Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Sam
There was no reason for her to feel so… flustered. She’d known the boy for nearly six years at this point, and this wasn’t the first time he’d been in her home. But there was something different about him this time.
She just couldn’t put her finger on exactly what.
If she didn’t know any better, she might have said he was acting exactly like a Daddy. Or at least how she imagined a Daddy would act, based on the books she had secreted away on her Kindle.
That was ridiculous, though. He was just being polite.
Polite and bossy.
When had he gotten so damn bossy?
Since she couldn’t ask him without being the opposite of polite, she settled for peeling the next potato while the rhythmic thump of his knife hitting the cutting board kept the silence from becoming overwhelming.
Sneaking a glance to the side, she watched him as he chopped up the potatoes she’d already peeled.
His T-shirt clung to those newly developed muscles, so closely she could have run her finger along the outline of each and every one.
And with every controlled movement of the knife, the muscles in his forearm rippled slightly.
What was it about a man’s bare forearms that made her brain just go completely blank? It was unfair that such a seemingly innocent appendage should be so distract—
“Fuck!” Dropping the peeler, she clutched her hand close to her chest, tears welling in her eyes at the sharp pain radiating from her thumb.
“What happened?” Panicked worry colored Dylan’s tone as he abandoned his own chore to rush to her side, gently tugging on her hand so she was forced to show him the cut.
“Nothing. Just a little nick.” Despite her best efforts, her voice wobbled, making her sound far more Little than she would normally allow herself to be around anyone else. “I’ll be fine.”
Whether he heard the change or not, she wasn’t sure, but either way he didn’t release his hold on her hand as he frowned down at the bleeding cut. “Let’s get it cleaned up so I can see how deep it is.”
“Really, it’s fine,” she protested even as he pulled her up out of her chair. “I’ll just go slap a band-aid on it, no biggie.”
“Uh-huh.” Nudging her closer to the kitchen sink, he reached across her to turn on the faucet, and she caught a whiff of his cologne or body wash or whatever it was that made him smell like the inside of one of those all-leather stores in the mall.
But… spicier, somehow, and it made her want to breathe him in as deeply as she could.
Fortunately, common sense prevailed, and she forced herself to focus on her “injury”. Which, of course, brought her attention to the fact his fingers were wrapped around her wrist, firm and unforgiving, yet gentle at the same time.
“Seriously, Dylan, you’re overreacting.”
“Maybe you’re underreacting, Samantha.”
A familiar longing stirred somewhere deep inside of her at the use of her full name.
In all the time she’d known him, he’d only ever called her Sam or “Mrs. Fleming” when he was trying to get a rise out of her.
Though she’d never actually had a Daddy of her own, she’d spent plenty of time dreaming of what she’d want in a Daddy, and her full name spoken in that exact tone of voice had played a significant part in nearly every single one of those fantasies.
Which made it even more difficult for her to stay in her grown-up headspace while he rinsed the blood from her skin and patted it dry with a paper towel before examining it closer.
“Looks like you took a decent chunk out of yourself here, but I don’t think it’ll need stitches. Where do you keep the band-aids?”
“First-aid kit. There’s one in the guest bathroom.”
“Good. Come on, let’s get you bandaged up.”
Jesus, if he’d been anyone other than her son’s best friend, she never would have succeeded at keeping herself from sliding face-first into her Little space. As it was, she was teetering dangerously on the edge as he led her down the hall with that same gentle firmness.
In the bathroom, he let go of her hand to crouch down and search under the sink for the plain white box with the bright red cross. Setting the box on the vanity countertop, he flipped it open, his expression brightening immediately.
“You keep this thing really well stocked.”
Was she imagining things, or was that pride she could hear in his tone? “Comes with the territory. Having a kid,” she clarified when he glanced over at her.
“Ah, that makes sense.” Plucking an alcohol wipe from the box, he ripped open the packet and pulled the wipe free. “Let me see your hand again.”
She stepped back as much as the small space would allow, earning herself a raised brow that sent her heart hammering against her rib cage. “It just needs a band-aid.”
“Samantha.”
Fucking hell, there was that tone again. Like she was the one barely out of school and he was the one on the wrong side of forty instead of the other way around. Ignoring the yearning in her gut, she tucked her hand behind her back. “No. It’s fine.”
“Don’t be stubborn. If the roles were reversed, you’d expect me to clean my cut and put some antibiotic cream on it, wouldn’t you?”
He had her there. And really, she didn’t know why she was being so obstinate.
It was almost as if someone else—a much brattier someone else—had taken up residence in her body and she was just along for the ride.
Resisting the urge to pout, she slowly pulled her hand out from behind her back and held it out to him.
“Good girl.”
Sweet Jesus. That was even worse than just her name. Her heart practically leapt from her chest at his praise, and it was everything she could do to keep herself from smiling like a complete idiot.
Which, in turn, made her feel like an even bigger idiot. “I’m not a dog, Dylan.”
“I never said you were.” His easy response had her rolling her eyes as he tossed the alcohol wipe in the trash and reached for the small tube of antibiotic cream. “But you are being very good for me.”
“I’m just standing here while you fuss over a tiny little cut.”
With a noncommittal hum, he continued fussing, coating the ‘wound’ with the antibiotic cream and returning the yellow tube to the box. Then he picked up the two boxes of band-aids, and she suddenly wished she’d insisted on bandaging herself up.
But there was no judgment in his tone as he held the boxes up for her inspection. “Spider-man or unicorns?”
For god’s sake, why hadn’t she just bought normal fucking band-aids, at least for the guest bathroom? “I don’t need a band-aid. Look, it stopped bleeding.”
