Daddy’s Naughty Tourist (Naughty Girls Book Club #11)

Chapter 1

Ihave planned forty-seven road trips for other people and never once taken one for myself.

That's the thing about being a travel agent.

You become a master architect of other people's adventures, while your own passport collects dust on the nightstand.

I can tell you the best time of year to visit Santorini, the exact hotel in Tuscany with the view that will ruin all other views, and which mountain roads in Colorado are genuinely gorgeous versus the ones that appear on 'most terrifying drives' lists for a reason.

I am currently on one of the gorgeous ones.

The Rockies are doing that thing they do where they look completely fake, with their frosted peaks against a sky so blue it seems like an Instagram filter someone forgot to turn off.

My truck's speakers are running a Christmas playlist I made specifically for this drive, because I am a professional and I am going to arrive at a luxury resort feeling festive and inspired, not stressed and twenty minutes late.

I'm twenty minutes late.

I came around a bend doing exactly the speed limit.

I am always a cautious driver on mountain passes; I have seen what happens when people are reckless on a curve.

I'm not thinking about being festive anymore, because right there directly in front of my car as I turn the curve, is a baby elk standing in the middle of the road.

Not a big one. A calf. On legs that seem about forty percent too long for its body, with one front leg held at an angle that makes my stomach drop straight through the floorboard. He’s obviously injured.

I hit the brakes.

My truck screams. The anti-lock system chatters under my foot like it's personally offended by my driving. The whole world outside my windshield narrows down to those huge dark eyes blinking at me, and the smell of burnt rubber fills the cab, and I finally come to a stop.

Three feet from the calf's nose. Maybe less.

Oh my god. Oh my god, oh my god.

Then something hits my bumper.

Not a crash, exactly. More like a firm, decisive thump that snaps my teeth together and sends my phone skidding off the passenger seat. For a full second I just sit there in my own adrenaline, both hands locked white-knuckled on the wheel.

Then my hazards go on, call it a muscle memory, bless it, and I shove the door open and climb out onto the road, because apparently my body has decided that standing on a mountain highway is a better option than staying safely inside my vehicle.

You know, because I’m the queen at making good decisions.

The truck behind me is big. Bigger than mine, which is saying something. Silver, with a livestock transport rack in the bed and a metal cage tie-strapped to the back. The driver's door is already opening before I've finished processing what I'm looking at.

The man who gets out is tall.

Really tall.

Dark canvas work jacket. Dark hair, a little overgrown.

The kind of jaw that needs a shave and somehow looks better for not having had one.

He moves like someone who has been in emergencies before and decided somewhere along the way that they don't require drama. He’s unhurried but efficient, taking in the whole scene in a single sweep.

His eyes land on me.

Then on the elk.

Then back on me.

Dark eyes. Very dark. If tall, dark and handsome was in the dictionary, his photo would be next to the definition.

"The elk," I say, pointing, because near-death experiences apparently reduce my vocabulary to two words. "It's injured."

"I know." He's not looking at me anymore. He's already pulling heavy gloves from his jacket pocket like this was always the plan. "That's why I'm here."

"I'm… sorry?" It wasn’t fate that brought him to this road? Dang. I’m a big believer in serendipity.

"Wildlife rescue." He says it the way someone says Tuesday. "Anthony Rossi. I got a call about an injured calf twenty minutes ago."

I look at the calf and back at his truck. There’s a reason there is a cage in the bed. Of course! Then I look at his face. It takes me a second to breathe again. Damn, he’s sexy.

He was coming to rescue it. He was coming to rescue the elk and I stopped short and he hit me and —

"So this is your call," I say. "I stopped in front of you on your way to rescue him."

"You stopped for an injured animal in the road." There's something in his voice. I can’t place it. It’s not quite amusement, more like amusement that's keeping itself on a leash. Is he trying to keep from laughing at me? "That's not the wrong thing to do."

"I'm so sorry about your bumper."

"Don't worry about the bumper." He looks at me again, and I get the full weight of that evaluating gaze. "Are you hurt?"

"What? No. I'm fine."

"You're pale."

"I'm naturally pale."

"You're paler than naturally pale."

I open my mouth to argue and then close it, because he's probably right. I can feel my heart trying to exit through my sternum. "Adrenaline," I say. "It'll pass."

