The Single Dad (The Dalton Family #3)(17)

More kissing.

More touching.

More tasting.

I soaked up every second because no man had ever treated my body like him. Had ever made me come so hard. Had ever given me two orgasms in one night.

But Ford hadn’t stopped at two.

He’d given me a third in the shower.

A fourth, fifth, and sixth before I fell asleep.

Oh God.

And to even think, I had almost convinced myself that the timing of last evening was all wrong, that my life was too unsettled to even consider pursuing him.

Gabby had been right, of course.

Had I shut myself off, which I’d been leaning toward, I wouldn’t have woken to his arm wrapped around me like a seat belt.

He was even incredibly handsome when he slept. His expression so honest. His core so dominant, his hands so experienced, his mouth so pleasurable.

How could only the lightest graze of his fingers, the subtlest exhale of his air cause me to quiver?

But I did.

In the last four years, I hadn’t had the time to explore the possibility of dating. Even if the opportunity had presented itself, I would have been in no position to act on it, far too tied up with my job.

Back in LA for less than twenty-four hours, and this had already happened.

Blanketed by this incredible man’s heat.

As I stared at his face, I couldn’t help but wonder where this was going to take me and what this was going to look like.

So many unknowns.

What I did know was that I needed to fill myself with caffeine, or he would open his eyes to a side of me that was wickedly devilish.

He was far too adorable to wake up, so I carefully lifted his arm a few inches and squeezed my way out, sneaking soundlessly off his bed.

Rather than putting my dress on, I found his button-down on the floor and slipped my arms through the large holes, buttoning the middle as I tiptoed to his door. When I turned the handle, I realized it was locked and twisted the lever in the center. I shut the door behind me, my feet hitting the cold hardwood floor as I made my way through the living room.

Halfway to the kitchen, I immediately halted my steps when I noticed a woman sitting at the counter. With her back to me, I could see her long, dark hair, which was twisted into a messy bun; she was wearing a T-shirt and shorts with several textbooks spread out in front of her. The silent house was filled with the sound of her pen tapping.

Why is there a woman in Ford’s kitchen?

Is this not his home?

Is it hers?

Or … is it one they share as a couple?

Oh fuck.

I slapped my hand over my mouth as I felt myself gasp, the noise causing her to turn around.

The youthfulness of her face told me we were close in age.

That only caused more questions to fill my head.

“I’m sorry.” I took a few steps back, not exactly sure what to say, where to go. “I didn’t realize anyone else was here.”

“Oh no, you’re fine.” She waved me over. “Please come in.”

“Are you sure?”

She smiled. “Yes, of course.”

“Are you Ford’s roommate or something?”

She laughed, shaking her head. “I’m his cousin. I spent the night to babysit his daughter.”

Daughter?

That was something Ford hadn’t mentioned.

I wondered why he’d left out that detail.

The more I thought about it, he’d left out almost all the details. I knew nothing about this man, aside from the facts that he was ridiculously handsome, he dressed well, and he lived in the Hollywood Hills.

And he knew my body like he’d spent his lifetime studying it.

I had been a little too drunk last night to take in his home, but as this girl’s words were fresh in my head, I glanced around the large, open space, looking for those clues.

There was a small pink chair by the fireplace, an E sewn across the back cushion. Dolls were in baskets along the far wall. Pink bound books were in a pile on the coffee table, right next to a stack of adult hardcovers.

He had a little girl.

My heart began to pound.

“Is she here?” I asked, looking into the kitchen, where she could have been eating.

I knew the challenges of children and strangers. I didn’t want to take the chance of causing any confusion.

“She’s sleeping.”

“So, it’s safe to grab some coffee?”

She nodded. “I appreciate you asking.”

She turned toward her books, and as I passed the counter on my way to the island, I asked, “What are you studying?”

“Law.” She sighed. “One day, I’ll be a lawyer at Ford’s firm. In the meantime”—she banged her fist against her notebook—“I’m in complete hell.”

So, Ford was a lawyer.

Maybe that was why he could read me so easily.

“I’m about to start college,” I told her. “I’ll soon be in hell, too, so I get it.” I stood in front of the coffee machine, looking for a mug stand, like Gabby had in our apartment. There wasn’t a cup in sight. “Mugs are where?”

She pointed at one of the cabinets. “And creamer is in the fridge. Sugar and sweetener in the pantry.”

“Thank you.”

I opened the cabinet, and the first thing I saw was a cup with Best Dad Ever across the front, a photo of Ford and his little girl underneath the words. The picture was small, detailed just enough that I saw curly pigtails and a smile that was identical to Ford’s—genuine, beautiful.