Boss Daddy, page 18
“How are your hands?” he asked when she’d finished eating.
“Hmm?” she asked, looking down at her hands. What was his new obsession with her hands?
“Let me see them, please.”
He held out his hands, waiting patiently for her to give him hers. He looked them over, touching them lightly.
Shivers of arousal ran through her. Just from him touching her hands.
Yikes.
“They still look red and sore. I’ll ask Maria to get you some cream.”
“They’re fine.” She tugged them back, hiding them on her lap in shame.
“Put the cream on them. And don’t use bleach or such hot water again.”
“Sir, yes, bossy sir.”
He raised an eyebrow at her.
Oops.
And yeah, she couldn’t exactly promise that. “There’s another flea market in a few weeks. Can I go to it?”
Now he looked alarmed. “Ah, no.”
“But it’s about an hour’s drive away, so no one would see me.”
“That’s not a risk I’m willing to take.”
“So you’re saying I’m stuck here?” Her breathing started getting faster, panic filling her. The world around her narrowed.
“Easy, L’venok. Breathe. I need you to look at me and breathe. I’m going to touch you now.”
Warm hands cupped her face.
“Look at me,” he said firmly.
There was no ignoring that order.
Her breath was still shallow, but it wasn’t a full-blown panic attack.
Lucky her.
She raised her gaze to his blue one. “There you are. I need you to slow down your breathing. Take a breath for me, baby girl. Then let it out. That’s it. Nice and slow. And another. In. Hold. Out. Now, tell me, what can you feel?”
“Your hands on my cheeks. They’re warm.”
“That’s because you’re too cold. You need to dress warmer.”
She really didn’t.
“I’m dressed . . . with . . . just enough . . . clothes.”
He looked amused. “Are you? Just enough, huh?”
She nodded.
She hated wearing too many clothes. It felt constricting. But at the same time, she didn’t like to expose too much skin. Before . . . before him, she’d have worn whatever the hell she liked.
But not now.
“Clothing prickles my skin.”
“Does it?” He looked thoughtful. “So we need to find you something that doesn’t prickle your skin.”
“I don’t need anything.”
“I disagree. What do you hear?”
“You. Bossing me around.”
“Well, I am the boss.”
“Not mine.”
“No? I think that I am or that very soon I will be.”
What the heck did that mean?
Okay, her breathing was far calmer. How did he do that? How did he bring her down so quickly and easily? Most of the time, she was on her own when she had a panic attack, and it took her ages to recover.
Usually, she was left with a raging headache and feeling exhausted afterward.
“That’s better,” he told her, moving his hands from her face. She leaned forward, chasing his touch before she snapped her head back as she realized what she was doing.
God, she couldn’t believe she’d freaked out on him again.
Idiot.
He eyed her. “I’m not sure I want to know what you’re thinking about right now.”
He didn’t. She didn’t want to know and she was the one thinking it.
“If you were mine . . .” he muttered so quietly that she thought she might have misheard him. He couldn’t have said that, right?
“You said I could leave whenever I wanted,” she whispered hoarsely, going back to the reason for her panic.
He eyed her. Probably worried she was going to wig out on him again.
“I want to keep you safe. It’s likely the man who attempted to kidnap you was involved with whoever is coming after me—”
“We don’t know that.”
“You have another theory for why you were kidnapped at gunpoint?”
Hmm. That would be a no. She wasn’t interesting. She didn’t have any money. Well, that anyone knew of. The only thing of interest about her was him.
She shook her head.
“That’s what I thought. So the common factor in all of these attacks is me. One of the attackers that got away must have gotten a good look at you.”
“Or they could have seen my bike.”
“What?” he asked.
“It, uh, might have had my name on it.”
He just gaped at her. “Your name?”
“Uh-huh. I used glitter paint. It looked really good. Oh, where’s the bike you bought me? Is it here somewhere?” She’d forgotten to ask that. Maybe she could go out for a ride, even if just around the grounds.
“It’s in the garage. Why am I only hearing about this?”
“The fact that I like to use glitter paint? You never asked. I have a long history with glitter paint.”
“That your name was on the bike. Shit. But the Cleaner got there soon after we left, so they must have moved quickly.” He ran his hand over his face, looking tired. “It doesn’t much matter now. It’s up to me to keep you safe.”
It really wasn’t.
“You don’t owe me anything. I chose to help.”
He stared down at her, his eyes intense, probing. “Which was reckless and foolish, but I do owe you.”
She didn’t know why, but she didn’t want him helping her through a sense of obligation or debt.
“Are you sure you want me here?” she asked in a small voice.
His eyes widened, and she winced as she realized that her Little voice had peeked out. Fuck. Her Little was ultra-sensitive to rejection.
Because she’d never been accepted. By anyone.
Shoot. She was filled with depressing thoughts today.
And now her head was thumping and she felt exhausted. It took all of her control not to slump in her seat.