"Put your hazards on if they're not already and stand by your vehicle." He's already moving toward the calf, slowly, in a wide easy arc that gives the animal room to track him. "I'll be a few minutes."

“My hazards are already on,” I tell him. Not sure why. Maybe, because I want him to think I’m competent?

“Stand by your vehicle. It’s safer over there.” It's not phrased as a question.

I stand by my vehicle.

And I watch.

I don't have a word for what he does with that calf. I've planned safaris and wildlife tours and I've written the words 'up close with nature' approximately four hundred times in blog posts, and I have never actually seen anything like this.

He talks to it. The whole time. His voice is low and deep and a hundred percent all male.

He’s not talking to it in a baby-talk way.

Instead, he uses a low, steady, matter-of-fact tone like he’s calming a toddler about to get a vaccine at the pediatrician’s office.

Why do I want him to talk to me like that?

He’s daddying the baby elk. I realize how crazy that thought is the second it pops into my brain, but… he is, and doing it so well.

He’s telling him exactly what he's about to do before he does it.

Where he's going to touch it. What's going to happen next. Like it deserves the courtesy of a heads-up, and his job is just to make sure it gets one. As if he’s asking for consent. I’ve never in my life seen anything as sexy.

Not in movies, not in the books I read; and I read a lot of books, and never ever in person. If love at first sight was a thing…

As he talked to the calf, it stopped trembling. And I find myself trembling with something I can’t identify. Need? Lust? I’m not really sure. When he bends over, all I can see is the delicious outline of his ass.

Okay. That's it. I need to not be watching this so intently.

I pull out my phone.

HOLLY: Are you okay?? Where are you? Justin is about to send out a search party. You were supposed to be here almost an hour ago!

HOLLY: Actual quote: 'She's probably stopped to photograph something'

MAYA: Okay so

MAYA: There was a situation.

CHLOE: ...

EMILY: Define situation

MAYA: An injured elk calf was in the road. I had to stop.

MAYA: There was some bumper contact. Nobody died.

MADISON: MAYA

LILY: BUMPER CONTACT

MAYA: I'm fine!!! Both vehicles are fine!!!

MAYA: Also there is a very tall, very handsome, wildlife vet here handling the elk and I need everyone to remain calm.

EMILY: PIVOT

AMBER: How tall

MAYA: I said remain CALM.

CHLOE: She didn't say not tall though.

HOLLY: Wait is it Anthony?

MAYA: Who is Anthony?

HOLLY: MAYA OH MY GOD YOU MET ANTHONY!

It takes closer to thirty-five minutes, not a few, and I genuinely don't mind.

I take approximately forty photos. Some are for my travel blog.

The timing of almost hitting an already injured baby elk is perfect, because the late afternoon has given me the most gorgeous gold light as I snap photos of the mountains.

I say a quick thank you to fate for the general improbable majesty of being somewhere that looks this ridiculous in real life.

Photographers would charge an arm and a leg for this backdrop at this time of day.

Golden hour as it’s called doesn’t disappoint.

Golden hour in front of the majestic Rocky Mountains? Forget about it.

Not all of the photos I am snapping are really for the blog. They are of the baby elk, at least I tell myself that, and not the handsome man helping it. Even if maybe, he is in the photos, too.

About two minutes after we collided, a young woman materializes from his truck.

I assume she is his assistant or coworker, based on the way they move around each other with the efficiency of people who have done these types of things many times.

She gives me a look when she passes. A very specific look.

The look of someone who has seen this exact deer-in-headlights expression before and finds it entertaining.

"Stable fracture," Anthony says, finally, making his way back toward me while his assistant preps the transport cage. "He'll need a few weeks, but he'll be fine."

"Oh thank god." I exhale what feels like three hours of tension, I was really worried about the little dude. "I'm really sorry about the bumper situation."

"Stop apologizing,” he orders in a stern tone. “It’s minor cosmetic damage, barely a scratch." He pulls the heavy gloves off and I notice his hands. His very large, capable-looking hands. Wonder if he’s ever spanked anyone with those.

What the actual fuck, Maya.

"You stopped for an animal in the road. I was following too close. The fault's mine if anything,” he continues.

"You were following too close because there was an injured elk in the road you were trying to get to."

