“Um…” I’m like a deer caught in headlights. “I don’t mind helping. Really, it’s the least I could do.”
Desi shoots her father a victorious grin and then, like we’ve been doing it forever, the three of us get to work chopping and dicing and scrambling until there’s a skillet of sizzling eggs waiting to be devoured.Chapter FiveMateoBreakfast is a lesson in self-control. Hell, the entire morning has been—last night, too.
From the moment I knew she was safe, I wanted to look—to drink my fill of her in those damn booty shorts. Especially when she was sprawled out on my bed, begging for my touch in her drugged state.
However, my mamá didn’t raise no cabrón, and I’d never take advantage of a woman in her state. But when she walked into the kitchen in my sweats, all bets were off. I realized Seraphine Reynolds is a thirst I’ll never quench.
I don’t know if it’s because she’s the first woman I’ve seen in my clothes since Imani, but the sight of it short-circuited my brain and had all of my baser caveman instincts clawing their way to the surface.
I wanted to do more than look; I wanted to touch—to feel her soft, tanned skin beneath my calloused hands. The way the rolled waistband sat low on her slim hips, all I could think about was how easy it’d be to slide them down her toned legs.
More than that though, I wanted to taste—to part her pretty little thighs and bury my face between them and feast. Until Desi clapped in front of my face, I was a simpleton with a single focus in mind—claim her.
Which is problematic for a slew of reasons.
“Oh, God, I didn’t know eggs could be so good,” Seraphine mumbles quietly to herself, prompting me to go over said reasons again, for what has to be the tenth time this morning.
A man shouldn’t think these types of thoughts about the daughter of a man they call a friend—even if it is in a more professional capacity.
A man especially does not think these thoughts in front of his own daughter.
These are definitely not the thoughts a man has for a woman sixteen years younger than him, one not even old enough to legally drink.
And yet, here I am, having every single one of them—and then some. It’s all too easy to imagine her here with us every morning. While Seraphine has certainly caught my attention, she’s never evoked such a visceral response.“Aren’t they the best?” Desi agrees, all sunshine and smiles, which is curious because the kid is usually a beast in the mornings.
The dark-haired beauty may as well be a mirage in the desert or a poisoned well, because one sip, one drop, one taste, and I know I’ll be a goner.
Seraphine takes one last bite before pushing her plate away. “I could literally eat them every day. Wow.”
“If you think these are good, you should have my abuelita’s chilaquiles. No lie, they’ll change your life.”
She regards Desi thoughtfully. “I’m not sure what that is, but I can’t imagine anything better than this.”
Desi goes to reply, but I beat her to the punch. “You’re good for a man’s ego, mariposita, but let’s get you home.”
My daughter’s eyes widen, and I realize my slip. Mariposita. I’m not sure when I started calling her that, but damn, to do it here, in front of Desi…
“Oh, um, yeah. Do… should I help clean up?”
“Nah, we got it,” I assure her.
“I’m gonna—I need to use the restroom before we leave.”
Desi nods her head back toward the hall. “Second door on the left.”
Seraphine nods her thanks and takes off down the hall.
“Little butterfly, huh?” Desi asks with barely disguised glee.
“I don’t know, Des. It just… slipped out.”
“I’m just saying, you call her little butterfly and me little chicken.”
I grin. “I cannot help you there; your abuelita gave you that name. Take it up with her.”
“Do you like her?”
“Who?” I play dumb. “My own mother? Yes, I love her.”
“No, Dad, Seraphine. Do you like her?”
Silence rules as I grapple with how to respond. Ultimately, I go for honesty. “I don’t know. I’m… attracted to her.” Dios mio, this is not something I want to talk about with my daughter. “But I do not plan to act on that attraction. You have nothing to worry about.”
Desi rolls her eyes and mutters under her breath, “Except you dying old and alone.”
“What was that?”
“You’re still young, Dad, and Mom would want you to be happy.”
Her words rankle. “I am happy, pollito. I have you.”
“I love you, Dad, but you need more than me. You need someone just for you. In two years, I’ll be off to college and then what?” She crosses her arms and stares me down. “Plus, it might be kind of nice to have a woman in the house, right?”