Page 30 of Daddy!

"Uh, what?"

I scrunched my whole body up before I said it, as if I could deflect his inevitably disappointed tone. "It's at home. I took it out."

There was a pause, but not as long a one as I had anticipated, although that did not mean he wasn't pissed. He still sounded very reassuring and loving, but he didn't fool me. I was in deep, deep trouble. "All right. You need to turn the car off, if you haven't already. You don't know if the tailpipe is blocked or not."

"It's off."

"Leave the lights on for an hour or so—they'll help me find you. In the meantime, you're going to be cold, but I'm going to blister your fanny for you when I get you home, so that'll warm you up. Think about that while you stay the hell put until I get to you, which was what you were supposed to do in the first place. Don't get out of that car unless you see a cop or me coming to rescue you. Do you understand, Tahlia?"

My "Yes, Sir" was soft and contrite.

"I love you, babygirl. I'll get there as fast as I safely can."

And then he was gone.

But he—along with a tow truck owned by a friend of his—arrived about forty-five minutes later, and I was freezing. It's not usually terribly cold when it snows, but this storm was an exception. Either that, or I was becoming more sensitive to the cold. He shoveled his way through the snow to the driver's side door and leaned in. "Are you sure you're all right?" he asked anxiously, running his hands all over me.

"Yes, Daddy."

Then he bundled me into his heavy winter coat and helped me to his car, where he'd left his heater blasting warm air. It felt like Heaven.

Mane buckled me in, and I could tell he was not happy. He even went so far as to put his warm, thick mittens on my hands. "Don't you even think about moving so much as an inch. I'll be right back."

He went and talked to his friend, arranging to have my car brought to his garage and looked over. Then he came back and slid into the driver's seat, and, of course, the first thing he did was turn to me. "Are you feeling any warmer? I'll get going so the heater will kick in even hotter." Then he reached over and grabbed my ridiculously large gloved hand. I slipped mine out of it and clasped his as we crept down the road.

"I'm sorry to cause you so much trouble, Daddy," I offered, feeling truly repentant.

He brought my hand to his lips, saying lovingly, "I know you are, little one." Then, his tone changed, and he gave me the look via side eye. "And if you're not now, you soon will be, I promise you that."

I tried to take my hand back at that, but he wouldn't let it go.

He literally carried me into his house, not putting me down until we were in the bathroom, where he took off all of my clothes.

"I have to call the school!" I said suddenly, remembering that I'd not quite made it there, despite my valiant attempt.

"I did that before I left to rescue you. I'm not about to allow you to go in to work."

"You didn't—you didn't say that to them, did you?" I really didn't think he had, but I felt better asking.

He grinned down at me, but it was not a normal grin. There was a tension to it that wasn't usually there. "Yes, I definitely told them that I was keeping my naughty little girl home today because I was going to have to punish her for disobeying me, so she wasn't going to be able to come in."

"Why is it that I wouldn't put it past you to say exactly that to them?" I mumbled under my breath.

"What was that?"

"Nothing, Daddy." I peeped up at him, but he looked at me the way he had since he'd opened my car door while I was in the snow bank: thoroughly annoyed, but concerned enough that the emotion was taking a back seat for the moment to taking care of me.

"Damned straight," he grumbled back at me. When I was standing in front of him—naked and feeling more vulnerable about that than I ever had with him—he stripped off himself and we both got into a very hot shower. It felt wonderful, and, although I reached for the soap, he took it out of my hand and washed me very thoroughly.

He'd been bathing me for a while now, which I loved, but this made more sense to get me warm—I wouldn't be sitting in a tub full of cooling water—and was more expedient.

There was no funny business, either, which made me feel even worse about what I'd done. Daddy's hands always wandered during baths as he washed me everywhere, but this was a disturbingly vanilla shower. My chattering teeth stopped quickly, and he didn't wash my hair because he'd done that the night before.

I was in and out of there in record time, and I knew that didn't bode well for me at all. Not well at all. He dried me thoroughly—before himself—then tucked me in my big, warm winter robe before tending to himself. I turned to walk out of the bathroom.

"Don't you move, young lady."

Uh-oh.