He grasped hold of the nape of her neck and pulled her in to kiss her. Hard. “You’re mine now, little girl. That means you have to put up with me being overprotective and bossy.”
“I won’t always give in,” she warned.
“When it comes to safety, you will. Or I’ll be wielding that hairbrush of yours in an entirely different way.”
He stepped back, leaving her standing there, swaying slightly.
“I’ll call you tomorrow.” Then he strode out of the shop without a backward glance. As though he knew she was going to do exactly as he’d ordered.
Damn man. Entirely too arrogant for her peace of mind.
She rubbed her ass. He wouldn’t use her own hairbrush on her, would he?
13
She stood nervously outside the door to Duke’s house the next day. She wasn’t sure she should be here. What if he was still asleep? What if he’d had a long night? Doing club business. What exactly was club business?
She bit at her lip.
Go home, Sunny. Wait for him to call you.
That was something the old Sunny would have done. She’d never dare make a move. She always let other people call the shots. But while Duke far outweighed anyone else in her life for dominance and bossiness, she also knew he didn’t want a puppet he could maneuver into doing what he wanted.
She’d let Greg, and to a certain extent, Alan mold her into what they wanted. Growing up, she’d had to take on an adult role young.
She’d never really gotten to be herself. Whoever that was.
So she’d spent half the morning moping, waiting for Duke to call and telling herself not to bother him. Now it was mid-afternoon and she was done waiting.
Which was why she was standing at his front door, a basket of freshly baked blueberry muffins in her hand. She just needed to find the courage to ring the bell.
What if he rejects you? What if he doesn’t want to see you?
No. He liked her. He’d made that clear. She had to stop listening to her insecurities. She pressed the doorbell, hearing it ring. There was a long moment of silence. Maybe he wasn’t at home. His truck was here, though.
Had she turned him off somehow?
Then the door opened and he stood there, dressed in a pair of sweats and a tight black sleeveless top.
Hello biceps.
She swallowed; her mouth dry as neither of them said anything. Then she held up the basket.
“Muffins.”
He raised an eyebrow. Why wasn’t he saying anything? Now she felt like a complete dork. He hadn’t wanted to see her. She’d done something wrong. She put the basket down by their feet.
“Enjoy.” She turned to flee, tears stinging her eyes.
Then a hand reached out and wrapped around her arm. “Wait.”
She turned back to find him staring at her in puzzlement. There was something else in his gaze. Something dark. Intense. He looked stressed. Even standing there with a bottle of beer in his hand.
He was drinking already? Not that she was a prude or anything. It was his day off; he could drink if he wanted. He rolled his head from side to side as though trying to stretch tight muscles.
“Where you goin’, babe?”
“Um, well, I wasn’t sure if you wanted company. I mean, you said you’d call me, not that it matters that you haven’t,” she said hastily. “But I thought you might want something to eat. . .see I made muffins and I made too many and I. . .” she squeaked as he wrapped an arm around her waist and hauled her inside the house. Then he leaned down and snagged hold of the basket of muffins. He kept her tight against his side as he kicked out to shut the door.