The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The First Collection by Frost, J (great novels .txt) 📕

“Mmm, thank you, sweetie, but I want my little girl’s pussy instead. And I want it in a bed.”

“Do you want it in a house? Do you want it with a mouse?”

He bursts out laughing. “Dr. Seuss?”

“Sorry, Daddy, you were rhyming and it set me off. Is it too creepy?”

“No, baby girl. Mmm. What are you making? It smells wonderful. Doesn’t look like green eggs and ham, though.”

That gets me giggling. “Lemon and butter crepes. Maman used to make them for me after I had a nightmare.”

“That’s . . . I’m glad you have that memory of her.”

I know Logan doesn’t think much of my mother. That’s fair. She was kind of tough to have as a mother. But I still feel some lingering sense of loyalty to her. “She wasn’t all bad, Daddy.”

“Hmm.” He doesn’t sound convinced as he kisses the top of my head. “Let me get washed up and I’ll set the table. No doing it while I’m in the loo, little girl.”

“No, Daddy.”

I don’t need to do it while he’s in the bathroom since I already did it before I began grating the lemon zest. He’ll see that for himself in a minute, since he always makes a loop through the kitchen to check the back yard before he goes upstairs. I doubt he even does it consciously. That’s just my daddy. Protective. Decent. Wonderful.

“Daddy, about last night.”

“Mmm?” He stiffens a little but keeps cuddling me against his chest.

“I just wanted to say again that whatever you decide about the baby, I’m here for you fifty million percent.”

Even if an evil, blue-eyed elephant tramples me in my sleep every night.

He chuckles and tension slips out of the muscles pressed against my cheek. “Fifty million percent, huh?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Thank you, sweetheart. It means everything to me.” He kisses the top of my head again. “I’ll be back in ten.”

“Okay, Daddy.”

He releases me and does his usual circuit around the island to look out into the yard. He notices that I’ve already set the table and shakes his head over his shoulder at me.

“When I’m cleared for squats with weights, there will be no more excuses, little girl. You’ll let me do my jobs or we’ll start every morning with discipline.”

I’ll risk it to keep him from hurting himself and delaying his recovery. Men and their egos.

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Hmm, why am I not convinced?”

I shrug innocently while keeping my eyes on the growing pile of lemon zest; if I look at Logan and he gives me those Dom eyes, I’ll fold. “Maybe we could redistribute our jobs?”

“You do everything and Daddy sits on the couch watching telly?”

Some men would like that. My ex-husband for example. But Logan’s not like that and I love his insistence that we share the household chores.

“Maybe I could set the table and do the dishes and you could clean up Sable’s morning offerings? Because that was kind of icky, I have to admit.”

“Is he not using his litter box?” Logan glares at Sable, who is stretched out, upside down with his white belly on display, in his favorite patch of sunlight near the open French doors.

“No, Daddy, he’s been very good about using his litter box since we put it in the bathroom. He left me some, um, trophies this morning. I think they might have been crickets. They weren’t nice. But before you throw them out, you have to praise him and tell him he’s a great hunter, otherwise you’ll hurt his feelings.”

Logan laughs. “Okay, baby doll, that’s a job I’ll take.” He detours back behind the island to give me a quick hug before he heads upstairs to wash.

When he returns, I have two plates of crepes ready, drizzled with lemon butter, garnished with mint. Just like Maman used to make. As I set them on the breakfast table, the doorbell rings.

Daddy glances in the direction of the front door and shakes his head. “I did not say she could come for breakfast.”

My belly clenches. Miranda, already? So much for Dr. Seuss sex. And I haven’t made enough crepes for three.

Logan goes to answer the door, and returns, grimacing, with Miranda in tow. She’s wearing an off-the-shoulder, peach sundress that falls to mid-calf. It looks like silk. Definitely couture. Her golden hair’s in perfect spirals again, and her lipstick matches her dress.

I’m wearing cotton pajamas with teddy bears on them. I haven’t even brushed my hair yet, much less my teeth. Gross. I need to escape upstairs.

I gesture to the table. “I hope you like crepes.”

“I do,” Miranda says, sunnily. She must know she’s about to eat my breakfast.

“Emily—” Daddy begins.

I stretch up and kiss him on the cheek. “Do you mind if I take a shower while you two eat? I didn’t wash my hair last night and it’s itchy.”

He catches my cheek and cups it, tipping my face up so he can look into my eyes. “You’ll eat after your shower. Something nicer than dry toast.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Good girl. Call me when you’re done with your shower. I’ll pick your clothes for today.”

I would wiggle happily except that the Mir-Witch is glaring at me with the elephant’s blue eyes and it’s making me nervous about getting trampled again. I simply nod and smile at him before escaping.

I make it a long shower, conditioning my hair for ten minutes and taking the time to shave where I’m not lasered. I straighten my hair, which I almost never do, because I don’t want to share anything with the Mir-monster, not even curls. When I can’t stretch it out any longer, I call down for Logan.

He doesn’t answer, which isn’t like Daddy at all. I throw on his robe and, after taking a moment to sniff his scent off the robe’s collar, sneak downstairs.

He’s in his office, sitting at his desk, with the house phone pressed to his ear. The door’s open and when I pause at it, he gestures me inside and onto his lap. I snuggle into him happily and listen to his