The Single Dad (The Dalton Brothers 3)

Naked.

Bubbles all around her, floating over her body, her hair splayed out in the water.

“Is this a steam shower?”

I blinked.

Hard.

“Yes,” I replied. “And, listen, feel free to bring whatever you want when you move in. This is your place. Change it, move things around, whatever—just make it yours. I want you to feel comfortable.”

She came out of the bathroom and stopped a few feet away.

Close enough that I could smell the coconut.

The scent that haunted me.

That I couldn’t get enough of.

That I had licked off her skin.

“It’s perfect, Ford.”

Her neck tilted back, exposing her whole throat, and she turned in a circle to do a final scan. As she moved, a swish of her shirt whipped across my arm, a cushion so velvety, like her fingers.

A memory immediately filled my head of what her hands had felt like.

The pressure she had used to touch me.

The way it had caused my dick to react.

Fuck.

Something was wrong with me, something that continuously made my brain go there.

But I knew better.

I knew how wrong it was.

This was just the booze talking, bringing me to a place I needed to stay far away from.

“I can definitely see myself living here,” she said once she stopped moving.

I backed up, adding distance between us, and leaned against the nearest wall, searching for a reply.

My daughter. The topic I needed to keep my mind solely focused on.

“When I travel,” I said, “I’d like you to stay in the main house, so you won’t be far from Everly.”

“Absolutely. I’ll shack up in the guest room. But something tells me Everly is going to try to persuade me to stay in her room.” She smiled. “She tried tonight.”

“You’re right about that. She did the same to Hannah. She also convinced her to have a popcorn fight in my bed. Let’s steer away from the latter.”

A new thought entered.

Of Sydney’s dark hair fanned across my pillow.

Her laughter filling the quietness in my room.

Her body, in low-cut shorts and a tank top, spread across my California king.

My dick was fucking throbbing.

“Don’t worry; I don’t plan on us spending any time in your room.”

I glanced down at my feet, trying to fill my mind with something other than Sydney. But every time I reached a new fork in my brain, the path always led me straight back to her.

What made it worse was when my stare lifted and our eyes fixed.

My hands wanted to reach for her.

My arms wanted to wrap around her.

My lips wanted to press against hers.

But I couldn’t.

I couldn’t ruin this.

Everly needed her.

And I needed space, or something was going to happen—something I would regret.

“It’s late,” I whispered.

She nodded. “Let’s go to bed.”

Why did that feel like an invitation for us to go to bed together?

And why did my body immediately fail me the moment her words resonated?

I forced myself to turn away from her and leave the apartment, heading back down the stairs, across the garage, and into the main part of the house. Once I was in the kitchen, I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and chugged down half.

“I’m going to crash on the couch,” she said from behind me.

I shut the door to the fridge and faced her. “The guest room would be much more comfortable.”

And farther from my bedroom.

Much farther.

She was holding the edge of the island, her hair framing her cheeks, her eyes filled with a seductive glare.

My fucking God.