No Excuses

by Nikky Kaye

  There was nothing else to say. Sheila never asked; she just assumed I’d be there. Mostly, I was. There were times when it burned that not only did she take it for granted that I’d come to the rescue, but that I always proved her right.

  But we both knew that I’d never let Stella down, and Sheila used it to her advantage.

  I glared at her, but her attention was focused on her phone. “You could have called first.”

  “They just called me. I didn’t want to blow them off,” she explained—like it was no big deal to get a toddler up before the sun and drag her out. Had she given her breakfast, even?

  I looked down at Stella, unable to carbon date the chocolate milk mustache dried around her mouth.

  Sheila wasn’t a bad mother, not at all. When she first told me she was pregnant, my first thought was “gold-digger.” Actually, my kneejerk response was “Are you sure it’s mine?” but I stopped myself from actually saying that. If I had, I might not have been able to father future children.

  But when we’d gone our separate ways, she’d surprised me by telling me that she didn’t want money. Yeah, I made sure they didn’t need anything, but Sheila liked working. She put most of the child support I gave her in a bank account for Stella.

  Even when she lived with me, when we tried to make it work, she didn’t want handouts.

  I couldn’t really complain about that.

  I’d done most of my complaining about the dude she fucked when Stella was only about six months old.

  All moms need a break, sure. But I thought she’d go for brunch or go shopping or something—not go down on a stranger on my bed.

  At that point, it had already been a long six months since Stella was born. If I thought living with a woman would take some getting used to, it was nothing to living with a baby. After I got them a new apartment, it took me a long time to get used to the quiet again. Also, the new mattress, since I sent my contaminated bed with her.

  “You need anything?” she asked, holding up a couple of pull-up diapers.

  “I’m good.”

  Hugs and kisses later—between her and Stella, not me—she left and I carried my shooting star into the kitchen.

  “Real, Daddy?”

  Cereal. “Sure, baby. Want the noisy kind?”

  She nodded. I found the box of Rice Krispies and a plastic bowl for her. Her giggles at the snap, crackle and pop made me smile.

  Should I make breakfast for Annie? How long was she going to sleep? I washed Stella’s face, rinsed her cereal bowl and threw it in the sink, then got some eggs and a frying pan out.

  “Elsa!” Stella squatted by the TV, a DVD case in her hands.

  “Not right now.” I took the case from her ridiculously strong grip.

  “I want Elsa and Anna!”

  “Jesus, kid. Let it go,” I muttered. “I said, ‘not now.’” I put the television on for her, and went back to the kitchen to consider the eggs.

  Scrambled? Poached? Who was I kidding? Any attempt I made at something else ended up in scrambled, anyhow.

  I was whisking the eggs with a fork when I heard a scream.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ANNIE

  Of all the ways a person can be woken up, a toddler two inches away from your face is not the most peaceful. My reflexive screech scared the shit out of both of us. Wide-eyed, the two-foot terror tumbled back onto the floor beside the bed.

  Jake burst through the doorway, his expression ferocious. He halted, sagging when he saw me. His gaze immediately softened when it moved to Stella.

  “You okay?”

  Was he addressing me, or his daughter? She was on the floor, but looked no worse for it. Besides, at her age she was already a lot closer to the floor. I, on the other hand, just about had a heart attack.

  “Who dat?”

  “Annie,” Jake said.

  She popped up and beamed at me. “On a delsa?”

  I turned to Jake, not fluent in Toddler. He grinned at me. At least, in the direction of my bare neck, shoulders, and upper chest. His x-ray vision already knew what my breasts looked like under the quilt I clutched to me.

  “Not like Anna and Elsa, starlight,” he explained. “Her name’s Annie. And right now we should give her some privacy.” He reached for Stella’s hand and tugged her to the door. “Why don’t you help me crack some more eggs?” He rolled his eyes at me. “After I clean up the ones on the floor.”

  “Where’re her jammies?” Stella demanded.

  I pulled the blanket over my mouth, trying not to laugh. Jake searched me for an answer. I blinked in response. Like I knew? I went to bed with a tank top on, but had no idea where it’d ended up. My torn panties were on the floor somewhere—at least Stella hadn’t discovered those.