“A moment ago, you were insisting it only needed a band-aid. You wouldn’t be lying to me, would you, Samantha?”
“No.” Yes, Daddy. I’m sorry, Daddy. “It has mostly stopped bleeding, I think.”
Pinning her with a look that had her insides quaking, he shook each of the boxes in turn. “Spider-man or unicorns? Pick one, or I’ll pick for you.”
It was a stand-off, and one she had a niggling feeling she didn’t have a chance in hell of winning. “Unicorns,” she finally said with a sigh.
“Unicorns it is.” Setting the Spider-man box aside, he opened up the rainbow-colored box and pulled out a bright, colorful band-aid. With all the precision of a NASA engineer, he carefully placed the bandage on her finger and fastened it into place.
And then he did something that literally had her jaw dropping open. Taking hold of her hand, he lifted it to his lips, and pressed a soft kiss to the unicorn band-aid.
When he looked up, amusement sparkled in the pale green-brown of his eyes as a smile curved his lips upward. “What? Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do? Kiss it and make it better?”
“I—well—yes. I suppose.”
It was what parents did for their children. Or what a Daddy might do for his Little girl.
But that was not what was happening here. He was just teasing her, like always.
Wanting desperately to return to the relative safety of her kitchen, she tried to tug her hand from his grasp but Dylan held tight, carefully avoiding putting any pressure on her injury.
“Um.” She gave her hand another tug, but still he held fast. “We should go finish dinner.”
“We should.” With his eyes still locked on hers, he ran the pad of his thumb over the band-aid and she had to suppress a shiver at the intimate touch. “But not until you promise to be more careful with that peeler.”
“It was an accident, Dylan. You’re making it out to be a much bigger deal than it was.”
“You hurting yourself is a big deal to me, Samantha. Promise me, or I’ll take the peeler from you and finish dinner all by myself.”
“Have you ever even made mashed potatoes?”
“Not from scratch. But I’m sure you could talk me through the process.”
It was tempting. Not just because it had been far too long since anyone had bothered to cook for her, but also because it would serve him right to make threats like that.
But in the end, her own conscience won out and she heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Fine. I’ll be more careful.”
Releasing his hold on her hand, he held up his own, folded into a fist other than a single finger sticking out toward her. “Pinky-swear.”
Despite her embarrassment and utter confusion with the situation, she laughed and hooked her pinky with his. “I pinky-swear that I will be more careful while peeling potatoes.”
“I’ll be holding you to that.”
This time, she wasn’t quick enough to stop the shiver that raced up her spine at the low rumble of his words. Nervous laughter bubbled up inside of her, escaping in a high-pitched giggle as she shook her head. “That almost sounds like a threat.”
“Not a threat. A promise.”
Danger, Will Robinson, Danger!
Unfortunately, her mouth wasn’t inclined to listen to her brain for some reason. “A promise for what?”
With their fingers still linked, he tugged her forward, until she was almost pressed against his chest. The angle forced her head back, and she swallowed hard at the intense expression on his face.
“For now, let’s just say I am very invested in making sure you’re taking care of yourself, and I will do whatever I need to in order to keep you safe. ”
“Did Ethan put you up to this? Because I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myse—”
“Sam, trust me when I say that Ethan doesn’t have the first fucking clue about my interest in you.”
What the hell did that mean? Too cowardly to ask him outright, she jerked her chin up even further, determined to remind him and herself that she was the adultier adult in this situation.
“Well, whatever the reason, I don’t need a keeper.
I’ve done just fine keeping myself and another human alive and thriving for the past twenty-some years. ”
“Disagree.”
Confusion gave way to outright fury. “Fuck you,” she spat before turning to stomp off to the kitchen.
But she didn’t even make it a single step before she found herself spun back into his embrace.
Only this time, there wasn’t even that little bit of space between them, and she learned first-hand exactly how solid the muscles beneath his too-tight shirt were.
“Why are you pissed at me?”
“Seriously?” For someone so damn smart, he was proving to be completely fucking clueless. “Because I said I’ve been doing a perfectly fine job of taking care of my son and myself for the last two decades and you said ‘Disagree’. So, I repeat: Fuck. You.”
“Ah.” His expression softened, and she nearly lost herself in his self-deprecating smile. “That’s my bad. I didn’t mean ‘Disagree’ as in you didn’t do a fantastic fucking job raising a kid all on your own. I was only disagreeing with your assertion that you don’t need a keeper.”
“Oh.” Just as quickly as it had come, the anger fled, leaving her feeling somewhat deflated. And a whole lot embarrassed. “Well, I don’t.”
“Disagree,” he repeated, his usual teasing tone back in place. “You not only need one, you deserve to be taken care of for once. I’d like to be that for you, if you’d let me.”
“Dylan. You’re not making a lick of sense.”
“You’re right.” His smile turned apologetic and he loosened his hold on her. “I promised myself I wouldn’t rush this, but obviously I’ve gotten ahead of myself.”
“Rush what?”
“We can talk about it over dinner.”
Frustration welled in her chest, and it was all she could do not to stomp her foot like a child. “When the hell did you get so stubborn?”
He grinned, that damn dimple flashing again, and now it was all she could do not to throw herself into his arms. “I prefer to think of it as determined.”
“Well, whatever it is, it’s fucking annoying.”
“Believe it or not, you’re not the first person to say that to me.”
“Oh, I believe it.”
Laughing, he turned her back around and nudged her out into the hallway. “Let’s finish up those potatoes, and then we can talk.”