Ignite: A Grumpy Single Dad Romance

by Melanie Harlow

  My skin was on fire. My muscles were tense. My body moved inside her with abandon, the heat gathering at the base of my spine. She called out my name, her voice breaking, her hips bucking up beneath me. The storm broke, crashing over me in roaring waves that made my world turn silver, my head echo with thunder, and my cock surge and throb as I released all the pent-up tension within.

  When I could see again, I stared down at her, breathing hard. Her expression was something between exhilarated and shell-shocked. Releasing her wrists, I braced my hands above her shoulders. “Fuck. Are you okay?”

  “I think so.” She laughed softly. “I can’t feel my arms. Are they still attached to my body?”

  “Sorry I got so carried away.”

  “You warned me it wouldn’t be gentle.” She smiled. “You were right—partly.”

  “Partly?”

  Her eyes gleamed wickedly. “You were gentle with your tongue.”

  At the memory of her thighs open before me, my heart skipped a beat. Immediately I wondered when I could taste her again.

  Withdrawing from her body, I stood, yanked up my jeans, and offered her a hand. She took it and rose to her feet, pushing her dress down. Her hair had come loose. “Could I use your bathroom?”

  “Sure.”

  She scooped up her underwear from the floor and disappeared into the small half-bath across from the kitchen, rubbing one wrist. Closing my eyes a second, I exhaled, hoping she wouldn’t wake up with bruises tomorrow. What the hell would she say if someone asked about them? Locating my shirt across the room where I’d flung it, I pulled it over my head and went upstairs.

  In the master bathroom, I disposed of the condom, washed my hands, and put myself back together. When I came down again, she was sitting on the couch, her hair falling in soft waves around her shoulders. One arm was raised, and she was examining something on the side of her dress.

  “Fuck,” I said, spotting the hole. “Did I rip your dress?”

  “Yes, I think you did.”

  I groaned. “God, I’m a dick. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s fine—it’s on the seam, so it can easily be stitched up.”

  “Let me do it.”

  She looked up at me in surprise. “Huh?”

  “I’ll do it right now.” I headed for the stairs again. “Give me one minute to find a needle and thread.”

  “You sew?”

  “Yes, I sew,” I said, heading up the steps. “And I’m offended at your tone.”

  She burst out laughing. “Sorry! You caught me by surprise, that’s all.”

  It took me a few minutes to remember where I’d put the box my mother had given me with a tiny sewing kit in it, but I finally found it on the shelf in my closet. Tucking it under my arm, I grabbed a TCFD T-shirt from my dresser—sniffing it to make sure it was actually clean—and headed back downstairs.

  “Here,” I said, handing her the shirt. “Give me the dress and put this on.”

  She presented me with her back, lifting her hair off her neck. “Can you unzip it for me?”

  I tossed my shirt on the couch and did as she asked, the intimate task sending a bolt of heat to my crotch. “I probably should have done this an hour ago, huh?”

  “I mean, it might have saved you the trouble of sewing the rip, but then you wouldn’t have gotten to impress me with your hidden talent.” She grinned at me over one shoulder. “Although I’m learning you have several of those.”

  Another bolt.

  “Okay, you’re unzipped.”

  Without turning around, she lowered the dress to her feet and stepped out of it, handing it over to me. But I stood there dumbfounded for a few seconds, distracted first by the gigantic faded bruise on her hip, and next by the barely-there, strappy black underwear she had on. I’d been so eager to get them off her, I hadn’t noticed them before.

  “Jesus,” I said, staring like a schoolboy. “Do you always have things like that on under your clothes?”

  “I’m not telling you,” she teased, pulling my T-shirt over her head. “You’ll just have to wonder about it every time you see me.”

  I growled like a hungry bear. “Not. Fair.”

  “Pretend you don’t see the bruise, okay?”

  “Is that from your fall off the suitcase?”

  “Yes.”

  I touched her hip gingerly. “I’m sorry. I feel responsible.”

  “You should.” She smoothed the front of my shirt over her chest. “Hey, you were wearing this shirt the day you moved in.”

