Page 22 of Mountain Daddy (Mountain Men #2)

Kendra

I step into the hallway, and a shadow falls over me as I nearly crash into a body.

A tall, broad, clad-in-flannel body.

I stumble to a halt, and large hands grip my shoulders, steadying me.

Warm hands. Against my bare shoulders.

Slowly, with my heart crawling up my throat, I lift my gaze.

Familiar brown eyes stare back into mine.

“Oh my god,” I breathe, not believing what I’m seeing.

Luther takes a step closer, sliding one of his hands across my shoulder to my throat.

His fingers tighten slightly as he uses his hold on me to tip my head back, forcing me to keep my eyes on his.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Luther’s voice is just as quiet as mine. But his is full of… anger?

“What?” I can’t make sense of this.

I reach up and grip his forearm with both hands. But not to push him away. I don’t want him to step away. I just need something to hold on to.

Luther leans down into my space. “You think you can just hop out of my bed and into Joe’s?” He hisses the accusation.

“Hop into…?” I finally comprehend what he said and nearly gag.

This time, I do shove at his arm.

But he doesn’t budge. And I ignore the heat building in my core at having his hand around my throat like this.

“I am not sleeping with…” I can’t say it. I can’t say my dad’s name.

“And yet here you are…” He drags his eyes down my body. “In the same slutty pajamas.”

“Slutty?” I’d laugh, but I’m too busy trying to stay quiet.

And why did the word slutty make my thighs clench?

Luther’s lips thin as his jaw clenches. “I don’t care what you did. You’re done with him. I’m?—”

“Kenny, that you?” Dad’s voice cuts off whatever Luther was going to say. And I see it.

I see the moment he realizes who I really am.

Who I am to Joe.

But Luther doesn’t step back.

He doesn’t release me.

His fingers flex once around my neck. “Kenny?”

The understanding hits him the same as it just hit me.

And I literally have to fuck with him.

“That’s right, Daddy.” I lean into his hold, increasing the pressure of his palm against my throat. “But I prefer it when you call me Baby.”

A low rumble vibrates through his chest. “Dammit, woman.”

He releases his hold on me, but instead of snatching his hand away, he drags it down my chest. And his fingertips leave a scorching trail from my collarbone to my cleavage.

My already hard nipples pulse with the touch.

Then I hear footsteps.

I take a step back.

“I’ll be ready in a minute,” I call out, hoping to stop my dad from rounding the end of the hall.

Luther, or whatever the fuck his name is, stays where he is, his big body blocking the hallway and any view my dad might have of our indecent introduction.