  With his hand on Stella’s golden head and his smirk pointed at me, he prodded her out of sight. “Uh, she lost them.”

  “Is she cold?”

  As they disappeared down the hall, I heard Jake reply, “No, I don’t think she’s cold at all.”

  Alone once more, I drew my knees up and rested my chin on them. No, I hadn’t been cold last night, in Jake’s arms. Part of me was still embarrassed by my loneliness. Another part of me was still sore from the remedy.

  As predicted, my panties were a lost cause. I found my tank and the skinny jeans I was wearing yesterday, at least. Going commando might be okay for guys, but it made me wince in discomfort. Ugh.

  When I walked out to the kitchen, the sight of Jake bent over Stella while she focused on the eggs made me smile. He didn’t seem to care that her preferred technique was smashing it on the side of the bowl and letting it drip through her little fingers, shell and all.

  When his gaze lifted to me and he grinned, it was like he’d punched me in the chest. “I hope you like your eggs crunchy.”

  “I… uh…” Damn. Suddenly my life felt kind of crunchy. What the hell was I doing here?

  Six months ago, I was sharing a bottle of wine with Evie and encouraging her to do wild, daring things. I’d sacrificed one of my favorite lingerie sets to the cause, even. But I was, at heart, not that wild or daring. I worked. I kept to myself, mostly. I worked. Sometimes I dated, but after the itch was scratched, I didn’t feel the urge to continue.

  Now I had a secret admirer, a not-so secret admirer, and a little girl staring at me like she’d never seen a woman in her daddy’s kitchen before.

  And maybe she hadn’t.

  “Do you like bacon?” Stella asked.

  I blinked at her. “Bacon?”

  “Bacon is the bestest. But Daddy burns it.” Her little face screwed up in distaste. “Can you cook it right?”

  Jake shrugged. “It’s true. I’m more of a sausage kind of guy.”

  Oh yeah, was he ever.

  “I want bacon!” Stella stomped her foot on the chair she was standing on at the kitchen island then wobbled as she nearly fell. Jake’s arms were around her in a flash, righting her.

  Holding her.

  Securing her.

  The memory of those same, strong arms around me made something quiver deep inside. It was a sudden flash of feeling that was more than sexual, more than physical attraction. My gaze traced his embrace, his hands reaching past his daughter to pinch broken pieces of eggshell in the bowl before them.

  Jake had a lot going for him. About nine inches, I’d guess.

  He was hot, but he was also warm—warm-hearted, intense but playful, and he wore his heart on his sleeve. Literally, he had a jagged-looking heart tattooed on his left arm. It almost looked like a superhero symbol with a shaky “S” in the middle.

  How had I not noticed that before? Probably because I hadn’t been looking for a hero. I’d always made a point of rescuing myself.

  “I can cook bacon,” I announced.

  Stella craned her head to beam at her dad. “Daddy! She can do it!”

  “I heard, starlight.”

  Within five minutes, I found myself slicing open a pack of bacon with a pair of
kitchen shears. Stella’s attention bounced between my actions and the TV, as though she weren’t sure which was more critical.

  Jake knelt beside me, retrieving a frying pan from a lower cupboard.

  I shook my head. “I need a cookie sheet.”

  He shoved the pan back in the cupboard, muttering to himself, “Do I have one of those?”

  “You’ve never made cookies with her?”

  His broad, bare shoulders shrugged, glancing against my thigh. His head bobbed as he looked in the cupboard. My fingers slid over the greasy strips of bacon, pulling them out and separating them.

  “Do you have parchment paper?”

  “Honey, I am a single man. You’re fucking lucky I have this.” He slapped a rectangular metal pan on the counter. It looked like a casserole pan of some kind, but it would do. Stella hadn’t heard—or hadn’t registered—his adult language, having traded the cooking class for TV.

  Jake did have tin foil. While I lined the pan with it, I instructed him to turn on the oven.

  “I like it when you’re bossy,” he said.

  My hand trembled as I lay out the strips. “Most men don’t.”