  “Was I?”

  “Trust me on this.” She dropped onto the couch, tucking her legs beneath her. “I spent a ridiculous amount of time staring at your muscles out the front window. Now come on. I want to see you sew.”

  Sitting down next to her, I opened the box. The dress had a black background, so I dug around for some black thread. It took me a few tries to get it through the eye of the needle, and Winnie giggled.

  “Hey, listen,” I grumbled, tying a knot the way my mother taught me. “This isn’t easy for someone with big hands, okay?”

  “You do have big hands,” she said, rubbing my leg. “But I like them. And I’m sorry I laughed. You’re just concentrating so hard, it’s adorable.”

  I gave her a dirty look before turning the dress inside out. “I am not adorable. I am manly and tough. Even when I’m sewing.”

  “You are. And this is one hundred percent the hottest thing a guy has ever done for me.”

  “Oh yeah?” I grinned as I began carefully mending the ripped seam with tight, even stitches.

  “Definitely. Nothing else even comes close.” She watched me finish the job, tie a knot, and snip the thread.

  Nervous, I turned the dress right side out and checked my work—probably not as good as my mother would have done, but the hole was gone and I couldn’t see evidence of crooked stitches.

  I handed it over. “There you go. Sorry I ripped it.”

  She took the dress from me and grinned. “Liar.”

  “You’re right. I’m not sorry.” And she looked so cute in my shirt, I couldn’t resist pulling her onto my lap so she straddled my thighs once more. “In fact, put it on and I’ll rip it again. I’ll tear it to pieces this time. With my teeth.”

  She laughed. “Easy, killer.”

  “This is probably one of those red flags you were talking about, huh?” I slid my hands beneath the shirt to the sides of her ribcage.

  “I don’t know,” she said, putting her hands on my chest. “No one’s ever torn my clothes before. Or pinned me down that way. Or said those kinds of things.”

  “I guess even selfish assholes have better manners than me.”

  She smiled. “I guess so. But it’s okay, because I’m not looking for a boyfriend this time, remember?”

  “That’s right.” I recalled what she’d said last night. “You’re in rehab for your love addiction.”

  “Exactly. So you can go right ahead and rip my clothes and pin me down and say all kinds of filthy things to me.”

  I growled again, gripping her sides. “Don’t tempt me, little girl.”

  “I’m serious.” She slid her palms to the back of my neck. “You can do all that and more, but don’t call me baby, don’t start believing in happily ever after, and definitely don’t bring me any more Frostys.”

  “Never? Not even on your birthday?”

  She shook her head. “Especially not on my birthday. Because then I would have to grow old with you, and neither of us wants that.”

  I scowled. “Fuck that bullshit.”

  “Then we agree. All in fun.” She smiled and leaned forward, kissing my lips. “I should go.”

  I didn’t want her to leave, but I didn’t want to ask her to stay either. Like she said, this was all in fun—and as much fun as it would be to throw her over my shoulder, take her upstairs, and have my way with her in bed, spending the night together was something people in relationships did. This wasn’t that.

  Thank G
od we were on the same page.

  She stood up and traded my shirt for her dress, turning around so I could zip it for her. Again, she held her hair out of the way, and once the dress was zipped, I was tempted to press my lips to the back of her neck. Wrap my arms around her waist. Bury my face in her golden hair and breathe in deep.

  But this wasn’t that.

  This was never going to be that.

  “Thanks,” she said, facing me again.

  “No problem. I’ll walk you back.”

  She laughed. “Dex, I live like fifteen feet away.”

  But I followed her outside anyway. “I told you before, I’m a firefighter and a dad. Keeping people safe is my thing.”

  On the patio, she gave me a quick hug. “Sleep tight.”

  “See you,” I said, careful not to hold her.

  She walked over to her place and slid the door open, then gave me a wave. “Night.”

  “Night.” I watched her step inside and called out. “Hey.”

  She leaned out and looked over at me. “What?”

  “I had fun tonight.”

  “Me too.”

  “But I don’t love you.”