He stood, then crouched down in front of her. He placed his hands lightly on her thighs. “You know that I’m not a good man. There are things I do that are . . . questionable at best. But I have my own moral code and I don’t hurt innocents. I’m also used to getting what I want, when I want.”
She swallowed. Okay, where the hell was he going with this?
“I always repay a debt.”
Right. And that was what she was. A debt he owed.
Don’t cry. Don’t cry.
“But I also never do anything that I don’t want to do. If I didn’t want you here, then there would be other ways to repay my debt to you. I didn’t have to open my home to you. I could have sent you away to keep you safe.”
That sent a shard of panic through her. She didn’t want to be sent away from him.
“You are wanted here, Dahlia.”
It was nice of him to say that, even if she didn’t fully believe him. She knew he felt responsible for her. That he wanted to protect her because he felt guilty.
But he couldn’t want her. Not like she wanted him.
“All right,” she said quietly.
He didn’t look convinced at her words, and a small frown crossed his face.
“Is there something you need? Is that why you want to go to the flea market. If you write list, someone will pick up whatever you want.”
“Okay.”
He eyed her. “You seem very reluctant? What is it you need?”
“Uh, it’s not that important. Do you have to get back to work?” The last thing she wanted was to explain to him about her rescue missions. He’d think her foolish. Childish.
“Do you need sanitary products?” he asked bluntly.
Her mouth dropped open. Did he seriously just ask that? He sat in his seat again, then picked up his phone. “Tell me what you need. I’ll get them for you.”
He . . . who . . . what?
Was he really going to buy her tampons? Or ask his men to buy her tampons?
He was so matter-of-fact about it. As if it was something he did every day.
Well, you don’t know much about his love life.
“Do you have a girlfriend?” she asked in a high-pitched voice.
“What?”
He couldn’t, right? He’d just fed her for God’s sake.
“I just . . . you didn’t even flinch asking me about . . . about . . . ”
“Sanitary products.”
Oh, God. Be cool. Don’t be an idiot.
“I don’t have a girlfriend, but I was married.” His entire body softened.
Right, of course. His wife. Who’d died. And who he’d obviously loved and adored.
How could she ever compete with that?
She admired how much he still seemed to love her. But at the same time, she was sad for herself. Because she’d obviously never measure up.
“I don’t need anything at the moment. Although I’m not that regular so . . .”
Urgh, stop talking, Dahlia.
“If you need anything, I want you to tell me, Dahlia. I know I haven’t been around much, but I always want you to have what you need.”
Holy. Heck.
“O-okay.”
“You’re beautiful when you blush.” He ran a finger down her cheek. Then over her lips.
What was happening right now . . .
“I . . . I am?”
“You are. And you’re a good girl, aren’t you? You’re going to do as I ordered.”
“Y-yes, Mr. Markovich.”
His gaze softened. “You’re still calling me Mr. Markovich? You don’t like my name?”
“Oh, uh, I’m sure it’s a nice name. It just . . . I don’t know. It doesn’t seem like you.”
“Funny you say that. I changed my name when I moved to the United States.”
“You did?”
“Yes, my first name is actually Ivan. But that was my father’s name as well, so I always went by my middle name, Dimitri. Emme calls me Dima.”
“Emme?”
“My daughter.”
Holy. Crap.
“I, uh, didn’t realize you had a child.” Where was she?
“Well, I wouldn’t call her a child. I don’t think she’s much younger than you. How old are you?”
“Twenty-eight.”
“She’s twenty-three.”
“When I moved here, I didn’t care what name I chose. I was leaving my old life behind and building a new one. And so, Drew is the man I became. I buried Dimitri away. I never thought I would resurrect him. Not until Emme returned to me.”
“Returned to you?”
“Yes, someone took her from me. The same person who killed my wife and men.”
“Oh my God! What happened? Where were you?”
He grimaced. “At the time, I was in jail. I’d been framed for murder.”
She sucked in a breath. “Nooo.” This couldn’t be true, yet she could tell from the look on his face that it was. “That’s terrible! Who would do that? Frame you for murder? Then kill your wife and kidnap your daughter? Wait, unless it was two different people?”
“I don’t know. I think it was likely the same person.”
“I’d like to teach them a lesson . . . ” She clenched her hands into fists.
“Six months into my sentence, my home was attacked. My wife and men were killed and my baby girl was taken. She was only eight.”
“Oh, Dimitri. That’s so terrible. I’m so sorry. I don’t even know what to say.”
Warmth filled his face. “I like you calling me that. Although I wasn’t opposed to Mr. Markovich.”
Warmth flooded her.
She was adorable the way she got so angry on his behalf. Still, he would have to make sure that she never learned of his time in jail. It had been a fight for survival. He’d barely made it out and sometimes he still had nightmares.
Although most of his nightmares were around losing his daughter.
“I inherited the family empire when my father died. Before I was arrested, I’d decided to try and find a way out of that life. To become more legitimate. But there was a lot of blowback to my plan, more than I expected. However, the men that were truly loyal to me stuck with me. My brother wasn’t happy with me, though. He wanted to stick with the old ways. And my wife seemed to agree with him.”