"Still my responsibility. In most situations the car that hits from behind is at fault" He looks at me steadily. Something has shifted in his expression; he was focused on the elk before and now he's just present. Now, he’s totally focused on me. "You're sure you're all right?"

"I'm sure." And I am, mostly. The adrenaline is settling into something that feels a lot like hyperawareness of the fact that he's about six feet away and his voice does something unreasonable to the back of my neck.

"I'm Maya. Maya Daniels. Apparently I'm the person who creates your traffic problems."

Something moves through his face. Not quite a smile. "Anthony Rossi." He offers his hand and I shake it, and I'm very aware of the size difference and the steadiness of his grip. "You're heading up to the Evergreen Resort?"

"How did you —"

"Justin mentioned his fiancee's friend was coming in today. It’s a small mountain."

Holly. Has Holly been planning for us to meet? Could she be playing matchmaker? Or was it a simple mention in passing that her friend was coming?

"Are you —" I look at his truck and the permanent cage installed in the back. The setup. "Are you the resort's vet?"

"Contracted. They have a petting zoo, reindeer, and therapy animals. Justin and I go way back."

Of course they do. Of course this is happening right now.

"So we're going to the same place," I say.

"We are. I’ll rehab that little guy at the ranch.

They have amazing barns and a facility to die for.

They haven’t spared a penny when it comes to making sure all living things are taken well care of up there.

Including staff. I respect how many details they included.

" He looks at me for a second longer than the conversation requires.

"Pull onto the shoulder and let me get him loaded.

I want to make sure you're steady before you head up the mountain. "

“I think I’m fine.” Am I? Am I fine? Because suddenly, I’m feeling a bit faint.

“Still. Pull over and I’ll follow you to the resort. Safety first.”

Again. He’s not asking me. He has to be a Daddy. Has to be. Is it wishful thinking?

I pull onto the shoulder and don't think about the way he said that for one single second longer.

Who am I kidding? I think about it a lot.

HOLLY: Okay so his name is Anthony Rossi and he's one of Justin's best single friends.

HOLLY: Single

HOLLY: Very single

HOLLY: I'm not trying to set anyone up, I'm just sharing information.

MAYA: Holly

HOLLY: As a friend of course.

MAYA: HOLLY

HOLLY: I'm just saying the universe works in mysterious ways.

MAYA: The universe hit my bumper.

EMILY: Crying

LILY: Sobbing

MADISON: I need you to tell me that you packed at least one cute outfit.

MAYA: I'm going to a resort preview for WORK.

AMBER: Wear a cute outfit.

CHLOE: Yes! A very cute outfit.

HOLLY: What they said, a cute outfit with some cleavage.

MAYA: I hate all of you.

EMILY: No you don't.

He comes to my window when the calf is loaded.

I've already rolled it down, which I tell myself is practical and has nothing to do with wanting to hear his voice.

I'm sticking to that story.

"The road straightens out after this bend," he says, resting one forearm on my doorframe like it's the most natural thing. As he leans in, I can’t help but think about all the TikTok videos I’ve seen where the sexy man leans onto the doorframe before kissing… Oh, he’s still talking.

"Watch the switchback at mile marker fourteen — there's been ice in the mornings. Take it slow."

"I'm a careful driver," I say, and then immediately think about the whole stop-in-the-middle-of-the-road situation and wince. "Usually."

That shadow of a smile again, a little closer to the real thing this time. "Stopping for an injured animal is careful in the ways that matter, stop beating yourself up for it."

"That's a very generous reframe."

"I'm a very generous person once you get to know me."

He doesn't look generous. Not in the way I think of generous. No fancy cigar or named brand clothes. Maybe when I hear generous I think wealthy. Nah, he looks like the type of person who says exactly what he means and does exactly what he says. Confident.

"Thank you," I say. "For all of it. Knowing what to do. Checking on me. Not yelling at me about your bumper."

"I'll see you at the resort, Maya Daniels."

The way he says my name does something to me that I can’t put my finger on. All I know is, I really like the way it sounds coming from his lips.

His truck pulls out ahead of mine and I sit for a full thirty seconds before I trust myself to drive.

I pick up my phone before I pull onto the road.

Me: HOLLY, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MY LIFE!

HOLLY: You're welcome.