But tonight, I’m content just having my angel in my arms.
I make sure Teagan’s sound asleep before I kiss her forehead and whisper, “Sweet dreams, baby. Daddy loves you very much. Welcome home.”
Chapter Seven
Teagan
My first thought as I open my eyes and glance around the tastefully furnished room, is that I must either be dead or dreaming.
Nine times out of ten, my dreams are either sad or boring, which means there’s a good chance that I hallucinated losing my virginity to the man of my dreams, possibly while starving to death in a stranger’s backseat. No way would I ever wake up in a place like this, not unless I’d died and gone to Heaven.
That certainly would explain why Jonah had spent the night calling me his angel.
I sit up and wince at the ache in my pelvis. Pulling back the covers, I gasp. My inner thighs are stained pink, as is the flat sheet beneath me. I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to bleed in Heaven, which means I’m either alive or in Hell, and I highly doubt they have sheets this silky in Hell.
Smoothing my hand across the empty side of the enormous bed, I allow myself to entertain the possibility that last night actually happened.
I lost my virginity, here on these bazillion-thread-count sheets, to a man who lets me call him Daddy.
My cheeks catch fire as I recall my embarrassment after I let the word slip. I expected him to laugh or tell me I was sick for even thinking it, but to my utter surprise, he didn’t.
If anything, it seemed like he’d been waiting his whole life to hear me say it. And apparently, a part of me had been waiting my whole life to say it, too.
Once the word tumbled out, there was no taking it back—not that I’d want to. Twenty-four hours ago, I was homeless. Now I have a room of my own in a big, sturdy house belonging to an even sturdier man who wants to take care of me.
I’ll be the first to admit that it doesn’t make any sense. Jonah’s got to be thirty-five at least, maybe forty. Distinguished and handsome and rugged all at once. His house is unlike any place I’ve ever stayed in. Big and open, yet somehow cozy. Why would such a perfect man want to play at being my daddy when he could be building a real family of his own?
I press my face to Jonah’s pillow, breathing in his masculine scent. A flood of tingles whooshes down my spine. Something feels different; I feel different, like his touch has permanently rearranged my insides. I’m not sure what I did to deserve someone like Jonah, but for now, I’m not going to question it.
From the moment I set foot in his house, I felt like I could finally stop running. Still, if I’ve learned anything in life, it’s that the second you think you’ve found a place to lay your head, you’re off and running again. Someone takes advantage, or something comes up. Your new foster mom realizes she doesn’t have the time or space to keep you after all.
If there’s one thing I can predict, it’s that Jonah will realize sooner or later that being my Daddy isn’t worth the trouble. It’s sad but inevitable, like a kid losing interest in their favorite toy as they grow up. People get bored, or annoyed, or just plain tired of having to constantly forgive you every time you step out of line.
If Jonah were anyone else, I could shrug it off. Tell myself, at least I’ll have a nice place to stay while I figure out my next move. But Jonah’s not just anyone, that much is obvious. He’s my Daddy. I only met him yesterday, but I feel it in my marrow. He’s the one I want to hold on to, the one I want to keep, the one I want inside me every night.
All these years, I’ve refused to get attached to anything because nothing ever lasts as long as I want it to. My heart’s been broken for over a decade, yet somehow Jonah managed to collect the shards and piece it back together in under a day.
I should be furious. He’s ruined me for real life. How can I ever go back to my old normal, lonely existence now that I know what it’s like to be Jonah’s angel?
Scanning the room for something to change into, I settle on Jonah’s tee shirt from last night. It’s so big on me that the hem falls past my knees. I consider making the bed and then decide against it. He’ll probably want to toss the sheets; I can only hope he won’t be too upset with me for bleeding on them.
The scent of coffee and bacon hits me halfway down the staircase. My stomach growls. I drift through the house, following the aroma into the kitchen where I find Jonah at the stove, tossing potatoes around a frying pan, looking like sex on legs in nothing but a pair of black gym shorts.