handle their heroines—and now, it turns out, she’d found one of her own.

Me: Good for you, RJ. But be honest, does he growl or spank? Or both… asking for a friend.

A flood of laughing emojis fills the chat, and I chuckle, taking a sip of wine.

My friends all tease me about my single status, but the truth is, I’m content. I’ve been married, raised my kids, built a life that’s mine and mine alone. Sure, my youngest is still in college, and I help out when needed, but my nest is empty, and I like it that way. No messy relationships, no one else’s needs dictating my time. Just my career, my independence, and the occasional indulgence in fictional fantasies.

And really, what more could a woman want?

Just as I’m about to type out something witty, a noise at the front of the house draws my attention. The open house ends in two minutes.

Frowning, I set my phone down and smooth a hand over my dress. Then the front door swings open.

And the past walks in, wearing broad shoulders, salt-and-pepper hair, and a smirk that makes my stomach drop straight through the gleaming hardwood floors.

Jeremy Ford.

My heart slams against my ribs. My brain fires off a million alarms. But my body? My traitorous, treacherous body?

It still remembers.

He looks… damn. Broad shoulders filling out a crisp navy button-down. Salt-and-pepper hair that should make him look older but somehow makes him even more devastating. And that smirk—that same cocky, arrogant smirk that used to make my sixteen-year-old knees weak.

I don’t even realize I’m gripping the kitchen counter until his gaze flicks down, lingering there, before dragging back up to my face.

“Well, well,” Jeremy drawls, his deep voice threading through me like a slow, lazy caress. “You are the last person I expected to see here. How are you doing, kitten?”

My fingers twitch. “We’re not doing that.”

He chuckles, taking his sweet time strolling into my pristine, multi-million-dollar listing like he owns the place. He leans one hip against the island, crossing his arms over his chest, and it takes everything in me not to notice the way his forearms flex.

“Doing what?” His eyes gleam.

“Whatever this is.” I gesture vaguely between us, trying to ignore the heat creeping up my neck. “You showing up out of nowhere after decades apart. Calling me—” I grit my teeth. “That ridiculous nickname.”

He tilts his head. “Ridiculous? You used to purr when I called you that.”

Oh, he did not just?—

I inhale sharply, hands flattening on the counter. “Are you here to look at the house or just to be a pain in my ass?”

Jeremy’s smirk deepens. “Who says I can’t do both?”

I let out a slow breath. I am a professional. I deal with arrogant men all the time. This is no different.

Except it is.

Because this is Jeremy.

And the last time I saw him—our sophomore year of college—he was breaking my heart. We’ve both lived a dozen lifetimes since then. There is no way, none, that I’m going to let him into my life again. I’m a professional with my own office and team. I’ll have someone else deal with him once I leave today.

I straighten, arms folding tight across my chest. “You’re looking to buy?”

He nods. “I am. Just moved back to town.”

I arch a brow. “Didn’t think you’d ever come back here.”

He watches me, his gaze softer now. “It’s been a long time, Gina.”

“Not long enough.” The words are out before I can stop them.

Jeremy exhales, his expression shifting. For a second, he almost looks… regretful. But then he steps closer, deliberately invading my space, and I swear the air between us crackles.

“So,” he murmurs, “are you going to show me the house, or do you just want to keep pretending you don’t like seeing me again?”

My pulse kicks up. I school my face into its usual mask of calm, then pivot sharply on my heel.

“I’m not pretending. Come on, this way.”

I lead him through the house, rattling off features—custom cabinetry, floor-to-ceiling windows, the kind of smart-home tech that makes even millionaires drool, but I can feel his eyes on me the entire time.

By the time we reach the master suite, my nerves are shot.

I turn to face him, prepared to wrap this up quickly, but Jeremy’s already leaning against the doorframe, studying me with a look I can’t quite place.

“Still a workaholic, huh?” he muses.

I bristle. “And you’re still a cocky pain in the ass.”

His lips twitch. “You used to like that about me.”

I lift my chin. “I used to like a lot of things when I was young and stupid.”

His smirk falters. For a brief, dangerous second, I see the boy I once loved, the one who used to kiss me like I was his whole world, the one who held my hand under the table at our favorite diner, the one who swore he’d never hurt me.

And then he did.

I clear my throat, shoving those memories aside. “Are you actually interested in this house?”

Jeremy watches me, then pushes off the doorframe, closing the distance between us in a few slow, measured steps.

“I’m interested,” he says, voice dropping. “Just not in the house.”

Heat floods my cheeks. I take a careful step back, and his lips curve like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.

I need to shut this down. Now.

I square my shoulders. “Then you can see yourself out.”

To my frustration, Jeremy only chuckles. “This is going to be fun.”

I glare. “This is going to be strictly business.”

He hums, unconvinced. “We’ll see.”

Before I can retort, his phone buzzes in his pocket. He glances at the screen, sighs, and mutters something under his breath before tucking it away.

“Looks like I have to run.” He steps back, and I swear I almost sag with relief. “But don’t worry, kitten.” His smirk is back, full force. “I’ll be in touch.”

Then, just to drive me insane, he reaches out and tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

My breath catches.

And then he’s gone.

The moment the door clicks shut, I let out a long, shuddering exhale.

I should be furious. I should be annoyed. I should be anything except… flustered.

But as I reach for my phone—desperate to text my Naughty Girls Book Club about the absolute train wreck that just walked back into my life—I already know exactly what they’re going to say.

They’re going to tell me I’m in trouble.

And for once?

They might be right.