  She burst out laughing. “I don’t love you either.”

  “Good. Now stay off my patio or else.”

  She blew me a kiss and disappeared inside.

  I stood there for a moment, listening to my heart thump a little louder than it should.

  Grabbing the empty beer bottle from the ground, I smiled as I remembered the way she’d taken it from me and climbed onto my lap.

  She was trouble, all right.

  But nothing I couldn’t handle.

  Thirteen

  Winnie

  “You’re in a good mood today.” My sister Millie’s voice was pleasant but slightly suspicious.

  Seated across from her at her desk, I looked up from the notes I was taking about a wedding we’d just booked. “What makes you say that?”

  “You keep humming.”

  “I do?”

  “Yes. At least I think it’s humming—with you it’s hard to tell.”

  “Very funny.” My awful singing was a running joke in our family. I was completely tone-deaf and had a voice like a squeaky door hinge.

  Millie eyeballed me curiously as she took a sip of coffee. “So what’s up?”

  “Nothing,” I said quickly, dropping my eyes to the list of vendors I was compiling. “Hey, what do you think about suggesting Cece Carswell as videographer? The bride said she wanted a more cinematic feel, maybe not perfectly linear.”

  “I think she’d be a great fit.”

  “Cool. I’ll send the bride her contact info.” I stood up to leave, but Millie held up a finger.

  “Not so fast. Something is going on with you and I want to know what it is. You are not a hummer.”

  “I hum,” I said. “It’s off-key and terrible, but I hum. Everyone hums.”

  “I know you, Winifred MacAllister. Out with it.”

  Sighing, I dropped into the chair again. “Okay, but don’t get all crazy about this. It’s not a big deal.”

  “What’s not a big deal?”

  “What I did last night.”

  Her eyes went wide just as someone rapped on her open office door.

  “Knock, knock,” Ellie said as she walked in. “There you are. I just saw your dad in the main office and he said you were over here.”

  “We’re just finishing up,” Millie said. “Come in and take a seat. Winnie is about to tell us what she did last night.”

  Ellie raced for the other chair across from Millie’s desk, vaulted it, and dropped onto the seat. “Oh, I am here for this. Did you seduce the older man?”

  “What older man?” Millie squealed.

  “The hot single dad that moved in next door to her last weekend,” Ellie announced breathlessly. “He’s going to be her neighbor-with-benefits while she’s on a break from relationships.”

  Millie set her mug down with a thud. “Wait, what about the bet? Doesn’t that mean she lost?”

  Ellie shrugged. “I sort of gave her a hall pass for this guy.”

  “That was nice of you.”

  “Well, she deserved it after what she went through with Merrick. And she understands that this is strictly a sex thing. No feelings allowed.”

  “Are you going to tell the story or am I?” I asked impatiently.

  “You.” She crossed her legs, parked her elbow on her knee and her chin in her hand. “Tell us everything.”

  “Well, when I got home from your house last night and went out to the patio to water my plants, he was out there having a beer.”

  Ellie’s eyes lit up. “Nice move with the plants.”

  “Thank you, I thought so too.” I tucked my hair behind my ears. “So he’d bought some furniture for his patio, and he invited me to come over and try out his new chairs . . .” I paused. “Long story short, I sat on his lap instead, just as you suggested.”

  Ellie clapped her hands. “And then?”

  “Then we went inside and things happened.”

  “In his bedroom?”

  “Uh, no.” I laughed, shaking my head. “We only made it about three feet inside the door.”

  “Oh my,” Ellie said appreciatively. “So how was it?”

  “Hot.”

  “How hot?”

  “He threw me down and ripped my dress.”

  “Oh my God!” Ellie’s jaw dropped. “Your grumpy old man crush is a beast.”

  “He’s not a total beast—he sewed up the rip afterward.”

  Millie, who’d been stunned silent this whole time, made a T with her hands. “Wait a minute, wait a minute. Time out. Who is this guy?”

  “He’s my new neighbor,” I said. “He moved in last Saturday.”

  “Why is he grumpy?”

