Possessive Daddy Next Door

“You don’t get to decide that on your own.”

I shake my head. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I want to.” She bites her lip hard and stares at me. “You’re the first man in my life that really made me feel something. I just lost my whole world when my store closed and now… I’m not about to let this go, whatever it is.”

“You could die.”

“So could you. But I want to help that. And I want to help your daughter.”

I let out a breath. I stare at the fire pit, at the old ash coating the bottom. There’s nothing good here, nothing wholesome. She deserves someone that can help her and give her a life.

There’s only death and hurt around me.

“Come on,” she says. “Come back to the manor. Come to work. We’ll talk to Patricks and see if we can’t figure something out.”

“No,” I say.

She frowns at me and I can see the hurt in her eyes.

“I mean, not Patricks,” I amend. “I’ll come to work tomorrow. We’ll talk more about it, okay?”

“Okay,” she says, sounding relieved. She smiles at me. “So, you were a mob informant, huh?”

“Undercover agent,” I correct.

“That’s amazing.”

“It’s impressive until you realized I spent more time with gangsters and killers than I did with my wife.”

She sighs. “You’re a downer right now.”

I smirk at her and reach out, taking her hair in my fist again. “Maybe a little. But I like that you’re holding on to this. I like… I like that you want it.”

“You do too.”

I pull her closer. She lets out a little gasp. “I need it, more like,” I growl and kiss her again.

We let that kiss linger until I break it off.

“Now come on, I’ll drive you home. And I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Fine. But don’t let the mafia get you in the meantime.”

I laugh and stand up. “Don’t worry about that. I’m not worried about myself.”

She grins at me and takes my offered hand. “I have a feeling you’re probably right.”

I lead her back to the truck, the weight of the gun against my back making me feel secure.9DeliaI spot Max in the halls the next day. I grin at him like a moron, and I want to talk to him, but Patricks is there. I know he’ll suspect something, so I keep it to myself.

Even if all I want to do is throw myself at him, I force myself to go about my day like normal. Lora gives me a weird look at breakfast when she catches me staring at the door, but she doesn’t press. I think everyone’s used to me acting a little weird these days.

I get one moment alone with him. Around noon, I’m lounging in the music room, feet up on the bench, head on some pillows, an old paperback in my hands. I’m trying to read but I keep thinking about him, about his strong arms… and about his horrible story.

“There you are.”

I look up. He smiles at me from the doorway, leaning against it casually. “Oh. Hi.”

“What’s this room?” he asks, looking around.

“Music,” I say. “Nobody really uses it. I mean, I think someone used to, but nobody got that gene.”

He laughs and walks over to the piano. He sits down and moves over, pushing my feet off. I laugh and fake glare at him. He puts his hands on the keys and start to play something haunting and lyrical.

I sit up straight. “Wow. Hey.”

He looks back and raises an eyebrow, still playing. “Yes?”

“I didn’t know you could play.”

“I don’t know why that’s such a big surprise.”

“I mean… you’re a cop. So I thought…”

“You thought that, because I’m a cop, I must be some sort of meathead that doesn’t enjoy music?”

“No…” I frown at him. “Yes. That’s right.”

He laughs, delighted. He keeps playing and I close my eyes, letting the music wash over the room. It’s a gorgeous piece but I don’t recognize it, although that’s not a surprise. Music is great but I don’t know a whole lot about it.

He finally brings the piece to an end and lets the last note sustain. He looks back at me. “This is where you applaud my genius.”

I clap and he gives me a mocking half-bow.

“What’s this?”

We both look over. My mother’s standing in the doorway, frowning at the two of us. Max stands up, the piano bench pushing back and scraping against the floor. Mother winces and frowns.

“Sorry, Mrs. Lofthouse,” Max says.

“Were you playing?” she asks. “I believe that was Debussy.”

He nods. “It was.”

“You played it very well.” She frowns even more. “You’re the new security man?”

“That’s right, ma’am.”

“And you have a talent for piano. Very interesting.”

“But just security these days, ma’am.”

“I asked him to play,” I say, standing up. “Don’t be angry, Mom.”

She looks surprised. “I’m not angry. I suppose he shouldn’t be playing while he’s on duty, but I can’t be angry at what I just heard.”