Protector Daddy (MC Daddies 3)

“A friend huh?” Rhonda drawled. “It’s all right, sweetie, you don’t need to say anything more. You go have some fun with your new friend.”

“Wait,” Spike said sharply. He reached into his pocket and drew out his wallet. He handed her over a hundred dollar bill. “Anyone asks, we were never here.”

Rhonda didn’t grab the money like he assumed she would. Instead she gave him a suspicious look and then glanced up at Millie. “You in some trouble, girl?”

“Seems so,” Millie sighed. “It’s okay, though. I’ll be all right.”

“Uh-huh.” Rhonda snatched up the money, turning away. “Good luck, hon.”

“You too.”

Spike stepped back and turned. Grabbing Millie around the waist, he lifted her down. He loomed over her, placing his hands on the top of the car. “Just what did you think you were doing?”

“Talking to Rhonda?” she asked, looking up at him in confusion. Although it was hard to read her expression in the poorly-lit parking lot.

This wasn’t the best time for this conversation. He took hold of her wrist. “Come on.”

“Wait, Mr. Fluffy. My bag.” She tugged back against his hold.

Turning, he stared down at her again. “Don’t do that. You’ll hurt yourself.”

“Maybe instead of just grabbing hold of me and dragging me places you could actually speak to me instead. Like a normal person.”

The bite in her voice raised his eyebrows. So she did know how to snap back. Good. Because she was going to need a tough side in order to get through these next few days.

And you’re gonna need a lot of cold showers or else you’re going to be walking around with a permanent hard-on.

Stop thinking about your dick.

“Not the time to chat,” he told her abruptly. “Inside.”

“Yes, I want to get inside too. But to do that, I need my handbag. It has my keys.”

Idiot.

He sighed, his irritation completely and utterly turned inward. “Grab your bag. Dog can stay in the car.”

She climbed into the car, her ass wiggling around so much that he had to bite back a groan. He forced himself to concentrate on his surroundings.

Focus.

When she slid out, she held her bag in one hand and the dog in the other.

They definitely needed a chat about obedience. And listening. And who the boss was.

Newsflash. Not her.

She must have sensed his irritation. “Mr. Fluffy doesn’t like to be apart from me. He gets separation anxiety.”

Lord give him p

atience.

“Keys,” he demanded, holding out his hand.

She tried to juggle the dog and her bag, but couldn’t manage it. So she held out the fluffy ball of fur to him. He took the dog. It settled onto his arm. And promptly fell asleep.

This dog had issues. Weren’t puppies meant to have energy?