Chapter 26 - Kate
Ican tell by the taunting smell of garlic and butter hitting me the second I open my front door that Grumpy Daddy is in my kitchen again.
I move into the kitchen, and, yep, it’s him alright.
Sleeves rolled, pan sizzling, bookish apron hugging his body, hips shaking, singing what I think is a Celine tune under his breath.
The man owns my place, judging by the way my nights have started to taste like comfort and danger served on a plate.
The way his hands stir the spoon makes warmth curl low in my stomach.
That kind of warmth is dangerous if I let it spread.
Wanting someone is one thing. Letting them take up space in my life is something I swore never to entertain.
I’ve spent years keeping my kitchen as empty as my bed.
Now I wonder if I’ll smell cinnamon and cedar the second I open the door.
“Another reward, Daddy?” I greet him with a hug, squeezing him tightly, pressing my nose into his shirt, breathing in his cinnamon and wood scent. My personal cologne of sin and salvation.
He squeezes my arm. “You survive the packing and lifting without breaking your back, and I keep feeding and massaging you. That’s the deal.”
My feet may be on the floor, but my heart’s exploding glitter, and I’m floating in giddy happiness after Daddy’s words last night. For once, there’s no shadow, and I finally feel free of the dark clouds and storms, the sunlight grazing my skin.
I smile into his shoulders and drum my palms on his pecs. “Bonus book boyfriend points.”
He turns his helmet enough to show the steam film on his visor. “Boyfriend, huh?” His way of playing it down.
“It’s just an expression,” I backpedal, tipping my chin, searching the black polycarbonate wall, desperate for his eyes.
“I’ve been interning,” he says low. “I’m thinking of applying for the job.”
The pulse on his neck beats fast, and I question if he weighs whether to walk the words back.
I squeeze him harder. “Did my grumpy, masked vengeance-obsessed stalker just take the next step?”
He clasps my hand. “Yep, and I want good perks for the job. Permission to disappear your boss, torture Blackthorn, and get rid of anyone else that made you cry. Then deliver you roses, chocolates, fill a bath, and light candles.”
Colored nightclub lights strobe in my chest. A nervous laugh threatens to tumble up my throat and spill out. I want to shriek, dance, make a joke, deflect the way I always do when something is raw and frightening. I can’t. Not this time.
“I think we need to renegotiate,” I reply. “Those sound like perks for me.”
“I’m not in this for dental or overtime.” His thumb strokes mine. “I take my compensation in you.”
Can this man get any more perfect?
He turns back to the stove and stills like he regrets saying it and letting me glimpse behind the fortified wall he doesn’t let anyone see behind.
Temptation zaps in my fingers to pry off that helmet, throw myself into his arms, and kiss him like I mean it.
I settle for the contract signed in fire this time. “That’s an offer I can’t refuse. You’re hired, Daddy!”
“Good.” He moves around my kitchen, grabbing spices from the rack, flavoring the sauce.
He’s making himself at home. The worst part is, I really like his warmth and presence. If I let him in too far, I don’t know if I’ll have the heart or strength to prevent him from burrowing deeper into my world.
“Keep stirring this for me, would you, Glitter Bomb?” He slips away as if the vulnerability is too much and tries to cover it with his next task.
I let him have that moment because I need to breathe after a declaration like that.
Somehow, my chest feels too small for the bonfire he ignited, and any second now, I’m going to combust. I stir the pot and pretend the steam is the reason my eyes water, giving him the space to retreat while I fall deeper into him.
“I’ve been trying to get PJ3 to eat,” he says. “I’m worried he’s sick.”
I crush my lips together and try not to laugh. Joke’s on my grumpy stalker. I stay quiet and observe, absently stirring the sauce so it doesn’t burn.
Grumpy Daddy picks up Josh and plops him near his bowl of fresh sliced beef and waits by him. The little prince sniffs and turns his nose up.
My stalker picks up a slice and tries to feed the finicky terrier. “Is he a fussy eater? Doesn’t he like beef? I bought him the good stuff from the butcher, not the supermarket crap.”
Fussy? Understatement.
“There’s a protocol to the feeding ritual.” I move to join them and pet the little prince. “The key is reciting magical phrases and petting him at the same time. Josh has a praise kink.”
