Shift (The Disciples' Daughters #2) (11 page)

For the second day in a row, I woke before Sketch. I considered staying put for a minute and thought maybe I should soak it in. Then, I reminded myself soaking it in would only make it harder to resist when he tried to get me back there. I didn’t need to make the memory of how warm and secure it felt being there any more vivid. I didn’t need any help remembering how great it felt to wake up happy.

Crap.

I was doing a really good job, wasn’t I?

On that thought, it was seriously time to get out of bed. I’d caused enough trouble for myself already. Besides, Emmy could be up any time and she would not hesitate to barge right in. The door was locked, so she wouldn’t get far. Still, I didn’t need her to find out Sketch was in my bed. That was not a conversation I wanted to have.

After a quick check to make sure the little one in question was still asleep—for a few more minutes, anyway—I hurried to the bathroom for a shower. In my superhuman rush through getting clean, my mind went back to the days when a shower meant a chance to relax under the hot water for a minute—those days of peace that existed only before I became “Mom”.

Luckily, I decided it wasn’t the morning to reclaim that particular slice of pre-mommy life. When I came out of the bathroom and checked in on Emmy again, she was sitting up in bed. She was still rubbing her eyes, not quite ready to go charging into the world, but another minute or two might have been too late.

“Good morning, sunshine.”

“Morning, Momma,” she said in a sweet little voice.

That was the last bit of sweet I was getting for the day.

For one thing, Emmy had decided long ago that being three going on sixteen meant a good day like we had at the zoo must be followed by a moody one, lest I forget there was plenty of sass to go with all that cute.

This started at breakfast. It was my own fault, really. After she woke up, Emmy requested that she pick out her own outfit. This was becoming more and more frequent with her. On the one hand, I was happy to encourage her to embrace bits of independence. On the other, it was a nightmare and a half trying to get her to change if what she picked wasn’t weather appropriate or made it look like I neglected her. I should have, at that juncture, distracted her from the idea by suggesting one of her favorite outfits, thus ensuring peace for myself because she would have been all for it. But I didn’t do that.

No, I was barely a few sips into a much-needed cup of coffee when she came strolling into the kitchen in her purple Rapunzel costume dress, fuzzy, pink, bootie slippers, fairy wings, and a full set of costume jewelry, including a tiara. I wasn’t entirely sure what was in store for our day, but Stone had asked me the night before to go over to the clubhouse so we could have a chat. I also needed to do some grocery shopping, since the contents of a fridge filled for bikers wasn’t exactly the same as the diet for a fussy three-year-old. None of that said costume. It certainly didn’t say slippers were appropriate footwear.

So, I made my second mistake.

“Honey, I’m not sure that outfit is best. We have places to go. Today’s not the day for costumes.”

That was when sweet left the building.

I got the grumpy three-year-old death glare to end all death glares. It was made all the more ridiculous by the amount of purple, pink, and glitter she had on. Then, I got the sass.

“It’s not a costume, Mom,”
she’d snapped.
“I’m a fairy princess.”

“Be careful with that sass.”
Undeterred by the show of attitude, I’d tried again.
“Are you sure today is the best day to be a fairy princess?”

“I’m always a fairy princess,”
she’d said, punctuated with a fist to her cocked hip.

God save me when she actually became a teenager.

“Sass, Emmaline,”
I’d warned more firmly.

The glare and hip action didn’t go away, but her mouth stayed shut tight.

“Do you want breakfast?”

She still didn’t say anything, just marched her little costume-clad butt to the breakfast table in the corner of the kitchen and sat, arms crossed over her chest.

Thus began the battle of the breakfast foods. For every suggestion I offered, of which there were quite a few despite my need to go shopping, I got more and more attitude from her side of the room. I was thinking I’d not had nearly enough coffee yet when I ran out of options.

“Well, that’s all there is. You have to pick something,”
I’d told her.

If she could have managed to ratchet up the intensity on that glare, I was sure she would have.

