Page 18 of Mountain Daddy (Broken Boss Daddies #1)

LILLY

I find his wallet when I'm cleaning up the storage room. Expensive black leather, hidden behind a bag of flour like it fell out during our…activities.

I stare at it too long. I could toss it in the lost and found. Let fate decide. If he wants it, he’ll come back.

Then Rosa comes in early, and suddenly my hands are grabbing my keys. My mouth tells her I’ll be back soon. My brain screams to stop—but my feet are already moving.

I still have that address he gave me. My heart still races from the truth I know he knows. How long can I get away pretending he’s got it all wrong when he hasn’t.

He’s sharp. Sharper than most men in their mid-forties. Sharper than the observations of the youth and wisdom of the old.

He sees through me. Through the lies I wear like armor.

He’s already figured it out.

It’s not if I tell him the truth. It’s when .

I roll the windows down. The mountain air smells like pine. It calms me. Gets my heart to settle. It would be nice to not carry this secret, wouldn’t it? To feel free of fear once again?

Maybe today.

Maybe today is the day I stop running.

The GPS leads me to the outskirts of town. Past the main drag. Straight into the woods.

His cabin sits at the end of a gravel drive. Log construction. Wraparound porch.

Looks fancy, but simple.

I park beside his Aston Martin. Sit there for a full minute, trying to work up the courage to get out.

Just return the wallet. Hand it over. Leave.

Simple.

That's when I hear it.

The rhythmic thunk of an axe splitting wood.

I follow the sound around the side of the cabin. And that's when I see him.

Holy. Hell.

Nikolai stands beside a massive pile of logs. Shirtless. Jeans slung low on his hips. Muscles rippling as he brings the axe down in a perfect arc.

Sweat gleams on his chest. His back. Slides down the ridges of his abs like liquid sin.

I can't move. Can't breathe. Can't think about anything except the way his body moves. Pure power. Beautiful brutality.

He's a Viking. A warrior. A man from a different time.

They don’t make men like him anymore.

My mouth goes dry. My thighs clench. Every rational thought in my head evaporates like steam.

He splits another log. The wood cracks apart.

That's when he sees me.

His movements still. Those tiger eyes find mine across the forest clearing.

"Lilly?”

"You left your wallet." My voice comes out breathy. Weak. "At the bakery."

He sets the axe aside and starts walking toward me with a predatory grace that makes my pulse skip.

"Did I?"

He stops close enough that I can smell him. Sweat and wood and wild.

"Here." I fumble in my purse. Pull out the wallet. "I thought you might need it."

He takes it. Our fingers brush. Electric.

"Thank you."

He doesn't step back. Doesn't put distance between us.

If anything, he moves closer.

"You could have mailed it."

"I could have."

"But you didn't."

"No."

"Why not?"

Because I'm an idiot. Because seeing you half-naked just short-circuited my brain. Because I can't stop thinking about last night.

"I was in the area," I lie.

His mouth curves into that smile. The one that promises he doesn’t believe me. "Were you?"

He knows I'm lying. Can probably smell the want rolling off me in waves. I gulp and nod.

“That’s one more lie to your hat, Lilly,” he whispers, his voice lapping across my skin like waves.

Oh. So we’re doing this.

I cross my arms. “That’s not fair.”

It comes out of nowhere. The defensiveness. In the car, I had played with the idea of telling him the truth. But now? Seeing him like this? My brain’s all jumbled and it doesn’t seem like the right time.

“You ran,” he warns.

“I left ,” I protest. “Didn’t owe you nothing.”

He steps closer, until I feel his chest graze against mine. When I look up, I see fire in his eyes. My pulse begins to feel like it’s being electrocuted.

“You owed me a choice,” he shakes his head.

“What choice?”

“My kid. My right to be in his life,” he furrows his brows. Looks right through me.

“It wasn’t your right,” I look away.

Another step closer. Close enough that the heat from his skin makes mine tingle.

"Lilly."

"What?"

"Look at me."

I do. Mistake.

His hand comes up. Cups my cheek. His thumb traces my lower lip. "When's his birthday, Lilly?"

The question comes out of nowhere. Hits like a slap.

"What?"

"Chleo's birthday. When is it?"

My heart stutters. My stomach drops. He already knows—but hearing the date will make it real. But there’s no way I can lie about this. He’ll find out if he wants. Then, he’ll know for certain.

