Any response my father might have made was cut off by the sound of the doorbell ringing.

Good lord, my house was the revolving door tonight.

Mac slipped past us into the hall and started for it, only to step back and place his hand inside his jacket when the lock turned.

Oh shit.

Jordan.

My newfound courage slipped as he pushed open the door.

The only sign of his surprise at finding my father, me, and a bodyguard in the hall was a brief halt in motion. It was a millisecond, really, one I might have missed had I not been watching him so closely.

But I was watching, so I saw him take in the situation in an instant.

My father red-faced, skin mottled, smoke all but pouring out of his ears. Me, chewing on my lip, nerves starting to swell.

Mac, ready to reach for his gun.

I frowned at that. My father had kept a bodyguard with him for as long as I could remember, but I’d never really processed the fact that he might actually be in danger. Further that, I knew Mac had been with him for the last four or five years and I’d never seen him reach for a gun.

Well, I hadn’t been around all that much, had I?

And now guilt was trickling in. Because how well did I really know my father? Was he truly in danger? Was I viewing him, perhaps unfairly, through the lens of my childhood?

Could he have changed?

Then I remembered our interaction in the kitchen and put the thought out of my head.

My father might have changed, but it wasn’t a drastic difference, and it certainly hadn’t changed the way he viewed me.

Bodyguard or not.

Jordan closed and locked the door behind him before striding casually toward us, stopping to shake Mac’s hand as he walked by. “Haley,” he said. “Good to see you.”

Mac nodded then moved to stand in the corner, trying to give privacy to a situation that was impossible to ignore. Kind of hard when his charge was in the middle of it.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Jordan said, stepping between my father and me, snaking a hand around my waist, and bending down to kiss me.

My father made a choking sound.

“Did you get my text?” he asked.

I shook my head, hands gripping his button-down tightly. He was still in his clothes from work, and I guessed he hadn’t had the time to go home yet.

“No.” I took in a breath, let his warmth and scent wash over me, steady me. I stepped back, tilted my head toward my father. “Jordan, this is my dad, Bernie.”

“Good to see you again.” Jordan put out his hand.

My father’s remained at his side. “O’Keith.”

Jordan raised his brows, turned toward me. “I finished early. Thought we might have our date after all.”

“She’s not dressed for it,” my father burst out. “Obviously. So go.”

Jordan’s jaw tightened. “I’ll have you know—”

“Jordan,” I interrupted softly.

He looked down at me. I mouthed, “I got this.”

His eyes searched mine for a long moment before he nodded. “Want a cup of tea?”

I smiled, not having realized that he’d noticed my addiction. I should have because he was thoughtful and considerate and always seemed to notice all the little details.

“Sure. Thanks.”

He bent to kiss my cheek. “Holler if you need me,” he whispered and headed into the kitchen.

“Him?” my father snapped. “You cannot be serious.”

“Good to see you, Dad,” I said, and walked to the front door. “I’ll be over for Christmas as usual. Otherwise, if you want to discuss anything further, have your assistant call me and we’ll coordinate calendars.”

“That’s it? You tell me you spread your legs for an O’Keith and you want me to coordinate calendars?”

“I’m twenty-seven years old,” I said. “I don’t need your permission for who I’m friends with, let alone who I sleep with.”

“This is some convoluted revenge, isn’t it? You think your childhood was so tough and now you’re trying to deliberately—” Spittle flew as he ranted and I found the angrier he got, the calmer I felt.

“I didn’t deliberately do anything. I’m just trying to live my life the only way I know how.”

“This—” He shook his head. “I can’t believe you—”

I let my head fall back to rest against the wall. I had hung two framed pictures of Bec, Sera, and me, centered above a console table that held a bowl for keys—my attempt at mending my losing ways.

“This is why I can’t be around you,” I said softly. “Everything is about you.” I tipped my chin back down, met his eyes square on. “But this isn’t and I suggest that if you want anything to do with your future grandbaby, then you stop judging me and let me live my own life.”

“As if I’d want anything to do with a child that has O’Keith blood in it.” He laughed, harsh and cold. “God knows if you are associating with that family, then you’re as much of a whore as the rest of them.”

The verbal blow took my breath away.

“Nice, Dad.”

“You need to go.” Jordan had come back into the hall and was standing very close to my father. Mac straightened from his position in the corner, but Jordan didn’t do anything except say, “It’s time for you to leave.”

“Fuck you, asshole.” Then my father punched him square in the jaw.

Jordan’s head snapped back, his hands clenched into fists at his side. But he didn’t even bother to address my father. Instead, he looked at Mac. “You need to get him out of here otherwise—”

“Coward.”

The word drew Jordan’s eyes down.

“I’ll give you one freebie because she’s your daughter and you’re an old man.” His voice went deadly. “But talk to her like that again and we’re going to have a serious problem.”

I stepped between them, leaned back against Jordan.

“Just go,” I told my father.

Jordan was rock hard behind me and the fury radiating from him was almost a tangible thing. But when his arm wrapped around my waist, it was gentle.