“What did you do after your daughter was taken?”
“I couldn’t do much. I think that was the worst thing. That I was helpless. It wasn’t something I was used to. I always felt so powerful. But I was stuck in jail and I had no clue where my daughter was. My best friend was away at the time, but he raced back to do what he could. The trail was pretty cold, but he heard some rumors that my daughter had been kidnapped and sent to the states.”
That still haunted him. He was glad that most of Emme’s memories from that time were hazy. She’d been drugged. It had still been terrifying for her, but perhaps it was best that she couldn’t recall everything that happened.
“So you came here to look for her?”
“Yes. I finally managed to bribe the right officials and get my sentence overturned, but things moved slowly. I had no interest in returning to my old life, and my brother had basically taken over in my absence. So I left everything to him and moved here. Some of my men who had been in jail with me followed me here. And I worked to build a life. It’s not a completely honest life, but I wanted to set myself up so that if I found my daughter, she would never want for anything.”
“When did you find her?”
“Unfortunately, it wasn’t until recently. I searched every lead I could find. But there wasn’t much. I decided that even if I couldn’t help my girl, I would help other women and girls who were kidnapped and sold. I hired someone to try to find her. He went undercover with a family who were heavily involved in trafficking girls from Russia. They owned a shipping company.”
He was still furious that asshole, Senior, had died by someone else’s hands. He’d kept his daughter from him all these years. He’d deserved a slow, painful death.
“Did you ever find who killed your wife and kidnapped your daughter?”
His face turned pensive. “Not yet, but we’re getting close to finding him. And when I do . . . he’s a dead man.”
She shivered. “Could he have anything to do with what’s been going on lately?”
“That’s what we’ve been trying to figure out. Unfortunately, he hides behind mercenaries and lackeys. We’re not even sure of his true identity. We call him Mr. X.”
Moving on instinct, Dahlia got up and throwing her arms around him, she hugged him tight. It didn’t last long, but it still sent a buzz through her body.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
He patted her back. “Thank you, L’venok.”
Moving away, she quickly sat.
She’d hugged him. The man who was sex personified. So arrogant and demanding, yet at other times soft and gentle.
He stared at her, his gaze filled with possessiveness. Maybe it should have worried her. But she liked him looking at her like that.
“The reason I told you this is so you understand that I can be overprotective. I will do whatever it takes to keep you safe.”
She was still confused why he’d care so much about her.
“Dahlia, I . . .” Before he could finish that sentence, his phone rang.
“Do you need to take that?” she asked.
“Ahh, yes I do. Rest this afternoon. Understand?” He turned away before she could say anything more.
She watched him walk away.
Damn, he had a good ass.
Even if he was insanely spoiled and thought he should always get his way.
“Miss Dahlia?”
She turned to find Sidekick Sid standing there. “Maybe I should change your name to Tattletale Ted.”
He grimaced. “If you could come with me? Mr. Markovich wishes for you to rest.”
“And if I say no?”
He looked dismayed and she didn’t have it in her to push back. With a sigh, she stood, blinking at the sunlight which felt like it was needles digging into her eyeballs.
“Don’t worry, I’m going to rest. But just so you know, you’re in my bad books.”
“Yes, miss, I understand.”
19
Unable to sleep, Dahlia wandered through the massive house. She encountered a couple of guards, but each time she smiled at them, they ignored her.
That shouldn’t hurt. Their opinion or thoughts on her didn’t matter.
But it kind of did hurt.
I want to be seen.
Most of the time it felt like no one would care or even notice if she disappeared.
That’s your fault. You haven’t made any effort to find friends. To make yourself a life.
She took in a deep breath. Because it was easier to run than to stay and fight. It hurt, realizing that about herself. But it also felt like an epiphany.
It was cathartic.
Yes, he was the catalyst that had sent her on this path. It was his fault she was scared to make herself vulnerable knowing that she could be hurt.
To trust.
But maybe it was time to set that all aside.
Sidekick Sid must be in bed. She wondered if Mr. Markovich was still awake. The last couple of days she hadn’t seen him much, but he’d been bossing her around in his text messages. Making certain that she was still resting.
His majesty really had written out a list of activities that he approved of her doing during her recovery.
He was lucky that she hadn’t tracked him down and stuffed the list where the sun don’t shine.
He was . . . insane.
What was on the list? Playing cards. Watching television. Doing crosswords. Coloring. Sitting by the pool. Reading. Painting. And knitting.
Tattletale Ted had delivered some bags to her with everything she needed for her new hobbies. Wool, knitting needles. Paints, paint brushes, and canvases. A crossword book. A coloring book and markers. And okay, that was something she was slightly interested in. Although it would have been better if it was a kids’ one rather than one of the tricky adult ones. She’d had fun destroying a couple of pages, though.
Coloring between the lines was so hard.