"September fifteenth," I try to speak firmly.

"What year?"

It takes everything in me to not wince.

"What year, Lilly?"

"Two thousand nineteen," I whisper.

He nods slowly. Like he's doing math in his head.

"Five years ago. Nine months after that first night at the hotel."

"It's a coincidence."

"Is it?"

"Yes."

"He has my eyes."

"Lots of people have green eyes."

"My expressions. My mannerisms."

"You're imagining things."

"Am I?" He steps closer. Predatory now. Dangerous. "Or are you lying to yourself because the truth scares you?"

"The truth is that Chleo's father isn't in the picture. That's all you need to know."

"The truth is that I'm his father."

The words hang in the air like a grenade with the pin pulled.

"No."

"Yes."

"You're wrong."

"I'm not wrong. And deep down, you know it."

I back away from him. Put distance between us.

"You're delusional."

"Am I? Then prove it. Take a paternity test. Put this to rest once and for all."

"I don't have to prove anything to you."

"Don't you?"

His voice drops to a whisper. Becomes more dangerous than shouting.

"That boy is my son. My blood. And you've kept him from me for five years."

"I've protected him!"

"From what?"

The question stops me cold. Because there’s no answer without admitting the truth. I protected my son from him. From his world.

His face goes very still. Very cold.

"I see."

"Nikolai—"

"No." He holds up a hand. "I get it. I'm the monster. The criminal. Not good enough for your precious son."

"That's not what I meant."

"Isn't it?"

He moves then. Fast as lightning. Backs me against the wall before I can react.

"Let me ask you something, Lilly. If I'm so dangerous, so wrong for you, then why are you here?"

"I told you. I was returning your wallet."

"Bullshit."

His body pins me to the wall. Hot. Hard. Overwhelming.

"You're here because you can't stay away. Because despite everything you tell yourself, you want me."

"I don't?—"

"You do. I can smell it on you. Can see it in your eyes."

His mouth hovers inches from mine. So close I can feel his breath on my lips.

His mouth hovers inches from mine. So close I can feel his breath ghost over my lips. Hot. Sharp. Infuriatingly sure of himself.

“You’re trembling,” he says, voice low, almost a growl. “Is it fear… or want?”

My hands flatten against his chest, meaning to push. Meaning to regain some kind of control. But the feel of him—solid muscle, heat radiating through his skin—melts my resistance like sugar in tea.

I hate him. I want him.

He’s close enough to steal my breath. Close enough to burn every lie off my skin. I know I should walk away—but my body refuses to obey. My hands move before my brain catches up.

And so instead, I clench his shirt into my fists and pull him closer. Until our lips smash against one another’s. Until he’s kissing me so damn hard, like he’s fueled by anger.

And I’m all for it. I slide my tongue over his lips and he opens for me. All teeth and tongue and desperate hunger.

My hands fist in his hair. Pull him closer. Like I can't get enough. Like I'm drowning and he's air.

His hands are everywhere. Sliding down my sides. Gripping my ass. Pulling me against him so I can feel how hard he is.

"Fuck," he growls against my mouth. "You drive me insane."

He spins me around. Walks me backward toward the bedroom. His hands work at the buttons of my dress as we move. There’s more skin and less clothes now.

I arch into his touch.

"That's it," he murmurs. "That's my girl."

We stumble through the bedroom doorway. He kicks the door shut behind us.

My dress is now gaping open from the top. He slides it off my shoulders.

"Beautiful," he breathes. "So fucking beautiful."

I reach for the remaining buttons. Want to help. Want this dress gone.

But he's impatient.

His hands grip the fabric. Pull.

The dress tears apart.

"Nikolai!" I gasp. "That was my favorite dress!"

"I'll buy you a new one."

"But—"

"I'll buy you ten new ones."

His mouth finds my neck. Bites down just hard enough to make me moan.

"A hundred."

The torn dress falls to the floor. Leaves me standing in nothing but my bra and panties.

He steps back. Looks at me like I'm a feast and he's been starving.

"Perfect," he says. "Absolutely perfect."

Then he's lifting me. Carrying me to the bed like I weigh nothing.

He throws me down onto the mattress. I bounce and giggle despite myself.

"Caveman," I accuse.

"Your caveman."

The possessiveness in his voice makes my stomach flip. Makes heat pool between my thighs.

He climbs onto the bed. Settles between my legs. His mouth finds my breast through the lace of my bra.

