Kathleen O'Brien - The Daddy Deal

Starting tomorrow.

She straightened, tugging lightly, eagerly, on his hand. “Yes,” she said again, swiveling as she spoke. “Let’s go home.” After the warm cocoon of his arms, the cool air seemed to go straight to her head, and she felt the room tip slightly.

He chuckled, a low rumble that was more vibration than noise, and, pulling her safely back against his chest, kissed the tip of her nose. “Slowly,” he said, steering her gently toward the stairs. “There’s no need to rush.”

But there was. There was. Couldn’t he feel it, too? He kept his hands on her shoulders to steady her, and she tried to walk calmly, but a sense of urgency had suddenly overtaken her, like Cinderella as the clock began to strike midnight. If they didn’t hurry, something could go wrong. The magic could run out. He could change his mind—or, even worse, she could change hers.

A crowd of late leavers clustered around the valet stand, and Brooke could hardly contain a sound of frustration. But Taylor’s hands were still on her shoulders, pressing her back against the wall of his hard-muscled torso, and she leaned against him gratefully, glad that he was so strong, glad that he stood between her and the pushing, chattering crowd. She shut her eyes again, and she let herself imagine what it would be like to have such an ally in life, a partner whose strength and loyalty would be a seawall against the crashing waves of misfortune.

Time blipped erratically, and suddenly the car was there in front of them. It was a sleek steel gray model that she couldn’t put a name to, though she could have made a pretty good guess at the price, which probably was approximately what she was asking for her bungalow. The irony of that struck her as rather funny, and she patted the hood of the car with a smile before letting Taylor guide her into the front seat.

Her cinnamon brown silk skirt made a sound like a sigh as it slid across the leather. Brooke sighed, too, as the air-conditioning blew sweet, cool air onto her cheeks, and when Taylor got in, she smiled at him. He smiled back, but his expression seemed strangely questioning.

“Oh,” she said, suddenly realizing what he needed. “Sorry. I live at 909 Parker Lane.” She peered through the window, trying to get her bearings. She knew downtown Tampa as well as she knew her own reflection in the mirror, but tonight things looked strangely unfamiliar. “Do you know where it is, by any chance?” She knew she sounded dubious, but where exactly were they? She didn’t recognize that huge building. “I can navigate, I suppose, as long as you don’t drive too fast—”

“You rest,” he said, touching her face. He wasn’t smiling anymore, but it sounded somehow as if the smile was tucked inside his voice. He sounded sexy, affectionate... and kind. “I’m sure I can find it.”

“That’s good,” she murmured, shutting her eyes against the bright blur of streetlights as they swept down the nearly deserted boulevard. “I’m a little tired. Look for roses. I have a lot of roses in the front....”

He put his arm across the back of the seat and, closing his palm over her shoulder, nudged her gently.

“Rest,” he said again, and she felt no urge to protest as he eased her toward him. She let herself drift downward slowly, her head seeming to seek the crook of his arm as if it were her own special spot, her assigned place in the universe. She put her hand on his thigh, registering the lean, solid strength of it somewhere in the back of her mind before she closed her eyes again and kept drifting, but this time father and farther, until she was so far away—

“Taylor,” she said suddenly, though she didn’t open her eyes, “we’ve never met before, have we?”

His voice was right next to her ear. Strange, when she’d thought she had floated so very far away. “No,” he said huskily, “we’ve never met before.”

“Are you sure? You feel so... familiar.”

He didn’t answer for a long moment, and when he did she heard a smile in his voice. “I have a rather nutty friend who would say that means our auras are in harmony. Maybe he’s right.”

She smiled, too, still without opening her eyes. “That’s silly.”

He stroked her arm gently. “I always used to think so.”

“Very silly.” She shook her head—or at least she thought she did. Her voice sounded thick, half-asleep. “Still, you’re not really a stranger, Taylor. I know you’re not a stranger.”

CHAPTER THREE

SHE came to consciousness achingly aware of him, of his hand stroking along her temple, into her hair, all the way behind her ear. They were home—she could smell the thick scent of roses in her own, beloved front garden. She had been asleep, but the short reprieve into unconsciousness hadn’t helped to clear her head. She was still racked with a shivering desire for this man who sat beside her.

His hand kept moving, and her skin prickled with tiny bumps, from the ear he traced, down her neck and deep into the core of her. Heat was shifting inside her, pulsing and coiling and demanding things she had forgotten were possible.

“Taylor.” She turned her face into his jacket, nuzzling for a deeper connection, and moved her hand on his thigh, letting her fingers tell him what she didn’t know how to say. She wanted him. Oh, God help her, how she wanted him!

The long muscle in his leg tensed, and his fingers tunneled into her hair. “Hi, sleepyhead.” His voice was husky, as if he had been sitting out here in the night air a long time. “Ready to go in?”

She nodded, her pulse beating so hard against her throat that she wasn’t sure she could speak.

He lifted his arm, giving her the freedom to rise, but she didn’t move away, reluctant to surrender the warmth of him. She tilted her face toward his, searching his rugged, elegant features, gilded now by the soft light of her front pillar lanterns. He had angled his head to face her, and his eyes shimmered, bottomless green-and-gold depths rimmed in thick, dusky black fringe. Their gazes held silently for a long moment, during which her lips parted, and even his breathing took on a subtly rougher cant.

“Brooke,” he said slowly, letting his arm drop across her again. His fingers massaged the sensitive skin above her collarbone. “Do you know how beautiful you are right now?”

“Am I?” Though she knew it wasn’t true, for tonight—for him—she wanted to be. She wanted to possess the kind of beauty that could hypnotize a man, could throw a silken net around him and hold him captive. “Am I?”

For answer, his hand tightened, his thumb rubbing against her neck. His eyes were heavy with sensuality, but she could still see the gold flecks that sparked like tiny fires beneath his lowered lids. “Yes, you are,” he murmured. “Dangerously beautiful.”

She watched his full lips form the words, and without conscious thought she lifted her mouth, which tingled with anticipation. But, to her disappointment, he simply dragged in a deep breath, and moving with a stiffness that spoke of rigid determination, he moved away, got out of the car and held open the door for her.

She slid out with a sudden numbness, wondering what his abrupt withdrawal could mean. She couldn’t think how to ask, so she busied herself digging out the key from her evening bag as they made their way up to the house. He seemed to sense that her balance was still rocky—he walked close, close enough to reassure her as they climbed the four steep steps to her front porch.

Once there, her mind raced in circles. If she didn’t think of something quickly, it was going to be too late. Helplessly, she twisted the key in the lock, and then she turned to him.

“Taylor—” she put her hand on his arm “—don’t you want to come in? Just for a little while?” What was the polite euphemism? She didn’t do this kind of thing, didn’t know what the rules were. “For a cup of coffee?”