Page 36 of Holding Ground

I turn off the truck, undo my seat belt, and look at her in the back seat. “And even though she’s staying with us for a bit, that doesn’t mean we can bother her all the time. If her bedroom door is closed, you’re not to go knocking on it and disturbing her, got it?” I arch an eyebrow.

“But if she’s not in her room, I can talk to her as much as I want?” Her eyebrows shoot up to her hairline, excited. She thinks that she’s found a loophole.

I chuckle. “Sure.”

Baylor throws up both hands. “Yay!”

I smile at how damn cute my daughter is, get out of the truck, and go around to the passenger side to help her down.

This is uncharted territory for all of us. A woman living with Baylor and me isn’t something I ever predicted. And I can’t help but think I’m putting my daughter in harm’s way with how attached she’s become. But Emelia is our tenant, and her bunkie got damaged because of my carelessness. At this point, I don’t have a choice.

When we get in the house, I cut up an apple for Baylor, and she decides to watch one of her shows while I do laundry and start dinner. Normally, she’d play in her room, so she’s not fooling me. She’s staying in the main part of the house so she can see the minute Emelia returns.

I gather up a load of laundry from mine and Emelia’s hampers, then take the basket to the laundry room. The full basket makes a loud clap when I drop it on the tile floor and open the washing machine door. Emelia has a load in the washer, so I move her clothes into the dryer. It isn’t until the second handful that I realize I’m holding a pair of bright pink lace panties. A shot of lust punches me in the gut.

Emelia’s panties. In my hand. Great.

This should be good for my efforts not to be attracted to the woman who could very possibly play a role in destroying the life I want for my daughter.

I feel like a fucking pervert because with every handful of laundry I’m moving to the dryer, I can’t help but look to see if I can spot any more of her undergarments. At least I don’t search them out and study them. Or worse yet, steal a pair. That counts for something, right?

I grumble as I put the dryer on the low setting and turn it on.

After I’ve gotten mine and Baylor’s laundry in the machine, I head to the kitchen to start dinner. I’ve just finished cutting up the chicken when the front door opens and closes. Baylor shouts Emelia’s name with such happiness in her voice that it could set off alarm bells.

I don’t know what to do. When I invited Emelia to stay with us, it seemed like the right thing to do, but I didn’t think through the realities of it. Do I go and say hello now that she’s home for the evening? We’re not a couple. Is that a couple-y thing to do? What would a roommate do? Probably nothing until they wound up in the same room, right?

I decide to continue making dinner until Baylor runs into the kitchen. “Daddy, Emelia is having dinner with us.”

“What?” I set the knife on the cutting board. Yet another thing I hadn’t thought of. Will I be sharing meals with this woman for the foreseeable future?

“I invited her, and she said she’d love to.” She gives me a big grin. “She said it had to be okay with you, and I told her it was. ’Cause it is, right, Daddy?”

I remind myself that I’m setting an example for my daughter about what it means to be a good neighbor and a member of a small community where we have to rely on each other when times are tough. Surely modeling that lesson is worth the blue balls and sexual frustration I’m going to incur until that bunkie gets fixed.

“Of course it’s all right.”

“Yay!” She rushes out of the kitchen, and I’m left alone with the knowledge that denying my attraction to Emelia will be profoundly harder if I have to eat dinner with her seven days a week.

A few minutes later, when I’m finishing up with the chicken, the two of them join me.

“Hey.” It’s a simple word, but coming from Emelia’s mouth, it feels loaded.

I look over my shoulder at her. Her hair is back in a ponytail today, and she has on dark jeans and a fitted shirt.

The first image that flashes through my mind when I notice her ponytail is her on all fours in front of me, me wrapping it around my fist, pulling her head back while I sink into her.

“Don’t feel like you have to join us if you already have plans.” I’m trying to give her an out. Part of me hopes she takes it, while another part of me wants her here.

“Baylor was very persuasive. Told me that you make the best pasta dish ever and that I should ‘be honored’ to get to try it.” An amused glint shines in her hazel eyes.

“Well, now I’m afraid you’re going to be disappointed. It’s just chicken and pasta.”

Baylor tugs on Emelia’s wrist. “But he puts lots of garlic in it.”

Emelia smiles at my daughter, and something tugs in my stomach. “Noted.” She winks at her, then turns her attention to me. “What can I do to help?”

“You can do the salad if you want. Stuff is in the fridge.” I nod toward the fridge and go back to cutting the chicken.