Page 4 of Rough Daddy (REAL DADDIES: Boone Brothers #5)

One last turn and we’re on my property. My guesthouse sits at the end of a gravel drive, small and clean with a view that drops straight to nowhere.

I park and kill the engine.

"This is it?"

"This is it."

She gets out, stepping carefully on the uneven gravel. Pulls out her phone, holds it up, frowning at the screen. "No signal."

"Spotty up here. You’ll get texts through, a little delayed usually but you’ll get them. But the reception’s not steady enough for a phone call. Need satellite if you want to talk to the outside world."

Her face goes pale. "Satellite?"

"Got one inside. For emergencies."

I start unloading suitcases, watching her take in the place. The isolation. The silence. Nothing like her world.

My cabin isn't roughing it. My brothers and I all helped each other when it came to building, and we all had ideas of what we wanted.

When it came to my place, I was the minimalist in the group. I never saw myself here with anyone else, so two bedrooms, one bathroom, kitchen, living room.

There was an old one-room cabin on the property when we divided up the land and I cleaned that up.

I’m the farthest up the mountain of all the brothers, too, so the guest cabin gets some use now and then for poker nights, that sort of thing.

Once for a party for my brothers’ wives who needed a secret spot for their shenanigans.

That didn’t go as planned for them.

"It's..." she starts.

"Not what you're used to." A flutter of unfamiliar insecurity moves in my chest.

"I was going to say perfect."

Perfect.

“You can have the guest house. It’s got everything you’ll need. And privacy.”

Not that I want to give you fucking privacy. I want to sit you right back on the hood of my truck so we can have a mutual masturbation session out here under the Wildfire blue sky.

Because I can’t touch you.

Fear punches me in the gut.

I work on unloading the truck while she plays with her phone, then takes a little stroll over to the side of the cabin, looking over the drop-off behind.

“You weren’t kidding about heights.”

I grunt, dropping the last of her bags on the porch. "Few rules while you're here."

She stands straight, head cocked, that new black hair framing her creamy pale face. "Rules?"

"My mountain. My rules." I unlock the door and push it open, watching her pupils dilate just a fraction. "No wandering off alone. These woods'll swallow a little thing like you whole."

She nods, following me inside without playing twenty-fucking-questions.

"No driving anywhere. I have a pole barn full of cars, but don’t think about it. These roads aren't for city princesses who can't handle a car wash, and I don’t even want to get started on your choice of footwear."

“A barn full of cars?” Her eyes light up, before she catches herself and clears her throat, a little pink rising on her cheekbones. “I mean, can I see them?”

I nod. “Sure. But like I was saying, no driving.”

"I can handle—"

"No arguments, either." She’s all silk and perfume and curves that belong in my hands, and I want to cage her against the wall and stuff the throbbing thickness in my groin in every fucking hole God gave her. "You promise to do as I say, and I promise to keep you safe. Deal?"

She swallows audibly. "I'm tougher than I look."

"I believe that. Doesn't change a fucking thing." I step closer, close enough to smell her shampoo. Close enough to see the gleam of sweat breaking out on the curve of her forehead. "While you're here, you follow my rules. You do what I say. When I say."

She should argue. Should tell me to go fuck myself.

Instead, she whispers, "Yes, sir."

"Are you doing that on purpose?" I growl, crowding her backwards until she hits the wall.

"Doing what?" Her voice is breathless.

"Calling me sir." I brace my hand above her head, leaning down until our faces are inches apart. "Because that’s a word you use when you belong to someone."

“Maybe that’s the word you use when you address an elder.” She smirks, fingers hovering over my chest. "But who exactly would it be that I belong to up here, where I know no one?”

“You know me. I told you who I was back in town. So, I guess it would be me. Elder as I am.”

I stand there like a fucking masochist, watching her hand hang in the air over my heart. Touch me. Please, God, just—

"Tina." I grind out her fake name between my teeth. Warning her.

She doesn't listen.

Her palm connects with my chest. I feel it everywhere.

In my cock, my gut, my fucking soul. Heat shoots straight to my groin, and I'm hard as granite, aching to use my fucking teeth to tear off anything that’s covering her, then use my tongue to spell my name on her fucking pussy so she knows who owns it now.

Mine. My girl. My—

No.

I jerk back, the connection broken.

She stumbles again , wobbling on those crazy high heels. Time stalls.

She’s hanging there in the air for a heartbeat. Two.

Then gravity’s a motherfucker. She goes down hard before I can move to catch her, her wrist smacking against the stone hearth.

"Fuck." I'm on my knees in a second, the war inside me like fire fighting ice.

I want her against me. I want to put my fucking hands everywhere. But just being close to me has her already hurt.

"Don't fucking move. I'm going to call an ambulance. Cade’s wife is a med tech, I’ll call her. Jesus. Fuck. I should have caught you."

She's cradling her wrist, face pale, and I want to fucking die. "I'm fine."

"You're not fine. Let me see." My panic sounds like anger.

"Don't touch me," she snaps, smacking at my outstretched hand, righting her feet back under her.

The words gut me. Because she's right. She's fucking right.

I shouldn't have brought her here. I sure as hell shouldn't have let myself forget, even for a second, that men like me destroy everything beautiful we get close to.

But I know one thing. I’m burning those fucking green boots.