Daddy Undercover (Crescent Cove 9)

Her cheeks paled as her finger went limp under mine. “I have to get to work,” she said after a moment.

A moment where my heartbeat reverberated against my skull like a gunshot.

“Of course.” I let out a harsh laugh and released her before stepping back and holding up my hands. “I wouldn’t dream of keeping you from resuming your life.”

Wild, beautiful color rushed back into her cheeks as she hurried over to the sofa to collect her purse and coat. “You’re such a colossal jerk.”

“I am. A colossal jerk who slept with someone a year ago whose name rhymed with yours.”

She stopped moving, her head falling forward as if she didn’t have the strength to hold it up any longer. “I can’t keep this secret for you anymore. People who are important to me are asking questions, and they have a right to know about Samantha. She shouldn’t be hidden away like some mistake. She isn’t.” She whirled around again to face me, clutching her purse and coat to her chest as if they were armor. “She’s beautiful and perfect, and you don’t even know how lucky you are to have her. To be given the chance to have her.”

Her stricken expression made my gut twist. “Bee, wait.” I stepped toward her, lifting my hand to her face. “What is it? Tell me.”

I didn’t even know what I was asking for. I just knew there was something more to what she was saying, something just out of my grasp, and my stupid hurt feelings didn’t matter when she was in pain. None of my emotions even ranked compared to making sure she was okay.

She didn’t let me touch her, skirting around me and running out the door without even saying goodbye to Samantha or Sadie.

The door closed almost silently, the sound achingly final.

The twinkling Christmas lights blurred in my vision. I’d wanted to prevent her from leaving, and instead, I’d driven her away when she’d only tried to help.

I sagged onto the sofa. I could still smell her alluring gingerbread scent. I never knew if she got it from cooking or from some alluring combination of products, but that particular scent never failed to get my blood pumping.

Now it just seemed like a parting shot.

Sadie trotted over to me and pushed her head against my hand until I gave in and buried my face in her silky fur. “I’m sorry, girl. It’s my fault she left. My fault she didn’t want to stay.”

Nine

Sheriff Jared Brooks was the reason I wasn’t making pecan pie today.

Thanksgiving was one of my favorite holidays. If this was a typical year, I’d be rushing through my last minute prep before I went over to my parents’ place, already eagerly anticipating all the food I’d be eating in massive quantities. I’d also be wearing my comfy sweatpants, because the only people there would be family and close friends like Brooks. I didn’t have to dress up for him.

Normally.

I glanced down at my hooker heels, seductively laced up my legs. This was most definitely an outfit I’d never worn to a family meal before. I’d also never applied lots of mascara or chosen a boob-nestler necklace that would surely snag some attention while

I was reaching for the creamed spinach.

But then he’d told me about Trina. A name that had once rhymed with my name, which was no longer the case as I was changing mine. Now I would be known as something far more flamboyant. Like…Shalimar.

Also, that was a name that was patently impossible to rhyme with anything.

“I need to disinvite someone from Thanksgiving,” I said into the phone. “Preferably without actually having to, you know, speak to them. I’m not against signage.”

My mother would probably appreciate not having a sign planted in her front yard that read, “Go fuck yourself, Brooks,” but I couldn’t deny I’d considered it since it was too late to move.

“Harsh. You know people are alone today. It’s a rough day to cut someone out—oh. It’s him, isn’t it? Sheriff Oblivious,” my friend Luna Hastings said with obvious glee on the other end of the phone as I cradled her in the crook between my neck and my shoulder and stirred like a demon.

The recipe had said to stir well. Who needed Kitchen-Aid when I was currently powered by the anger from a thousand missed orgasms?

All right, probably not a thousand. That was an entirely inaccurate count. But I just knew I’d missed out while I’d been avoiding looking at other men. All the while, Brooks had been screwing strangers with names that sounded like mine.

Implanting children in them.

“I didn’t say who it was,” I said in an undertone. “Just that I need to ensure I won’t see a certain male face today or for the next hundred years.”

Luna cackled. “Oh, is that all? That shouldn’t be a problem. C’mon, gimme the deets. What did he do this time?”