“Cereal,”
she’d clipped with an eye roll.

“Do not roll your eyes at me,”
I’d reprimanded, not moving until I was sure she saw how serious I was. Only then did I get a bowl and pour her some cereal.

The second part of the universe’s message that sweet was definitely not in the plan for me came about half an hour later. My snippy little one was finished eating and had moved into the living room where I gladly set her up with the Disney Channel. She’d griped that she didn’t like the show that was on, but I knew she was just trying to find ways to complain. I returned to the kitchen where I could finish my coffee in relative peace but wouldn’t miss if she decided to wander off or cause any fuss.

The peace lasted all of five minutes before I was met with a whole new type of attitude.

Sketch came into the kitchen looking as grumpy as Emmy and as irritated as I was starting to feel. With no preamble whatsoever, he stomped my way.

“You snuck out again.”

Resisting the urge to roll my eyes, I’d informed him,
“I have a daughter. She wasn’t going to sleep much longer and I couldn’t exactly have her knocking on the door with both of us naked in bed.”

“Believe me, Ash, I am perfectly fucking aware that you have a daughter,”
he’d replied darkly.
“And you could have woken me when you got up.”

How was I turning into the bad guy in everyone’s scenarios?

“I thought you’d want to sleep.”

“You thought you could sneak out and start avoiding me right away.”

Well, yes. I’d thought that, too. Though, I thought it was a good idea not to say it.

“Do you want coffee? The pot is still nearly full.”

His hands went to my hips and jerked me against him.
“I want you not to change the subject.”

“What is there to say?”
I’d asked, shaking off his hold.
“You didn’t like it, I don’t think I did anything wrong, and none of it really matters. It won’t happen again.”

“You’ll wake me next time?”

“There won’t be a next time.”

Sketch didn’t grin or brush my comment off. He hooked me around the back of the neck and brought our faces close.
“I promise you, babe, there will be. You can fight all you want, I told you yesterday you could, but I’ll be fighting back. And I won’t lose.”

I tried to pry myself away from him. I didn’t want to do this or be so close to him. He was shirtless, having only pulled on his jeans before he left my room. His tattooed body was all on display and it made me want to touch. Worst of all, he smelled amazing, like spice, leather, musk, and the faint smell of sex. It made me think about everything we’d done the night before, of him taking me on the side of the house and the way he made me come three more times once we got to my room.

No, I wasn’t capable of self-control when he was that close.

“Move away.”
I’d tried to make it sound like a command, but in my mind, I was begging.

“Kiss me,”
he’d returned.

“No.”

He leaned in even closer.
“It wasn’t a request.”

Then, he kissed me. I didn’t kiss him back. Really, I didn’t. At least, not at first.

I thought I could hold out, just keep my lips completely still. I figured he would give up as soon as he realized I wasn’t going to do as he said, which was stupid. Sketch wasn’t the giving up type. He brushed his lips across mine a few times until they were tingling and my jaw was aching from the force with which I was clenching it. He changed tactics then, his tongue coming out to trace my lips until I felt a groan threatening to escape. I relaxed my jaw while focusing on staying silent and it was all the give he needed. His tongue pressed in, slipping between my lips and meeting mine. It was all over then. I kissed him back, and I didn’t do it halfway.

A creek from the top of the stairs broke us apart. Someone was awake and coming down. I needed to put space between us before anyone saw. The satisfied smirk Sketch wore told me he’d already gotten what he was after—as if I didn’t know that.

“Keep fighting, Ash,”
he’d said as he stepped back and went toward the coffee maker.
“It’s almost more fun when you do.”

Crap.

The good news was that half of my problem resolved itself—in a manner of speaking. Ace had come down and joined us in the kitchen, pouring a cup of coffee for himself and taking a seat. It was enough to make Sketch back off until he announced he had to go to work. I’d wanted to ask what he did, but I was worried what interest in his job would say. I’d grappled with it silently for a few minutes while he drank his coffee next to me. Then, Sketch had left, resolving the issue for me.

