Boss On A Leash: A Single Dad Billionaire Romance by Kara Hart (new books to read txt) 📕

“This was my first shoot,” he says. “I was eighteen.”

I hold the photo up near his face and squint, biting my tongue. “Hm. You look different.”

“I’m old and nearing my forties,” he says.

I lean against the doorframe. He’s like thirty-five. In any case, he looks young and in shape. “Fishing for compliments, I see.”

Laughing, he pushes closer. “I like it when you compliment me.”

Pulse driving to an unstoppable rhythm, I drop the photograph. I don’t break eye contact. If this is a new game we’re playing, I think I like it. “You haven’t complimented me, yet.”

His eyes start to drift close. “Every time I see you, you look stunning.”

Mine follow suit. There’s no more talking. His hands glide around my waist, locking behind my back. I tighten my hold on the frame to keep myself from losing it. His body presses against mine.

I slide my arms around his neck and feel my smile get the best of me. “Took you long enough,” I say.

He nudges his forehead against mine, lips forming over mine for a second kiss. He tastes so good, and the feeling is so natural that it makes me crave him more. I kiss him a third time before it makes sense to stop.

When it ends, I clear my throat and step away. I feel a blush coming on, so I follow up by rounding the room. “That was much nicer than earlier at the dog park,” I say.

“I think we both won the award for most awkward kiss in the world,” he says.

I’m trying not to bite the edge of my lip off. “Yeah, but it’s fitting, given the circumstances of our first encounter.”

“Right. Our stupid bet,” he says. “You were always destined to lose.”

Wait. What?

I suspend my tongue against my mouth. “Did you just say what I think you said?”

He brings himself forward, so close that his thigh brushes against mine. Throat tight with emotion, I breathe, but it just feels like fire. And as I bring my eyelids down, I feel the flames of desire burn.

This is so bad. He could take me right now, and I wouldn’t stop him.

Cocking my head, I breathe him in and open my lips. Cologne and chocolate. It changes something inside me.

His lips meet mine, rounding out our total to an even number.

“You smell like a good night,” I say.

To my surprise, I don’t hear his laughter. When I reopen my eyes, I hear the click of a camera. A bright flash of light shoots throughout the room. Before I lose sight, I see Sammy with one of Marc’s many cameras.

“Cheese!” she exclaims.

Marc

“Sammy!” I exclaim.

I’m more surprised than angry at her intrusion.

My daughter tucks the camera into its respective place, but she’s out of the room in less than a second. She’s agitated, and in an unforgiving mood. Just because she’s a kid doesn’t mean she packs a light punch.

Sensing a big blow-up coming on, I follow her to the room and sit on the edge of the bed. She’s already under her covers, pretending she’s asleep.

I glide my hand over her back, and sigh when she flinches. “You aren’t very happy with me, are you?”

Cold, uncomfortable silence.

“Talk to me,” I say.

She puffs out, sighs, and faces me, defiant. “I don’t want to.”

I know what’s wrong, but I can’t be the one to coax it out of her. If she wants to talk, she knows I’m here. “Okay,” I say. “I’ll let you sleep then.”

As I stand, I witness Ali’s shadow disappear down the hall. I pause and turn off the light, leaving her favorite Hello Kitty light on. “Oh, and be nice to Ali,” I tell her. “She really likes you, and I think she brings a good energy into this home. You and I both need that, don’t you think?”

The response I get is not the one I expected. “She’s not mom.”

Tense, my tongue digs into the roof of my mouth. “Your mom was a very special woman. Tomorrow morning, we’ll celebrate her.”

“Promise?”

I twist my pinky with hers and kiss her. “Pinky swear.”

“Goodnight, dad,” she says.

“Goodnight, sweetie.”

I take a few seconds to adjust. I don’t want Ali to see me stressed. Before Sammy came into my life, back when I was living the bachelor life, raising a kid seemed unfathomable to me. Learning to deal with my situation has made me stronger, but there are moments where I feel like breaking down. Ali doesn’t know this, but today is one of those days.

Exiting the room, I find Ali on the couch in the living room. Rowdy is sleeping near her feet, snoring. I get the hint that this is her favorite spot in the house, so I plop down next to her, our heads still angled awkwardly towards each other but our bodies perpendicular.

“You good?” Ali asks.

“Yeah,” I say, suddenly anxious to get this conversation going. I’ve been meaning to bring it up ever since she arrived. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Sure,” she says, curiously examining my face.

My sister’s death doesn’t need to be re-litigated, but I owe it to Ali to be honest about what Sammy went through years ago. It hasn’t been a walk in the park. In fact, there are moments where it feels damn near impossible. Our family is open, but complex. I haven’t met too many people who empathize. Everyone usually just wants to move on from the subject.

My sister was an addict. She wasn’t always on substances, but she was most of the time. The addiction worked in cycles. One year, she’s clean. Totally healthy. The next, she’s on the street, looking for her next fix. Hiding out in houses that didn’t belong to her. Hanging out with people who didn’t care about her or her happiness.

In the world I come from, people judge you for your family. Something I learned at a very young age was that people make things up to push a narrative. To destroy someone’s character. My sister