Daddy PI: Book 1 of the Daddy PI Casefiles by Frost, J (reading eggs books TXT) 📗

when he’s good and ready.” At my pout, he shakes his head and says, “Time to get changed for dinner, mischief maker. Cocktails at the captain’s table start at six. I realize you only finished eating lunch two hours ago—”

I stick my tongue out at him.

He pulls me tight to him and lets me feel the hard bar of his arousal against my stomach. “Stick that tongue out at me again tonight and I’ll clamp it. You want to sit at the captain’s table with your tongue clamped so everyone can see what a cheeky, disrespectful girl you’ve been?”

“No, Sir.” I’m immediately repentant and remorseful. For real. I wasn’t disrespecting him. Just being playful. I immediately drop to my knees, and then bow so my forehead touches one of his oxblood lace-ups. “Sorry, Sir.”

“Count to sixty, Emily. Then stand and try that apology again.”

“Yes, Sir.” I shuffle a little to get in a position I can hold for that long. Then I start counting, quietly but aloud, so he can hear me.

As I’m reaching the thirties, another pair of men’s shoes appears in my peripheral vision. These are black, scuffed and thick-soled. “Logan,” the man says, with a very slight German accent.

“Michael,” Logan responds, and I feel him shift his weight as the men shake hands over my head.

“And this dear girl on a time-out, is this Emily?” the man asks.

“It is. When she’s had a minute to remember how to be respectful, she’s going to stand and apologize and then I’ll introduce you.”

“Excellent, excellent. I understand you’re joining us at the captain’s table tonight. I’ll introduce you to my wife, Teresa. Have you met Captain Lopez yet?”

“No, not yet.” Logan pauses as I finish counting. “Emily, are you ready to give me a proper apology?”

“Yes, Sir,” I whimper.

“Stand, put your hands behind your back, and apologize.”

Despite the embarrassment of having to apologize in front of an audience, I do, clasping my hands behind me and keeping my head down, eyes lowered. “I’m very sorry I stuck my tongue out at you, Sir. I didn’t mean to be disrespectful.”

“Better,” Logan says. My heart clenches; he hasn’t called me his good girl. I look up at him anxiously. He’s watching me, not smiling, but his eyes are black, crackling with fire. The heat in them burns away my fear. He’s aroused, not angry. “Turn around and curtsey to Dr. Michael Lehmann. Hands behind your back.”

I turn and curtsey to the fifty-something man behind me. He’s wearing black chinos with a heavy silver belt and a charcoal, button-down shirt. He looks like any of the passengers, and I wonder if he’s off-duty.

I wonder whether he wears a pink thong when he’s not.

“It’s nice to meet you, Dr. Lehmann,” I say. “I’m Emily Martin.”

He nods instead of shaking, which is good because Logan’s closed his hand around my wrists and is holding them crossed at the small of my back. I don’t think he’s letting go any time soon, either. God, so domly. I settle into his hold, the way my Dom Matthew taught me, letting my shoulders relax.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Emily.”

“Michael’s the staff doctor who’s assisting the investigation,” Logan says to me. “He’s sailing with us as far as Cabo.”

I nod and give the doctor a hesitant smile. He smiles back, white teeth in a square face edged by a graying beard. “If you need anything while you’re aboard, Emily, come and find me. My office is on deck four, room five-fifty-two. Do you know how to find the room numbers on the ship?”

I shake my head and look to Logan, who shakes his head, too.

“Come, let me show you.”

The doctor leads us over to a closed door behind the Puerto Vallarta excursions kiosk. He points to a small, silver plaque at the bottom of the door frame on the right side. The plaque is etched with numbers: 377.

“Every room on the ship has a number. They’re numbered sequentially, not by deck like the cabins. Do you understand?”

I nod. “Thank you, Dr. Lehmann.”

“You’re very welcome. I’ll look forward to seeing you two at dinner.”

The doctor shakes Logan’s hand again before he leaves us.

“Have you ever been on a ship this big, Sir?” I ask Logan as he steers me towards the stairs by my wrists.

“No. It’s a monster, isn’t it? I served on subs and gunboats. They’re small by necessity.” He gestures to the distant ceiling as we start up the stairs. The lounge is massive: three floors high and so wide it didn’t feel crowded with two hundred plus passengers gathered for the orientation. “Lots of space to explore. Lots of places to get lost in, so when you’re not in the cabin, I expect you to always carry your phone, Emily.”

“Yes, Sir.” It’s an easy promise to make since I always carry it with me.

“I won’t be able to answer my phone all the time. Especially not when I’m doing interviews,” Logan explains as we climb the stairs. “But I’ll keep it on vibrate and carry it here.” He pats his breast pocket. “You’ll always be able to reach me.”

“Thank you, Sir.” I smile up at him, so he knows how much it means to me to always be able to reach my daddy.

* * *

When we get back to the cabin, Logan dresses me again, taking a white dress from the closet in his room, which he won’t let me peek into, even though I beg. This one’s even more gorgeous than the last: an A-line shift that floats to midthigh from a halter that circles my neck in a white satin collar. I get teary again when he smooths it down my body, rubbing the silky fabric over my breasts. I thank him the only way I know how since he doesn’t want me to get on my knees: peppering kisses over his jaw until he chuckles.

“Here, sweetheart, let’s take this off.” He unclasps the silver necklace so it doesn’t interfere with the