Mac walked over and leaned down to whisper in my father’s ear. My dad listened for a minute before turning disdainful eyes in my direction.

“I can’t deal with this”—he sniffed at Jordan and me—“I have more important business to attend to.”

Max glanced at me and shook his head. I knew he’d made up whatever he’d told my father to diffuse the situation.

I nodded my thanks and locked the door behind them, collapsing back against it with a huge sigh. Tears were threatening but I didn’t want to let them fall.

My dad was a jerk. No sense crying about it.

“Come here,” Jordan said gruffly.

My eyes flashed open. He had his arms held wide and I didn’t hesitate, just walked into that embrace.

“It’s going to be okay,” he whispered.

And even as I held the words close, I couldn’t help but mentally shake my head at the irony.

I may not have gotten this comfort as a child, but I found that receiving it as a grown woman was just as good.

Actually, it may have been better.

“Why am I so nervous?” I asked Jordan the next morning as we drove to his father’s house. He’d stayed for a little while the night before, long enough for me to heat up some leftovers for him and crochet a couple of rows on the baby blanket I’d decided to make for the nugget cooking in my belly.

He’d passed on the crocheting, opting to sit next to me watching the sports highlights as I’d worked.

The scene had been domestic and, scarily, I’d liked it.

He wanted to hang around longer, but I’d made him go home. The dark circles under his eyes spoke volumes. He needed more sleep, and that meant I couldn’t monopolize all of his free time.

Even though I wanted to.

Even though I was quickly realizing that I wanted to spend every spare moment with him.

Even though I was as horny as a teenager.

“There’s no reason to be nervous,” he said, resting a hand on my thigh as he drove.

I mentally reset the conversation in my head and focused on the current task at hand. We were going to see Hunter, and I was freaking out.

I didn’t do small children well. I was the youngest, had never been around little kids. And this one was sick. And special to Jordan. What if I said the wrong thing? What if—God forbid—I made Hunter cry? What if—?

“Why are you emotionally spiraling over there?” Jordan asked.

The question made me blink and squint over at him. Blue eyes flicked from the road to mine before returning forward.

“How—?”

“Sweetheart,” he said, “I notice a lot of things about you.”

“Scary,” I muttered.

He squeezed my leg. “No hiding now,” he said. “Not when I’m finally cluing in.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” I said. But I felt the smile tugging at the corners of my lips.

“Spill.”

“I’m scared Hunter won’t like me.”

“Sweetheart.” His voice was gentle. “Just be yourself, and I guarantee he’ll like you.”

Aw.

“You think so?”

He winked. “I know so.”

I blew out a breath and nodded. “Okay. I’ve got this.”

“Yes, you do.” His eyes met mine for a moment and there might have been a dash of nerves in the blue depths. “So,” he said, tone far from confident, “I wanted to ask you something.”

The thread of nervousness in his voice made me study him closely. “Go ahead,” I said carefully.

“Do you want to go on a date?”

I cocked my head to the side, relief pouring through me. “Isn’t that what we’ve been doing for the last few weeks now?”

“Well.” He winced. “Sort of.”

“We’ve spent almost every night together,” I pointed out. “And had lunch. And”—I smiled—“you’ve brought me breakfast nearly every day. Now that I think about it, just about the only thing you do with me is try to shove food down my throat.”

His cheeks went a little rosy. “It’s important you eat. No more passing out.”

“I agree.” I put my hand over his. “And thank you,” I said, joking aside. “I haven’t felt dizzy since you started making me fat.”

“It’s nothing.” His shoulders came up and I put my hand on the one I could reach, stopping the shrug in progress.

I didn’t want him to dismiss what’d he’d done for me.

“It’s not nothing to me,” I said. “Thank you.”

A moment of quiet then, “You’re welcome.”

“Okay, since we’ve established the whole spending-loads-of-time-together thing. Which I think is dating, isn’t?” I asked. “What’s this about taking me out?”

“You deserve a nice dinner at a restaurant. Maybe a movie or a play. Flowers. Whatever.” I didn’t stop his shrug this time. “You deserve to be courted, Abs. We did this thing all ass-backward, I know. But I’d like to change that. Start from the beginning and have a do-over.”

I laced my fingers with his. “I don’t want a do-over,” I told him. “I like where we are now. It’s . . . easy? I’m not sure if that’s the right word and maybe this is completely too soon and ridiculous or I’m addled with pregnancy hormones, but I feel like I know you better than any other person on the planet.” I hesitated, biting my lip before I just decided to say it. “Maybe even better than Bec and Seraphina and I . . . I guess I kind of like it.” I made a face. “No. That’s a lie. I really like it.”

Jordan was quiet for long enough to make me want to take what I’d said back. Then he turned his hand palm up and gripped mine tightly. “I really like it too.”

I released a breath, feeling like we’d made a big promise that I didn’t yet know the words to.

“Still, I wouldn’t mind a nice dinner.”

His laughter filled my heart. “Good,” he said. “Tonight, I’m taking you on a date.”