Of course, after that, I started fighting with whether or not I should try to talk to Ace, and what I would even say, and generally doing that awkward thing I always did when I was in social situations because I never knew how to handle them. Ace resolved that issue by asking about Emmy. Apparently, he had a half-sister twelve years his junior. She was eight, but he still remembered her at Emmy’s age. It was the kind of conversation I could relax in, answering direct questions and being able to turn them back around. I honestly wondered if someone mentioned I was awkward and he was trying to make me comfortable.

I told my brain to shut up and let it go.

Later in the day, I did make it to the store. Ace insisted on coming with, saying he should restock the kitchen for the guys, too.

Given Emmy’s fantastic mood, it was not a fun experience. She sat in the cart, no longer openly glaring at me, but not being my upbeat girl either. I didn’t know what she had to be in a mood about since she was still wearing her crazy outfit. I’d only made her change shoes because the slippers weren’t meant to be worn outside. Regardless, she was nursing her snit and the only input she gave was to sneer at items she didn’t like—primarily anything remotely healthy I grabbed.

It was mid afternoon by the time I went over to the clubhouse, snooty child in tow and Ace riding behind us. Hopefully, whatever Stone wanted to say would be quick and I could get her out of there. There was no reason to make anyone else deal with crabby Emmy longer than necessary.

As we went inside, I was wondering if maybe she hadn’t slept well and was still tired from the long day at the zoo. Maybe when we got back to the farmhouse, she’d take a nap. Lord knew I could use one.

Inside, Daz was leaning against the bar and a girl in tiny shorts and a tank top despite the not-yet-summer temperatures was sitting on a stool by him. She was all about him; he was mildly interested in whatever she was saying. I figured he was tuning in enough to know when it was time to move on to sex, but uninterested beyond that. His attention was fractured enough to notice when we walked in.

“My girl is here!” Daz greeted at full volume. The chick on the stool turned around to look our way, going into full bitch-mode at the sight of me. Clearly, she thought Daz was talking about me, not my daughter. Though, she was probably assuming Emmy was his, too.

“Untle Daz!” Emmy greeted back and ran his way, a full smile on her face. Well, that was a surprise. It seemed I was her issue all day, not her mood. Wonderful.

Daz picked her up. “How’s my Emmy?”

“Good,” she said on a smile.

I sighed. Daz looked my way.

“What brings you two lovely ladies here?”

His friend at the bar went from pissy to ready to blow. I thought it was kind of funny. If she thought she had any sort of claim on Daz, even just for the day, she was sorely mistaken, and I knew Daz wasn’t doing anything to give her that idea. He was very upfront when he wanted to fuck. If she had any grand delusions, they were her own doing.

“Stone wants to talk to me,” I explained.

He looked at Emmy. “And who’s watching you?”

Emmy shrugged.

“I was just going to bring her in with me.”

Daz made a ridiculous face of dismay. “And subject this beautiful princess to that boredom? I’ll not have it!”

Who knew Daz was going to be the type to ham it up for a little girl?

“Daz, you’ve got company,” I reminded him with a nod toward Ms. Attitude.

“Shit,” he muttered. I didn’t reprimand him. Emmy now understood things Uncle Daz said weren’t to be repeated. He turned to the woman. “Change of plans, I’m busy. You can see yourself out.”

Harsh, but effective. If she hadn’t played around with a Disciple before, she at least understood the score. When you were dismissed, you needed to get gone.

Before she made it to the door, Daz’s attention was back on Emmy. “You, little miss, promise me right now you won’t let a man talk to you like that. You’re too precious for that shit.”

Holy crap.

I couldn’t even look at the chick he’d kicked out to see her reaction, though I heard her gasp. I was busy focusing on consummate player Daz telling my daughter not to become the exact sort of woman he enjoyed most.

“I pwomise,” she agreed.

“Holding you to that.”