  “I’m not most men.” His arms circled around me to pin me against the counter.

  Heat bloomed over my chest with the sensation of his breath on my bare shoulders, but my nipples hardened as though an ice cube had been touched to them. He stood so close behind me that I felt his erection press into my lower back.

  “Um, sugar?” I shuddered as he swept my hair over my shoulder so he could nibble on my neck. Oh god, he knew exactly where to touch me, where to taste me.

  “Honey?” His tongue dragged over the pulse in my neck. Could he feel it throbbing?

  “N-no, I need sugar. Brown sugar, if you have it. And chili powder.”

  “Sweet and spicy. I like it.” He hummed his approval, his teeth clamping down gently like a vampire’s bite.

  Oh god. This was why women shouldn’t go without underwear. The arousal flaring through me threatened to soak through my jeans. His large, hot body trapped me, his hips rocking against me with prurient promise.

  Brown sugar and chili powder were too much to ask of a bachelor’s pantry, apparently. Jake gave me just enough space to work, while making it almost impossible for me to focus. My focus atrophied as I improvised with maple syrup and a bit of black pepper.

  “You know what’s so great about bacon?” he whispered in my ear as I covered it with another sheet of foil. I didn’t want the fat spattering in the oven and setting off the smoke alarm.

  “What?”

  “The way it melts on your tongue. Salty. It can be crispy or chewy, but you can still taste it on your lips for a long time after.” He licked my neck. Oh my…

  It was a surprise that I hadn’t gone up in flames yet, with the way that Jake’s hands splayed over my hips. His fingers slid into the pockets of my tight jeans, and his thumbs dipped under the waistband. I felt like a human thumbprint cookie, like his touch would leave a mark. Somehow I slid the bacon into the oven without burning myself. It helped that Jake stepped back to let me open and close the door.

  Briefly.

  “How long?” he asked, spinning me around until we were facing each other.

  “Um, we should keep an eye on it.” The edge of the counter dug into my back. He was so. Damn. Close. And I loved it. “Maybe fifteen, twenty minutes? It depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On how you like it,” I said faintly. I tilted my head back to see him lick his lips. His eyes were dark.

  He looked hungry—and not for the bacon popping and crackling in the oven behind me. “Bacon is bacon. It’s always good.”

  “Unless you burn it,” I pointed out, glancing over at Stella in the living room.

  “I might not be a great cook, Annie, but I’m great in the kitchen.”

  I hissed as his knuckles brushed against the ticklish skin of my belly. Gasped as he popped open the button of my jeans. Moaned as his hand dove inside to drag through my damp cleft.

  “Holy fuck.” My eyes closed as he twisted his hand, plunging two thick fingers into me.

  “God, I wish. I want you, Annie.” His breath was hot against my mouth as he bent over me. “I want to peel these goddamn jeans off you and lift you up on this counter.”

  I wouldn’t mind that. “What else would you do to me?”

  “What wouldn’t I do?” His chuckle rubbed against all my nerve endings as his fingers curled inside me. “I’d line myself up with your tight pussy and push inside, very, very slowly. Give you time to adjust.” He added another finger.

  “Considerate of you.” I bit my lip.

  “I’m that kind of guy.”

  I frowned. “What if we don’t line up? What if we didn’t, uh, fit?”

  I was on sensory overload, close to shorting out like a blown fuse. The scent of the cooking bacon curled around us, the unmistakable sweet, salty, spicy scent penetrating my senses.

  “Hmmm.” He considered it. “Then I guess I’d just have to spread you open and use my tongue.”

  Oh god. I could imagine that. I could almost feel it. Warmth suffused me. “That doesn’t sound… uh… hygienic.”

  He sighed. “You’re right. I’m dirty.” The curve of his lips told me that he offered no apologies for it. Honestly, I didn’t expect any, nor did I really want them.

  “I think I like you that way,” I confessed.

  I only saw a flash of his grin before he captured my mouth, his tongue sweeping inside as mercilessly as his fingers.

  Up and down. Back and forth. He teased me and tortured me, taking me swiftly to the edge of climax.

