Page 3 of Rough Daddy (REAL DADDIES: Boone Brothers #5)

Three

Beau

S he walks like a newborn filly.

Her ass sways with each unsteady step, wet silk molded to tits I've memorized through a screen.

Tina Quincy, my ass.

Tessa fucking Quinn.

The new goth-black hair is a nice touch, but I know her. My obsession runs so deep she could wear a sack, shave her head and belch the Star-Spangled Banner, and I'd still know it was her.

Mine. The thought slams into me, cock thick as a damn can.

She has no idea I've watched her for months. I know her nipples peak when she's cold. Her voice goes breathy when she's nervous. How she curled into a ball and cried the day they tore her apart online.

How all her accounts went dark 48 hours ago.

I want to turn her little ass over and show her what happens to girls who call strange men "sir." But I know what happens when monsters like me touch delicate things.

We break them. We might not mean to, but we do.

Once, all it took was a toddler playing a trick, only, I didn’t know that and in the next breath she was on the ground not moving.

"I'll get the tow truck arranged." I swallow around the tightness in my throat. "It’ll be safe at my shop until I can get it fixed."

Total bullshit. Her car just needs a couple hours to dry out, but she doesn't know that, and I’m not about to tell her.

She clearly knows jack shit about electric vehicles. And it’s not like it’s a full-on lie. If I needed to get parts, that could take a couple of weeks. I’m just leaving out the part where I don’t need them.

She stumbles again. I'm moving before my brain catches up, then I stop dead, my fingers clenching into fists. Not again . I touched her and didn't want to fucking stop. I can’t take that risk.

She catches herself.

Christ. I need to get it together.

The office door swings open and out comes my brother Cade with a fresh cup of coffee from my personal stash. He takes one look at Tessa, then me, and his eyebrows climb toward his hairline.

"Well, well." He grins. "What do we have here?"

"Customer," I grunt. "Fried her EV in the wash."

Cade's eyes flick between us, reading things I don't want him to see. "Customer. Right," he drawls, leaning against the back of his truck and taking a sip of the steaming coffee. "Need my help with anything?"

I fight the urge to smack the smirk off his face.

"Nope." I snap my tongue behind my teeth.

"You sure? Because you look like you need some help—"

"I said nope. And buy your own fucking coffee."

He frowns. “I like yours. You know I’m too cheap to get the good stuff. Three-hundred-dollar organic Geisha special—”

“ Es-spec-ial,” I enunciate each syllable , “ dumb-ass. What do you want, besides coming here to steal my coffee?”

Tessa's watching us, confusion written all over her face.

My cock throbs against my zipper. She called me "sir" a few minutes ago, and I came in my jeans like a fucking teenager. I’m pretty sure my brother senses my shame.

Cade shrugs. "Nope, just the coffee.” He lands his smug eyes on Tessa. “See you Sunday." He tips an imaginary hat her way. "Ma'am."

She gives him a polite but confused smile. "Nice to meet you."

My fists clench. She shouldn't be smiling at him. Those smiles should be for me alone.

When his truck disappears down the road, I open the door to mine and give her a nod. "In."

“Wait, I thought we were coming here to get the tow truck set up?”

“I’ll do that. You get in my truck, we’re going to get your stuff out of your car.”

"I can just walk back to my car and—"

"I said, get in, little girl."

Her pupils dilate. Lips part. I catch a savory scent on the wind that makes a growl build in my throat.

I want to mate her like a fucking dog. I swear, a knot is swelling in my dick.

I'm reconsidering having her sit next to me.

Except not having her next to me for the next few minutes would turn me into the kind of monster I'm pretty sure I already am.

She doesn't argue. She climbs into the truck, and I reach in to fasten her seat belt. Might only be a hundred yards, but I'm not taking chances. I climb behind the wheel and drive us back to her Tesla. When I've helped her out, I nod at the overpriced car. "Pop the trunk."

"Why? I’m so confused."

"You're staying up at my place. I assume you have stuff you need."

"What? I'm… No." She shakes her head. "The hotel can't be fully booked. There must be somewhere. I can't stay with you."

"You can. Pop the trunk, or I'll use my crowbar. Your choice."

"This is…" She moves to the back of the car, heels clicking, those ridiculous green boots nearly making me smile. "This is ridiculous. I don't know you."

“My name is Beau Boone. I grew up in Wildfire. You can ask anyone that passes by about me. I have three asshole brothers. You just met one of them, his name’s Cade.

