Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 107595 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107595 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
She grinned at the sight of it. Until her gaze landed on the clock next to it.
She sat straight up in bed again.
Holy shit!
She tilted her head and listened carefully.
Nothing but quiet. Complete silence.
That can’t be right.
Where the hell was Daisy and why hadn’t her daughter come barreling into the room yet?
A quiet daughter could mean trouble. Especially with the little blonde hellion that had sprung kicking and screaming from Cassie’s loins.
Jumping from the bed, she grabbed her sister’s silky robe that was a little tight on her since her sister still had that firmer pre-baby body. She secured the tie enough to make sure she was half-decently covered, flung the door open and hurried down the hall to the spare bedroom.
The door was open. The bed empty but a complete mess.
She spun around, opened her mouth to holler her daughter’s name, and snapped it shut. Her nose wrinkled at the smell wafting down the hallway.
Was Daisy cooking? Was she using the stove?
Oh no!
The burst of panic she first felt when she saw her daughter’s empty bed swept through her again. And the images of Daisy burning down Heather’s house had her almost tumbling down the steps.
Following her nose, she noticed it didn’t smell like anything was burning. It actually smelled pretty damn good.
What the hell? She didn’t even trust Daisy to make toast. What the hell could she be cooking?
She slid to a stop at the entry to the kitchen and blinked.
Daisy was sitting at the table stuffing her face with what looked like French toast, syrup dribbling down her chin and plopping onto her PJ top. A half glass of milk sat in front of her.
Movement caught her attention and she slowly turned her head to see Judge standing by the stove, a pile of French toast on a plate next to him on the counter. The man knew how to make French toast?
Why was that her first thought? That wasn’t the point. He was supposed to leave, not stay and make her daughter breakfast!
“What are you doing?” She did her best to keep that question at a respectable level and not scream it across the small kitchen like she really wanted to.
He leaned back against the counter and crossed his thick arms over his even broader chest. “Makin’ your girl breakfast.”
Suuuure... That was normal, right? Some big bad-ass biker she just boned woke up, went downstairs and made her five-year-old breakfast.
Yep, happened all the time.
Completely normal.
“Judge made me French toast, Momma. No cereal today.”
Her eyes slid to her daughter, who wore a very smug expression, and back to the man who did something he had no right to do. The man whose expression was blank as he studied her carefully.
He was judging her reaction.
Which he should be.
Because he was supposed to be gone. He clearly was not.
With a set jaw, she rushed over to where he stood, grabbed his beard in her fist and yanked him along behind her through the kitchen. She told her daughter in passing, “You stay in that seat and finish your breakfast. Judge and I need to talk.”
“’Kay, Momma,” her daughter answered, like she was used to seeing a leather-clad biker being dragged out of the kitchen by his whiskers.
Cassie continued to steer him out of the kitchen and into the living room.
He hadn’t fought her or said a word. Until they were out of Daisy’s view.
He wrapped his fingers around her fistful of beard and growled, “Don’t fuckin’ mind you tuggin’ on it when we’re fuckin’ but this shit ain’t—”
“You were supposed to leave,” she hissed, cutting him off. “You weren’t supposed to be here when my daughter woke up. You were definitely not supposed to make her fucking breakfast!” She bit back a frustrated scream.
“Wanna let go of my fuckin’ beard?” he growled again.
Oh, was he not happy? Good. Welcome to the club.
She released it, took a deep breath to cool her anger, but when she stepped back, he didn’t let go of her hand.
They both stared at each other for a few seconds. He was probably waiting for her temper to settle before opening his mouth again. That was smart on his part.
Until his gaze raked her from the top of her messy bedhead over the gaping too-small robe, catching on her cleavage and getting stuck there. She yanked at one edge of the fabric with her free hand, but that didn’t help much.
His nostrils flared and he caught his bottom lip between his teeth for a second. “Didn’t mean to cause a problem. Was tryin’ to help.”
Her anger was quickly dissipating at the heated look in his eyes. She needed to stay on point, damn it. “How is it helping when my daughter now knows you slept over?”
He pulled her into his chest and tipped his head down to her. “She don’t know.”