  I’d be done before the bacon.

  He raised his head to examine me as I panted. “You gonna come for me, Annie?”

  Did I have a choice? I shuddered, my body responding uncontrollably. I bit my lip—hard.

  “Oh yeah,” he growled. “I want to feel that slippery cunt of yours tightening. I fucking crave that right now. The bacon has nothing on the scent of your sweet pussy. That’s what’s making my mouth water.”

  “I’m better than bacon?” My eyes rolled back—partly in disbelief, but mostly because I was falling apart.

  “Honey, I’m pretty confident that I can cook you. Right. Now.” He rubbed his thumb over my clit while twisting his fingers inside me, and I fell over the edge.

  It wasn’t an earth-shaking orgasm. It was a storm surge flooding my senses, filling my body with pleasure. If his hands weren’t holding me steady, I might have slipped off the counter, rolling with the tide.

  “That’s it. Oh yeah, Annie. You’re so gorgeous when you come.”

  He made me feel gorgeous, especially when he kissed me with such tenderness and sweetness. Jake had me all mixed up—beaming with pride, but blushing like a virgin bride on her wedding night.

  The heat in my face turned nuclear when I heard Stella begin to sing in the next room.

  Oh my god. Had I just let Jake—? While his daughter was twenty feet away?

  My hands on his chest, I pushed him backward until his ass bounced off the edge of the island.

  He frowned. “What?”

  “Stella!” I hissed as I slithered down. My knees wobbled and my fingers fumbled at my jeans as I tried to make myself presentable again. “Seriously? She’s right there. That was so dumb. So reckless. So—”

  “Hot.”

  My lips parted. “You have no shame, do you?”

  “Nope.” He snaked his arm around my waist and pulled me to him. His other hand went to my chin to tilt my face up. “Don’t get me wrong, Annie. I would never—never—do something that would hurt my daughter. Fuck, I don’t even date seriously.”

  My stomach lurched at the reminder. What did that make me? A fling? A fuck buddy? A cock tease?

  The substantial bulge pressing against my stomach reminded me that only one of us had been satisfied.

  His fingers tightened, his thumb rubbing my bottom
lip. “Annie, there is a time and a place for everything.” He jerked his head toward the living room. “She’s fine. That’s her time and her place—for now. This is ours. If I thought she was even remotely interested in what we—”

  “Daddy!”

  Stella stood beside us, pointing at the smoking oven.

  CHAPTER NINE

  ANNIE

  “So are you all moved in?” Evie sat forward, her wine nearly spilling with the sudden movement.

  “It’s temporary,” I reminded her. “And not exactly my choice.” She didn’t even flinch when I narrowed my eyes at her.

  When she’d arrived at the restaurant to pick me up after work, I was happy to see her—until she announced that she was assigned “security detail.” Jake really didn’t think I could take care of myself, even enough to get to his place after my shift? Then again, maybe he suspected that I would have just gone back to my apartment.

  He would have been right.

  Evie’s curvy body and bouncy blonde hair was not unwelcome at the restaurant. Darren, the bus boy slash dishwasher, kept sneaking peeks at her before averting his eyes like she was an eclipse. Even John, our uptight manager softened as Evie’s smile contaminated his front of house.

  It had been less than a week, but I was getting sick of my own, personal Secret Service. Jake and his daughter had accompanied me to my apartment a few days earlier, so I could get some more personal items.

  Stella helped “fold” my clothes as we filled a suitcase. “Now you’ll have pajamas!” she said as she packed my only set.

  “Don’t let her pack your underwear,” Jake whispered in my ear.

  I raised an eyebrow. “I can’t not bring underwear.” For one thing, it was impractical. For another thing, it was a little, er, messy—especially around him.

  He had a dampening effect on my lady bits.

  When I said as much to him, he seemed unconvinced that I was a lady. His amused hum sent a little ripple of excitement through me. “I’ll be in charge of packing your panties,” he said.

  “Perv.” But I smiled, pointing to the top drawer of a dresser I salvaged and repainted. “Help yourself.” He still owed me for the pair he ripped off me.