I arch beneath him. Fingers tangling in his hair.

"More," I whisper.

He doesn't need to be asked twice.

The bra disappears. Torn away like tissue paper.

His mouth closes over my nipple. Sucks hard enough to make me cry out.

"Sensitive," he murmurs against my skin. "I know."

His hand slides down my stomach. Fingers trace the edge of my panties.

"Already wet," he observes. "Always so ready for me."

"Nikolai, please."

"Please what?"

"Touch me."

"I am touching you."

"You know what I mean."

His thumb brushes over my clit through the fabric. Light as a feather. Nowhere near enough.

"This?"

"Yes."

"Ask nicely."

"Please touch me. Please make me come."

"Good girl."

My panties join the growing pile of destroyed clothing.

Then his mouth is on me. Tongue sliding through my folds. Finding my clit. Circling it until I'm gasping.

"God, you taste good," he groans. "Could do this all day."

But I don't want his mouth. Not right now.

I want him inside me. Want him filling me. Claiming me.

"I need you," I pant. "Now."

He lifts his head. Eyes dark with hunger.

"Turn over."

I flip onto my stomach. Rise up on my hands and knees.

The bed dips as he moves behind me. His hands grip my hips. Pull me back against him.

I feel his cock slide through my wetness. Hot. Hard. Ready.

"You sure about this?" he asks.

"Yes."

"Good. Because I'm going to fuck you so hard you forget how to lie to me."

He positions himself at my entrance. Pushes inside with one brutal thrust.

I cry out. Can't help it. He's so big. Stretches me so wide it borders on pain.

But it's good pain. The kind that makes my toes curl and my vision blur.

"Fuck," he groans. "So tight. So perfect."

He doesn't give me time to adjust. Just starts moving. Hard. Fast. Relentless.

Each thrust drives me forward. Makes the headboard bang against the wall.

I grab the wooden railing. Hold on for dear life as he pounds into me.

"That's it," he growls. "Take it. Take all of me."

His hands slide up my back. Cover mine on the railing. Fingers thread through mine.

The intimacy of it nearly undoes me. Makes this more than just sex. Makes it feel like something real.

Then he changes the angle. Hits that spot deep inside that makes me see stars.

"Oh God," I sob. "Right there. Don't stop."

"Never."

His free hand slides down my spine. Curves over my ass.

Then he smacks me.

The sharp crack echoes through the room. Stings in the best possible way.

"Again," I gasp.

He obliges. Again and again until my skin burns and I'm sobbing with pleasure.

"You like that, don't you?" he pants. "Like it when I mark you."

"Yes."

"Mine," he growls, punctuating the word with another thrust. "You're mine, Lilly."

I can’t bring myself to say it. He doesn’t ask me to. But his control finally snaps.

He fucks me harder. Faster. Like he's trying to claim every inch of me because I won’t admit I’m his so he’s going to prove it to himself.

I can feel my orgasm building. Coiling tight in my belly.

"I'm close," I gasp.

"Hold on. Wait for me."

His rhythm becomes erratic. Desperate.

Then his hand slides around. Finds my clit. Rubs hard circles that make me scream.

"Now," he commands. "Come for me now."

I shatter.

The orgasm rips through me like lightning. Makes my whole body shake and spasm around him.

He follows me over. Roars my name as he empties himself inside me.

We collapse together. Sweaty. Breathless. Completely wrecked.

His arms wrap around me. Pull me against his chest.

I should leave before he gets any ideas. Before he asks about Chleo again.

But I'm too tired. Too satisfied. Too content in his arms.

His breathing evens out. Becomes deep and steady.

He's asleep.

I lie there for what feels like hours. Listening to his heartbeat. Feeling the rise and fall of his chest.

This is dangerous. This feeling. This want to stay here forever.

Carefully, slowly, I slide out of his arms. He murmurs something in his sleep but doesn't wake.

I gather my destroyed clothes. What's left of them anyway.

His shirt hangs on a chair by the window. I slip it on. It falls to mid-thigh. Smells like him.

One last look at his sleeping form. So peaceful. So beautiful it makes my chest ache.

Then I slip out into the main room. Find my purse. My keys. I slip out the front door.

The drive home passes in a blur. My body still humming with satisfaction. My heart breaking with every mile. By the time I pull into my driveway, tears are streaming down my cheeks.

"I can't do this," I whisper to the empty car. "I can't."