  “He’s not always grumpy. He just . . . looks serious a lot. He has a resting grump face.”

  “And he’s old?”

  “He’s thirty-four,” I said. “He graduated with Chip—they were good friends in high school.”

  Recognition flickered on her face. “Is this the guy who was at Chip and Mariah’s engagement party? The one with the two little girls?”

  “Yes,” I said. “He’s divorced.”

  “He’s also a former Navy SEAL,” Ellie added.

  “I met him briefly at the party.” Millie smiled. “Seems like a nice guy. And his girls are adorable. They were telling me about the swear box they made because their dad curses so much, and how they’re saving for a cat.”

  “He does swear too much around them,” I said, “but he’s a really good dad.”

  “Well, good for you. I think it’s—” Suddenly my sister stopped talking and burst out laughing.

  “What’s so funny?” I asked.

  “Oh my God, you don’t see it?” She shook her head, her eyes tearing up. “You have a crush on Dad, Winnie!”

  My spine snapped straight. “I do not!”

  “Yes, you do—ex-military, divorced single dad with daughters, swears too much.” She leaned back in her chair and kicked her feet. “It’s totally Dad. And you’re Frannie, complete with gigantic age gap! Just don’t let his daughters find you guys making out in the closet like we caught them.”

  “This is not that situation at all,” I argued. “Dad and Frannie were in love. They had a real relationship that they tried to hide. Dex and I are just friends.”

  One of Millie’s eyebrows peaked as she picked up her coffee. “Sounds like it. My friends throw me down and rip my clothes all the time. And then offer to sew them.”

  Rolling my eyes, I stood up. “Just forget it. I told you it wasn’t a big deal. I don’t even know if it will happen again.”

  “Why wouldn’t it?” Ellie asked.

  I shrugged. “Maybe it was just one of those things we had to get out of our systems, you know?”

  “Uh huh.” Millie smiled knowingly. “And does it feel like that this morning? Is he ou
t of your system?”

  Of course he wasn’t.

  I hadn’t been able to think about anything else since I left his place last night—I’d barely even slept.

  My face grew hot.

  “That’s what I thought.” My sister’s grin was smug. “Good luck keeping this thing casual.”

  “I don’t need luck,” I said, hugging my notebook to my chest. “Because I am the boss of my feelings.”

  “Of course you are.” She started singing the song I’d been humming before, except that she could actually sing. “L is for the way you look at me . . .”

  “Come on, Ell,” I said. “Let’s go take a look at the patio.”

  “Okay. Bye, Millie.” Ellie got up and followed me to the door.

  We heard my sister crooning all the way down the hall.

  Later that afternoon, there was a lull at the front desk, and I took a minute to check my email. Most of it was junk, but I also had a message from a woman named Sandra Elson, who’d interviewed me last spring for a position in a Manhattan hotel. I hadn’t gotten the job, which turned out to be just as well, but afterward, she’d sent me a nice note saying that while I’d been a very strong candidate, the position had been filled internally.

  Her return email address indicated she was now working for a new hotel, and the subject line said, Following Up — New Opportunity.

  Curious, I opened it.

  Dear Winifred,

  Hello! I hope you are well. I wanted to reach out to you about a job opportunity at The Alexander, a boutique hotel in a former summer home in Newport, Rhode Island. I recently took a job here as manager, and I’m looking for an event planner to coordinate large gatherings, such as corporate retreats and wedding receptions, but also smaller events for our guests.

  The Alexander is an elegant inn, just twenty-two rooms, in a nineteenth century mansion built by a silver heiress and her literary novelist husband. They threw famous parties here in the twenties and thirties—Harry Houdini performed at one!—and the home has been featured in a few Hollywood films. The grounds boast a gorgeous rose garden and spectacular ocean views.

  There are several spaces ideal for weddings and receptions, including a luxurious Gilded Age ballroom, terraces overlooking the gardens, and interior rooms for more intimate occasions. When I first saw the possibilities, I immediately thought of you. As you know, your portfolio and personal interview made quite an impression on me.