“Don’t be a smartass,” Daddy grumbles, trying again and picking up the meat to hand-feed to no avail.
Pet praise kink is one hundred percent real, but I’m about to ham it up to really get my grumpy savior going.
“His favorite line is ‘Good boy.’” I wag my brows and tease Daddy, but pet praise kink is no laughing matter if my dog starves.
Daddy side eyes me, shakes his head, crouches down and lifts the bowl to Josh’s face. The canine sniffs but plants his butt on the ground in a clear statement of N.O.
I make no move to give Josh a bone, so to speak. Daddy feeding my pet is a bonding ritual to build trust and affection. Father and son time.
After a minute of concern, my stalker’s soft side gives in, and he curses. “If you’re teasing me, Glitter Bomb, I’ll edge you all night and won’t let you come.”
“Keep it PG around the kid, please,” I scold.
“That’s a good boy,” Daddy tries out the praise. “Look how good the beef tastes. Yummy, isn’t it? One bite at a time, that’s it.”
I pull out my phone and activate the record function, because this deserves to go on record. I bite my lip hard to suppress my laugh and give away that I’m filming this.
The terrier’s head dips and he starts to sample Daddy’s present.
“See? Told you!” I clap and laugh at my stalker.
“I sound like an idiot.” Grumpy Daddy’s helmet swings in my direction. “If you load this to social media or send this to your friends, we’ll have an argument in the bedroom.”
I take the hint and don’t stop filming, because I want to be edged and be Daddy’s good little girl.
I bait Daddy a bit more. “You’ve really got to get into his back massage to stimulate the gastric juices.”
“You’re having me on now, aren’t you?” he growls.
Damn. Fun while it lasted. “Just the juices bit,” I admit.
He surprises me and wriggles his fingers harder, and Josh’s body arches into the motion. “Good pups get back scratches, don’t they?” The dog sways his sides to get more from his personal masseuse. “Yeah, that’s it. Eat it all up.”
Josh slurps up the last morsel and prances off, tail swishing.
My stomach unclenches from all the laughter and buzz of warmth humming in my chest.
I go up and rub Daddy’s chest. “That’s how you do it, Grumpy.”
He wraps an arm around my shoulder. “You listen when I tell you to be a good girl, and PJ3 listens when I tell him to eat. I’m practically a domestic god.”
I snort. “You’ve been appointed into the pantheon. Your godly name is Grumpeous, god of Spoiled Brats. That sounds Greek, right?”
“Good enough.” His palm lands on my ass. “I’m going to punish you for filming that.”
“Hashtag worth it, Daddy.”
He resumes his post at the stove and takes over the stirring.
I move into the lounge to pack a few orders before eating.
“No more orders tonight, Glitter Bomb,” Daddy orders. “It’s a rest day. Play a game with me.”
“Play?” My brows ache suggestively. “What are we talking about? Stalker Hide and Seek? Find your favorite weapon buried in my house?”
Another slap lands on my backside, and I groan at the fire spreading from my backside to the apex between my legs.
“Get your head out of the gutter, you smut fiend.” Damn. His immunity to my jokes is strengthening, and I need to rectify that. “I meant a board game.”
“Hashtag morallygrayvanilla.” I throw him a grin over my shoulder as I open the buffet’s door to reveal a pile of board games. “What’s your poison, Daddy? Monopoly? Scrabble? Exploding Kittens? Strip Poker?”
He comes up and rubs my neck. “If I pick Scrabble against a journalism major, how badly am I going to lose?”
“Bad.” I grin. “You’re in my house, Grumpy Daddy. House rules are in effect.”
It’s only fair I reclaim some ground in the power stakes here.
“Which are?” His hands tighten on me.
“If you lose, you perform a dramatic Celine Dion ballad of your choice for Josh.” I poke where I think his nose is under his visor. “Full sincerity. No skipping the high notes.” And I know every one of them by heart.
He groans like I’m taking him for a root canal. “Why do I feel like I’m being hustled?”
He is!
Once we finish dinner—me blindfolded while he eats—I take his hand and lead him into the living room, taking a seat diagonally from him, close enough for him to clasp my leg or play with my hair.
