Chapter Six
Daniel
The only thing better than the sight of Rosie licking foam off a spoon is the sound of her licking mustard off her thumb.
I know we’re supposed to be giving the hotel the thumbs up on their fancy-ass meal, but all I care about is feeding this girl some real food.
Tomorrow. We can care about the wedding details tomorrow.
But my plans to take her gambling after dinner are no match for her determination to check another task off our to-do list.
“We need to do the time trial now,” she insists when we leave the restaurant. “During the day tomorrow won’t be an accurate representation of the traffic of people. It’s the wrong time.”
Melanie is having an evening wedding. The ceremony is at seven, followed by photos while her guests start the ten-course meal of almost nothing, and the bride and groom arriving. . . “Remind me of the schedule again?”
As we head to the floor where the on-site chapel is secreted away, Rosie patiently walks me through the plans for Saturday night one more time. Mel wants to arrive in the restaurant for the fourth course, so the timing—
I cut her off. “You know what? I’m not going to remember it all. I trust you that we need to do this dry run.”
She glances sideways at me. “Don’t you hold a lot of complex schedules in your head for work?”
I lean in, smiling at her. “Your point?”
“Maybe your reluctance to retain the details is about not wanting to fully accept that your daughter is all grown up?”
“Any chance you’re studying psychology at Ridge College?”
“Maybe.” She’s smiling back.
“Tuition dollars well spent,” I murmur. “But as I said in the restaurant, I’m proud of her for venturing out into the world and finding someone she loves. No growling this weekend, I promise.”
Her eyes go soft.
That wasn’t all I said over dinner.
I also told her—a sweet young girl of twenty, who doesn’t need to know my drama—that I’m lonely.
Fuck me.
The elevator doors slide open, saving me from having that conversation again. I offer her my arm, ignoring the way my chest goes tight when she slides her little hand against my body. Her knuckles graze my torso, then her fingers wrap around my biceps. “How do you want to do this?”
The first thing she wants to do is look inside the chapel, which is unoccupied at the moment. Once she’s texted Mel a few notes about whatever she sees, she sets her stopwatch, and we head back to the elevator to make our way upstairs.
The hotel has three towers, and at the top of each, there are terraced public spaces on one side and penthouse suites on the other.
The pool is located on the shortest of the three towers, and the restaurant we left not that long ago is at the top of one of the other towers.
My suite is in the final one, the tallest one.
The night view was stunning from the restaurant, but it’s out of this world from the rooftop pool.
And definitely not like anything we have in Conception Ridge—or anywhere in the Pacific Northwest.
Rosie takes a moment to gawk again, then remembers her task.
“Seven and a half minutes,” she reports as she simultaneously types a message to my daughter.
“Not bad. That leaves lots of time for photos because it’s not far from here to the restaurant.”
“Right.” She does a slow circle, taking in more of the rooftop area. The area of the pool that we can see is a gradual walk-in wading area. But the best of it disappears behind built-up rock formations. “This is gorgeous. But it’s a bit cold.”
She shivers, and I shrug out of my jacket. “Here.” I drape it over her shoulders, trying to ignore how good her skin feels against my fingertips as I adjust the collar around her neck.
“Thanks.” She breathes the word, a mere whisper, but I hear it just fine because I have her inside the circle of my arms now.
She tips her head up to look at me, and a wave of profound need slams me in the chest. Her eyes are endless pools I want to get lost in, her mouth a lush playground.
That need tightens and swirls deeper, tugging at me.
I don’t let go of the jacket. “What’s next on our agenda?”
Her gaze turns mischievous. “I think we’re off the clock until the morning. You said something about a card game?”
A white-hot current of possessive jealousy spikes through me. Why did I suggest that? If I take Rosie into a high roller game, the other players will want to play for her.
I would never in a million years let another man touch her.
“We need to work on your poker face first,” I say, buying myself a bit of time.
Her brow dips in confusion. “How are we going to do that?”
I glance around. There’s a bar on the other side of the pool, and they have outdoor heaters set up. “Can I buy you a drink?”
She follows my gaze, still looking confused, but a smile curls up her lips. “Sure.”
We sit in a protected corner of the bar, in a booth built for two. I tell her to keep my jacket on, and I still sit right next to her. For warmth, I tell myself.
A lie.
After we have our drinks—scotch on the rocks for me and unsweetened iced tea for her—I take our paper coasters and set them aside from our drinks. “These are our poker chips.”
“I only have one?”
“We’re both down to our last chip.”
“High stakes.”
“The highest.”
She licks her lips. A sweet tell. She’s already nervous, my precious girl. “What’s the game?”
“It can be anything. Two truths and a lie.”
She cracks a smile, being brave. “Okay.”
“Your choice, do you want to guess or be the dealer, so to speak?”
She takes a deep breath. “I’ll guess.”
I nod, thinking. “All right. I was once in the military, I’m afraid of heights, and my favorite ice cream is pistachio.”