I’ve owned this garage for twenty years, my brothers and I chased my father off when I was twenty-one for raising a hand to my mother.

We took care of her from then on until she died five years ago.

I have three sisters-in-law as well that will vouch for me.

You want me to call them? Trust me, they’d ball it over here to meet you and see why I’m asking for a character reference for a gorgeous girl—”

“Okay.” She squeezes her eyes shut, throwing her hands up in surrender. “No need to pull out the sister-in-law card.”

When she reaches in her back pocket and pulls out the key fob and hits the button, the trunk pops and I groan a string of curse words.

Her trunk practically vomits out brown and gold expensive-looking suitcases.

"Fuck me." I cock a brow. “Did you say you were moving here?”

That thought spins heat down into my DNA. Why is she here in fucking Wildfire, Michigan, anyway?

I assumed some content creation opportunity, but why here? And why thirty-fucking-thousand suitcases?

"I need everything," she says defensively.

She’s running.

It’s the only thing that makes sense. The new hair, the fake name. She got canceled by the very world that propped her up since she was in a training bra. She's been hurt. Judged.

Anyone tries to pull shit with her again, I’ll bundle the bones of their fingers together, which I’ll remove with a Sawzall, then turn them into a custom-made ass-crack scratcher just for her.

I start hauling suitcases to my truck, possessiveness pounding in my chest.

She reaches for a little square case next to the bigger one I’m pulling out, and I snarl before I can stop myself.

"Don't," I snap.

She pulls back like she just got burned. "I was just—"

"I said don't fucking touch it. I’ll do it. You just stand there and look beautiful."

Her face flushes pink as she steps back. “I’m more than a pretty face.”

She smiles, but her eyes don’t. It makes me angry, ready to put myself between her and whatever might upset her, past, present or future.

But if she touches me right now, if her fingers brush mine reaching for the same handle, I'll drag her into the back of this truck and show her exactly what Daddy does to disobedient little girls.

Five minutes later, my truck bed is full, everything is strapped down, and she's perched in the passenger seat like a lost little bunny. Her legs are crossed, those crazy green boots screaming she’s not from around here.

I want to run my tongue along the creamy skin at the base of her throat. Bite it. Mark it.

My knuckles go white on the steering wheel.

"Where is your place?" she asks as I palm the wheel, taking the last turn onto the dirt road up to my cabin.

"Up."

"That's... specific." She shifts, and the darts of her nipples in the cold A/C of the truck stick out through her still-damp little white blouse.

I damn near drive off the fucking road. “Again, Mr. Boone, I think I have a right to know where exactly I’m going.

After all, you did not provide me with more than anecdotal evidence of your identity, besides some referential conversation with a brother and the threat of calling your sisters-in-law. I think I should get—"

I expel a hard breath on a few curse words. If I wasn’t ass over teakettle for this girl already, I might introduce her to the magic silence a strip of duct tape can bring.

Her eyes are on me, waiting for more details about where we are going, I’m sure, but I’m not sure what to tell her.

Your new home?

That’s likely not going to garner me more trust, so I keep the words lodged in my windpipe.

"Are you always this chatty?" She crosses her arms, lips rolling together as she raises a brow at my mute silence.

"Depends."

"On what?"

"On whether I like the company."

She goes quiet. When I glance over, she's biting her lip, staring out at the trees. Shoulders hunched.

"Do you?" Voice smaller. Eyes back toward me. "Like the company?"

Shit. I am many things, but a liar I’m not. I can avoid a question, skirt the truth like I did at the car wash. But out-and-out lying?

Not my style.

"Yeah." I nod. "I like it."

The apples of her cheeks burn dark pink. "Good."

My approval matters to her. My cock throbs.

"You scared of heights?" I ask before the urge to pull the truck over and show her exactly how much I like her company takes hold.

"No." She pauses, then softer, "Should I be?"

"Depends how much you trust me."

She looks at me then. Those brown eyes search my face, and heat prickles up my spine. "Can I? Trust you, that is?"

The question hangs between us like a loaded gun. I take the next curve fast, tires gripping asphalt, and her hand shoots out to brace against the dashboard.

Her breath catches. She gasps, followed by a little moan.

I want to hear that sound again. Louder. In my bed.

"You can trust me," I answer, rolling my neck around in an effort to release the knots she’s tying me in. "I've been driving this road for twenty years."

"Is that what we're talking about?" Her hand is still pressed against the dash, knuckles white.

We climb higher. Trees get thicker, air thinner. She's quiet, watching the world narrow to just us and the mountain.