CHARLOTTE

This was so stupid. I mean how old was I?

I wasn’t the girl who stared out the window waiting for some guy to arrive just so I could catch a glimpse of him, hoping to talk to him, maybe accidentally reach out and touch his perfectly formed muscular arms—arms that would feel amazing holding me as he—

Seriously, Charlotte, grow up, I admonished myself as I was certain lusting after the fathers of students was frowned upon. Even if the said father was the most amazing specimen of male hotness I’d ever imagined—and I had a good imagination. His eyes had held me captive the minute I’d looked into them. The most amazing blue I’d ever seen. He was tall, much taller than I was, and for a woman, I wasn’t short. My five-foot-nine height had been my downfall in the dance world. No male dancer wanted to be my pas de deux partner, so teaching became my next love. And I loved to teach my little students all about moving and dance. Their enthusiasm was something that kept me going. It wasn’t the grand stage or classic Swan Lake, but it was now my world, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. And not having to worry about my weight constantly was pure joy, too. My thoughts strayed to the delicious custard cream doughnut I had devoured only that morning for breakfast. Suck on that, carrot sticks. I giggled to myself.

Continuing to stare out the window, the loud rumbling of a V8 engine interrupted my dreams of sweet baked goods. This engine belonged to the huge black utility truck owned by the ridiculously handsome Deck Johnston. My heart stuttered as I watched his powerful body climb down from the massive truck before strutting his way around to the back passenger door. And yes, I said strut because that was the only way to describe the man’s confidence. It was beautiful to watch him with his powerful and thick thighs encased in tight denim. His tight, black T-shirt clung to every plane of chiselled muscle. His ensemble was finished off with a large pair of black chunky lace-up boots—not so different from his totally cute and adorable daughter’s favourite choice of footwear. Once, when I’d questioned Shiloh on her shoes, she looked at me as if I were a moron.

“Miss Char, dese are my shitkickwers,” she had informed me, schooling me right then.

From that moment, the little beauty had become my favourite. I couldn’t help it. I adored the child and loved watching her dance freely in class, stomping around in her tutu and unusual but unique footwear, with her face occasionally wearing camouflage war paint. Before I could get lost in that particularly strange memory, I heard my name cried out, snagging my attention.

“Miss Char, Miss Char, check it out.”

I looked towards the cute voice with an instant smile that was quickly replaced with an ‘Oh, dear Lord’ surprised look. Getting down from her father’s arms was Shiloh, who was a vision in pink ballet gear, and of course, her size two cuter-than-cute chunky black boots, but today, she also sported a black leather shoulder holster that seemed to be holding a handgun. Surely not real, right?

“Miss Shiloh, aren’t you dressed, um…” I looked to Deck for silent guidance. Lessons learnt from the past had taught me Shiloh had a slight temper, and, let’s say, an interesting vocabulary when it came to questioning her about her attire and the removal of any of it.

Deck’s deep laugh vibrated into parts of my body I hadn’t thought about for a very long while.

“Don’t worry, Sweetness. It ain’t loaded,” he joked as he expertly guided the toddling child across the pebbled walkway. It was only then I noticed the taller man walking behind Deck. His scarred face would scare anyone, but as he was the usually appointed drop-off for Shiloh, I got to know he was a softy for the raven-haired girl. Though I hadn’t engaged in too much chatter with him during drop-off time, I had watched with admiration as he treated Shiloh with tenderness and totally worshipped her.

“Hello,” I said to both men, but my eyes were on Deck. His handsome face was even more striking with his cocky grin. Obviously, he was aware of my stare and interest in him. Good. My ability to play games with the opposite sex was virtually non-existent.

A pull on my skirt took my attention from Deck, and I looked down.

“Miss Char, this is my bodyguard Darth,” Shiloh introduced the large man.

My eyes instantly flew up to the men. Their nonchalant expressions told me they found this to be normal.

“Bodyguard?”

Deck gave a shoulder shrug like it was all the same to him.

“Darth has been her sitter since she was a day old. Other than me, he was the only one who could settle her as an infant. She had a hard time with colic, so Darth’s ability not to need as much sleep as most came in handy. Since then…” Another shoulder lift told me the rest of the story was obvious.

Looking over to Darth, I received the same shoulder lift, only he added a weird chin lift, too. Something I had seen from Shiloh many times. Oh, this is interesting, I thought to myself. And fun. They seemed to have such different lives than mine. Things they obviously found normal, I found intriguing. I mean, who dresses a three-year-old in pink tutus and shoulder holsters?

“Um, okay then. Well, Shiloh, are you ready to go in? I can sign her in if you like, Deck,” I asked softly. Biting my bottom lip, my boldness in using his first name, yet again, surprised me

Deck’s eyes grew darker as he watched my mouth. Why, I didn’t know, but I liked it.

“Thank you, Sweetness. I am a bit late getting started this morning.” Dropping to his knees, I watched in fascination as father and daughter kissed each other’s foreheads—one slobbery and one not so much—and then fist bumped.

“Later, Squirt. Love ya bunches.”

The little girl giggled before replying in kind, “Later, Daddy. Love you more.”

A similar show happened with the large Darth, except he whispered in her ear, which caused another giggle from Shiloh.

“Back at ya, Darf.”

“Hey, Sweetness?”

As I looked away from Shiloh and Darth, my eyes immediately found the steely gaze of the handsome father.

“There ain’t no need to be looking at Darth.”

Huh? What?

“I was?” I asked, suddenly very confused about the whole conversation.

Coming closer to me, Deck lowered his head slightly so we were eye to eye. I was suddenly so happy to have the height of a basketball player.

“Yes, you were, and it’s not on. You belong to me, sweet Charlie.” His matter-of-fact statement would have made me laugh except for the fact his warm breath was tickling my face, his deep blue eyes serious as can be, and that damned smirk.

“Pardon?” I wasn’t sure, but I was pretty certain he’d told me I belonged to him. The thought was preposterous. Wasn’t it? I mean, you can’t own another human being. And why did my stomach feel like it had a million butterflies gallivanting about in there?

“You can’t, I mean, you’re not allowed to say that,” I spluttered. Obviously, years of private school education went straight out the window. This man had rendered me moronic more times than I cared to count. And this was only the second conversation I’d had with him.

Smiling widely, Deck stood up straight and gave me his trademark chin lift.

“Just did, Sweetness. See ya later. We can talk then, yeah?”

“Oh, okay,” my stupid brain agreed. And I stood there! Like an idiot, I stood there as I watched the most fascinating, devilishly handsome, arrogant, alpha Neanderthal walk back to his truck and take off.

“Come on, Miss Char. We gots to go. Lots to do today,” Shiloh demanded, bringing me back to the moment where, hopefully, my brain was in working condition.

“Let’s go dance, shall we.” It wasn’t a question. I needed to go. But a small part of me so wanted to be owned by that man.