Despite the new order of stock lining one wall, my house feels cozier than it ever has. Josh claims the ottoman like the overlord he is. My muscles ache from carting all the boxes inside, but there’s a delicious empowerment of my building my business.
Daddy’s shirt rides up as he leans forward to set up the board and letter trays, and I drag my nails along his side.
This man is dangerous in more than one way.
Damn. I notice everything like that, because of my pastimes, and my libido doesn’t respect the concept of a board game break when I know he’ll satisfy me later.
“You’re staring,” he says, without looking up from spreading out the tiles in the box lid.
“You’re seriously misled.” I quote a little Celine and give him a final stroke and pick out upside down tiles. “And imagining things with that stalker ego.”
He snorts at me and grabs his own set. “You’re drooling on the carpet.”
“Stop trying to disarm me, Daddy.” I set the letters in my tray.
He wraps his fingers around my neck and forces me to look at him. “Some of us don’t need to spell orgasm for triple points.”
I mock indignation and lift my tray, holding it close to my chest. “Stop peeking at my letters.”
I love this version of him. Gruff, teasing, but with soft edges when no one else is watching. Screw the triple points. This man is a triple threat to my heart.
“Prepare yourself, Daddy,” I say. “Your heart and performance will go on.”
His hand tightens on my throat, a sort of kiss he can’t make with his mask on. “Don’t get too cocky, Glitter Bomb. You don’t know what tiles I’m packing here.”
He releases me and organizes his tiles into a word, his tattoos shifting with the flex of his arms.
The game soon devolves into chaos. Silly words. Make-believe words. Dirty words. I set down lust, he drops kill, and Josh barks when one of us laughs. By the time I spring glitter on him, Daddy curses under his breath like he’s reconsidering agreeing to this.
He crawls over and pats me down like a cop. “Are you hiding a secret stash of letters?”
“How dare you accuse me of cheating!” I smack his shoulder. “I won’t forgive you until you kiss me.”
He covers my eyes, removes his helmet, and more than earns exoneration with his teasing little tongue flicks with brief kisses. Visor back on, he releases me and falls back into place.
“Nervous?” I tease him, squeezing his knee, and his hand pinches mine, and I squeak.
“If you win here, I’ll win up there.” He lifts his gaze to the ceiling, hinting at the bedroom, and I know he’s going to tie me up, drape me over his lap, and paddle my ass until its pink, my eyes are watering, and I’m wet and begging for him to take me.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m resting on my knees, recording Daddy giving the performance of his life…
or death. He stands in the middle of the living room, arms spread wide, mimicking the scene from the Titanic movie, belting out Celine with a pained growl that is bound to upset my grouchy neighbor.
Daddy’s gravelly voice isn’t bad, and he commits to the dare with tortured sincerity that hurt my abs in the best way.
Josh can’t help himself and howls along, probably declaring us part of his little wolf pack.
I wheeze into a pillow. “Josh! I can’t. Your dad is sinking this song.”
Daddy drops to one knee, clutching his chest, pretending to hold a microphone, serenading me with the end of the song like he’s been shot with Cupid’s arrow. Wow, he even nails the high note and collapses onto the rug, resting his helmeted head in my lap.
“Never again, Glitter Bomb,” he pants.
I stroke his heaving chest in the absence of his face.
Breathless from laughter, I say, “Oh, Daddy. That was… art. I think you summoned Celine’s spirit to personally knight you.”
He shoves my knee. “You’re lucky I like you.”
Warmth curls in my chest at the quiet truth behind his joke. I imagine this is our life—games, laughter, teasing, praise kink, Celine Dion ballads, and not a single Roman breathing down our necks.
“How much?” It comes out before I can stop it.
He lifts off me and pulls me onto his lap. “Enough to kill for you and reward you with touch her and die trope.” He lifts his helmet high enough to lightly kiss and suck my neck.
I crush him to me and fumble for a reply. “I’m awarding you an honorary degree in Romanceology for all that study.”
He spanks my backside. “About time.”
“Board games are over, Glitter Bomb.” He climbs off the floor with me in his arms. “The games upstairs commence.”
My fight with him being in my home and life is lost. I’m not just letting him stay, I’m making room for him in my life.