Chapter 14
Derek found Jo in the en suite off her room, scrubbing furiously at the smiley face on her cheek.
The rest of her face had already been washed clean.
Shimmery blue, warm tans, and pale pink streaked the washcloth discarded on the edge of the sink.
She still hadn’t noticed him, so Derek leaned against the doorframe to the bathroom, his hands dug into the pockets of his dress pants, and watched her do battle with the purple mark.
He shouldn’t like the idea that his daughter’s claim on Jo didn’t wash away easily, but something about it stuck in his throat, a ball of things he didn’t dare say. Didn’t dare hope for.
Jo dropped the washcloth, palms planted on the counter and hung her head, mumbling to herself. “It’s not coming off.”
Derek pushed off from the doorframe and came up behind her. She startled when he slid his arms around her waist, twisting in his grasp and trying to cover her face with her hands. “You have to go. I’m not ready.”
“Ready for what?”
“For anything. I haven’t fixed my makeup yet.”
“I told you, you don’t have to fix your makeup for me.” When she still didn’t lower her hands, he sighed and took hold of her wrists, gently peeling her hands away from her face. “Come on, Jo.”
“No.” Even through her hands he could see her pout. He wanted to kiss the churlish expression right off her face.
“Let me see you,” he said.
With a frustrated mewl, she let him move her hands aside.
Stray flecks of black clung beneath her eyes from her mascara and her cheek had turned an angry shade of red beneath the stubborn smiley face.
Derek ghosted his knuckles over the mark, tsking.
She lifted defeated eyes to his. “It’s lipstick, and I’m out of my good makeup remover. ”
As much as he’d like to leave Annie’s drawing on Jo’s cheek forever, he couldn’t have her abusing her beautiful face. “Stay there.”
It only took him a minute to locate the bottle of micellar water in his toiletry kit. While he mostly used it to get small stains out of his clothing when he was traveling and found peanut butter handprints across his dress pants, he knew it was also used as a makeup remover.
Returning to the bathroom, he motioned for Jo to sit on the counter. She crossed her arms and cocked her hip, pout in full effect. “You’ve got to be kidding,” she challenged.
Stepping toe to toe, he leaned close, speaking directly against her ear. “Do as you’re told, little menace.”
Her nostrils flared, eyes sparking, and he watched her debate with herself, but only for a moment. Jo liked to play the brat, but it was clear she liked being his good girl more. That didn’t mean she was going to go quietly, however, and he loved that about her.
With a dramatic huff, she hoisted herself onto the counter.
The little sundress she wore lifted high on her thighs as he stepped between her legs.
He dragged his knuckles from her knee up the outside of her thigh to the crease of her hip, the sundress bunching beneath his touch.
He took his time preparing a fresh washcloth, soaking one corner in the micellar water and reveling in the feel of her eyes on him, her thighs bracketing his hips.
Sliding his free hand into the hair at the nape of her neck to hold her still, he held the wet washcloth to the smiley face, pressing the cleanser gently into her skin.
He trailed his lips over her temple, across her closed eyelids.
He wanted to taste every inch of her bare skin, to make her understand how stunning she was, no makeup required.
A few more swipes of the washcloth, and he pulled it away stained with purple, her cheek only holding the faintest reminder that once she’d been branded by his daughter. Jo glanced at the washcloth and bit her lip, uncharacteristic nerves clouding her eyes. “I must look like hell,” she murmured.
He turned her face up to meet his. “You have never been more beautiful.”
She rolled her eyes. That wouldn’t do. That wouldn’t do at all.
Derek gripped her chin, forcing her to hold his gaze. “Say it.”
“Say what?”
“’I have never been more beautiful.’”
She recoiled. “You can’t be serious.” He arched an eyebrow at her and waited. “You aren’t— I’m not— This is ridiculous.”
“What’s ridiculous?” he asked, keeping his voice measured, calm.
“Look at me!”
“I am.”
“You’re looking with your dick,” she muttered, pouting again.
This time he did kiss her, stifling his chuckle with the taste of her lips. When she softened in his arms, he pulled away, turning her face towards the mirror mounted on the wall behind her. “Tell me what you see.”
“I don’t want to.”
He nuzzled his nose into her hair, nipped at her earlobe. “Come on, little menace. Play along. Tell me what you see.”