Her gaze is locked on my face as I rhyme them off. “You’ve played this before.”
“Who hasn’t?”
“Me.” She licks her lips again. “I have an advantage here. I know you more than some random person at a card table.”
“You think you know the lie?” There’s no way.
“It’s the ice cream,” she says confidently.
I frown, not ready to admit she’s right. “What’s your reasoning?”
She raises one eyebrow. “Is that a part of the poker face lesson?”
“We haven’t even gotten to that,” I growl, leaning in. “But I want to know how you think you know me.”
She leans in, too. “I do know you.”
How is that possible? Sure, I’ve known her almost her whole life, but tonight has made me think that maybe I don’t really know her at all. Not this newly bloomed woman. Not this confident vixen. “Or you guessed.”
She raises one finger between us. “You have a couple of military storage boxes in your attic with your name stenciled on them.” Another finger.
“You always, always wear safety gear when you’re on a roof, and you got kind of frantic when Mel and I figured out we could climb out her window.
” A third finger. “And pistachio ice cream has never once been in your freezer. Your favorite flavor is raspberry ripple.”
Jesus. “Nobody knows I’m afraid of heights,” I grind out.
She smiles, and it goes all the way to her pretty eyes. “Well, I do.”
I exhale and give her my coaster. “You win.”
She shakes her head. “That was a practice round. My turn.”
I’m going to lose so badly.
Her tongue swipes against her lower lip again.
I need her to stop licking the flesh that I want to lick before I lean in and catch her pink tongue with my teeth.
“Okay. . .” she says slowly. “Uh, I’m going to get a tattoo for my birthday, I still don’t know what I want to do when I grow up, and my favorite soup is chicken noodle. ”
As she finishes in a rush, I replay what she’s just said in my mind. How she said it. Where she sounded nervous and where her voice got more confident.
Then I glance down at the coasters. Both are currently on her side of an imaginary line. She nudges one into the center. “Which is it, Mr. Burke?”
She’s teasing. More confident now.
I drop my hand to cover hers, enjoying the way her breath hitches.
I’m confident, too. “Your favorite soup is tomato,” I say huskily.
“You don’t need to know what you want to do when you grow up, but you’re genuinely worried about that.
Which means you actually are planning to get a tattoo for your birthday, and I want to know where. ”
Her eyes go wide. “No.”
“You have a lovely, expressive face, Rosie.” I slide the coaster out from under her fingers and pull it back. “Now we’re tied.”
“Best of three?”
Best of infinity. I never want to stop playing this game with her. “My middle name is John, I’ve been skydiving three times, and my favorite movie is Jaws.”
She whimpers. “I hate that movie.”
I grin.
She gasps. “And you do, too! I’d forgotten about that night.”
A memory swarms over me. Mel made us all watch it, and Rosie scampered off to make popcorn and stayed in the kitchen for fifteen minutes. I tracked her down and confessed I didn’t like it, either. I exhale. “Same. I guess I gave you that one.”
She rolls her eyes and yoinks the coaster back. “Please don’t diminish my victory.”
I lean back, immensely amused. “Your turn.”
She smiles triumphantly. “So that means the skydiving is true? You’ve jumped out of a plane?”
“Surprised?”
“Very. You’re afraid of heights.”
“Sometimes you need to face your fears head on.”
“Three times?”
“Turns out I’m not afraid of heights when I’m wearing a harness.”
“Interesting.” She purses her lips for a moment. “I don’t like coffee, I’ve always wanted a cat, and my name was supposed to be Angela.”
I frown. That’s three lies. “None of those are true.”
“You’re guessing,” she says, her cheeks turning pink.
I shake my head. “One, you work at a coffee shop.”
Her cheeks pink up. “So? That could still be true.”
“It’s not.”
She dissolves into laughter. “No, it’s not.”
“Two, your parents always wanted to call you Rosie. And three, I know for a fact that you’re a dog person.”
“You win.” She slides the coaster over, nudging my fingers with it. “I thought I could trick you. Maybe I’m not ready to play poker just yet.”
Then she yawns.
“This was more fun than cards,” I say, nudging her drink in her direction. “Want any more before I tuck you in for the night?”
“Making me go to bed early?” Her tease should make me feel awkward about the age gap between us.
It only gives me filthy ideas.
“We have a big day tomorrow.” I lower my voice. “Are you going to be a good girl for me this weekend, Rosie?” The question is out before I can think twice about it. I regret the word choice immediately. It sounds inappropriate—because it is inappropriate.
Her eyes go wide, her lips part, and her cheeks flush. But then she nods vigorously, and something unexpected happens to her expression. It lights up like I’ve asked exactly the right thing in exactly the right way. “Yes.”
I shouldn’t read too much into a single breathless answer. One word. One syllable.
But in that moment, as I tell her she needs to be a good girl and she enthusiastically agrees, I realize she’s willingly playing another kind of game with me.
One I’ve never played before, but I immediately want to win.