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Daisy climbs into her bed, without looking at me or even telling me good night. She’s still angry that I didn’t react the way she wanted to the wholeDaddysituation. And that she couldn’t prove to the flight attendant that I belong to her.
I can’t say I blame her. I would have reacted far worse than Daisy, if another man was vying for her attention and she shut me down. I’d lose my goddamn mind.
But where Daisy is concerned, I’m always losing my mind.
Daisy has no idea the fantasy she’s playing into by calling me that and how much I’m ready to say fuck it and take her right now to show her what it means to me. If I didn’t give a shit about what happens to us after this, I would. I’d let her call me whatever the fuck she wants.
It’s not like she’d be the first woman to utter that word, but she sure as fuck is the first one to use it in a way that feels so fucking genuine.
Call me a sick fuck, but I want to be her daddy. I’d teach her every fucking thing she wants to know. I’d take care of her and protect her and make her feel so goddamn good.
My cock twitches in my pants, so I jump out of my seat to stop my brain from torturing me like this.
The plane is quiet as I lock myself in the small bathroom. I take a look in the mirror and see a man too old for a girl like her. A man who has lived a long, decent life, and would be a greedy asshole to wish for anything more. Daisy deserves better than a quick fuck from a guy like me or, God forbid, getting stuck with me when she has so much life left to live.
I’ve spent so much of my last few years in that damn sex club that it has my brain all kinds of fucked up—I don’t need to screw every person I get close to.
When I come out of the bathroom in my blue satin pajamas, the lights are out and Daisy is facing the wall. But when I reach the two separate beds, one on each side of the aisle, I can’t bring myself to climb into mine alone.
So against my better judgment, I climb into hers. She stiffens as I drape my body behind hers, pulling her tight to my body.
“What are you doing?” she mutters.
“I sleep better with you near me.”
“Last night was the first night we slept next to each other,” she argues.
“I know, and I slept great,” I reply coolly.
“Fine,” she replies with a yawn, and I can’t help but smile.
After pulling the blanket up around us both, I tug her closer, so she’s resting against my body, the same way she was when I woke up today.
I’m playing with fire here. For a man afraid of growing attached and getting his heart broken, I’m certainly not acting like it. Somewhere in my mind, I think that I can keep Daisy just like this. Whateverthisis.
“Go to sleep, and we’ll wake up in Paris,” I whisper.
Under the blankets, I feel the gentle rubbing of her feet, the same thing she did last night, and I find myself smirking, my face practically buried in the mess of blonde waves on my pillow.
“Night, Ronan,” she replies.
“Night, Daisy.”
* * *
Daisy and I are strolling through the Luxembourg Garden, my favorite spot in Paris and the first place I brought her when we woke up in the city this morning. After a quick stop at the apartment, of course.
I love the look of awe and excitement on her face. I think I even caught a few tears in her eyes as the car drove us through the city. The pleasure it brings me to see her so happy makes me want to do it forever.
“So, what on earth made you move into your van?” I ask as we walk.
She’s biting into the croissant in her hand as she contemplates her answer. “You’re going to think it’s stupid,” she replies, taking a sip of her coffee.
“No, I’m not.”
“Promise not to laugh at me?”
“I would never laugh at you,” I reply with a furrow of my brow.