She sighed, turning her eyes to the mirror, but only for a moment before her gaze skittered away again. “I’m getting a zit on my chin.”
“What else?”
“I have bags under my eyes.”
He slid his hand higher on her leg, his thumb skating along the sensitive skin at the inside of her thigh. “What else?”
“I haven’t had my eyebrows done in a month. And my eyelashes are too short.”
He hummed, sliding his thumb along the edge of her panties. “I don’t see that.”
She huffed. “What do you see?”
“You, Jo.” Her eyes widened in surprise, and something twisted in his chest. He leaned closer, his lips hovering above hers, the tips of their noses sliding against each other. “I see you.”
She closed the distance between them, kissing him as though she’d never come up for air, arms and legs wrapped around him.
Her hips rocked restlessly against him as his cock thickened in anticipation.
He had to slow this down. They might not get another night to themselves, and he wanted to take his time, to savor every little movement and sound she made.
Tearing himself away from her, he took a step back putting distance between them, and dragged his hand over his mouth as he caught his breath. “Clothes off,” he said.
“You first.”
Christ, but he loved when she was mouthy.
Usually he’d hold his ground, make her comply with his request first, but there was something intoxicating about her eyes on him.
The intriguing mix of vulnerability and confidence that was Joelle Baker, stripped of her makeup, her usual defenses, and still such a brat, daring him to contradict her.
But he didn’t want to contradict her. He wanted more of her, more of the pieces of herself she usually hid from everyone else but was inexplicably letting him see.
And if letting her call the shots—for a moment or two at least—was what it took to get that, then fine. He’d go first.
He slowly unbuttoned his shirt, folding it and setting it aside, toeing off his shoes and removing his socks. With his hands on his belt, he paused, waiting for her eyes to flicker up to his, then he smirked and slowly worked open the buckle.
Jo rolled her eyes. “Show off.”
He chuckled, the rumble of it shaking his chest as he stepped out of his pants and boxer briefs, until he stood before her completely naked.
Her eyes roved over him and the pink tip of her tongue flicked out to wet her lips.
His cock kicked in response. This woman would be the death of him, and he’d go to the gallows a happy man.
“Your turn,” he said.
It took her a minute to tear her eyes away from where he slowly stroked himself.
With a wicked grin, she slid her hands beneath her dress and shimmied out of her panties.
She tossed them at his chest and he caught them with his free hand.
Pressing them to his nose, he inhaled deeply before adding them to the pile with his clothes.
“Let me see you, baby.”
Her gaze softened, the sass and bravado slipping into something gentler, more self-conscious.
Still, she gripped the hem of her dress and slowly peeled it up and over her shoulders, dropping the scrap of fabric on the counter beside the soiled washcloths.
She was glorious, all slopes and valleys, curves and sun-kissed skin.
His beautiful, bratty goddess. His—just his.
For now.
When they left the Hotel Bellwether, when the tour ended and he was no longer the guy with the glamorous lifestyle but was just…
him. A single dad, with all the baggage and responsibilities that came with that—would she still want him then?
How much would he risk to keep her? The respect of his colleagues, of the band? His daughter’s fragile heart? His own?
He cleared the gravel from his throat, crooking a finger to beckon her closer. For now. “Come here.”
She scrambled to comply with his rough request, sliding off the counter and reaching for him, but before she could touch him, he caught her around the shoulders and spun her to face the mirror on the far wall.
He held her back against his front, one arm crossed over her chest and the other skating down her side to rest on her hip.
“Look at yourself, Joelle,” he rumbled. Her eyes locked on his in the mirror before slowly perusing her own reflection. “You have never been more beautiful.”
Her cheeks pinkened, a slow blush sweeping across her face and chest. He wasn’t sure why it was so important to make her understand, to know she saw herself the way he saw her, but nothing had ever felt more important.
Pressing himself against her back, he bit the curve of her neck where it met her shoulder. “Say it.”
“I—” She paused, took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders as though she were preparing for battle, and met his gaze in the mirror. “I have never been more beautiful,” she whispered.
“Good girl.” He pressed his hand between her shoulder blades and urged her forward until her forearms were resting on the counter. “Would you like to come now, little menace?” he asked, rocking his stiff erection against her ass.
Surprise flashed across her face. “Already?”