Page 11 of Beauty and the Daddy

He knew he was delivering me like a pizza to Luca Moretti's doorstep. And he did it anyway.

At least Moretti is upfront about what he wants. Dad just... lied.

For years, apparently. About the business, our finances, everything.

I'm so lost in these thoughts that I don't hear it at first—the thundering of paws on hardwood.

By the time I register the sound, it's too late.

Something massive, furry and black barrels around the corner, heading straight for me.

I freeze, because what else can you do when a horse-sized dog is charging at you?

"Oh shi?—"

That's all I get out before I'm knocked flat on my ass, the wind whooshing out of my lungs like someone popped me, my dress riding up my thighs.

For a terrifying second, I think this is it—death by canine.

But instead of tearing my throat out, the beast starts... licking my face?

"Ugh! Stop! Down! Off!" I splutter, trying to protect myself from the slobbery assault.

The dog, which I now see is a Great Dane the size of a small pony, ignores me completely, tail wagging so hard his entire back end sways.

"Bruno! Down!"

The dog immediately backs off, sitting pretty like he hasn't just committed first-degree assault with his tongue.

I look up—way up—to find Luca standing over me.

Still shirtless. Still sweaty. Still looking like violence and sex had a baby and raised it on protein shakes and danger.

"You okay down there?" His voice holds laughter he isn't quite hiding.

"Peachy. I love being tackled by bears."

"He's a Great Dane."

"He's a lawsuit waiting to happen."

That gets me an actual smile. Not a smirk, not a predatory grin—a real smile that hits me worse than the dog did.

It transforms his face from dangerous to devastating.

"Come on." He offers his hand. "Unless you prefer the view from down there?"

His eyes deliberately track down my body, reminding me that my dress is still somewhere around my ribs, my pink underwear on full display like a virgin sacrifice flag.

I should stand on my own. Should maintain some distance, some dignity, some sanity.

Instead, I grab his hand.

The contact hits like mainlining electricity.

His palm engulfs mine, calluses rough against my skin, strong enough to snap my bones but gentle enough to make me wonder what else those hands can do.

He pulls me up slowly. Deliberately.