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

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Seven hours later, having followed Logan’s schedule to the minute and feeling surprisingly well-hydrated and refreshed despite the long flight, I bounce into the baggage claim area. I spot Logan immediately, twirling a cart around on its back wheels idly while he waits. He smiles when he sees me and opens his arms so I can run to him.

He’s such a big man, eight inches taller and a good eighty pounds heavier than I am, that he scoops me straight up off the ground. I wrap my legs around his waist, my arms around his neck, and pepper his face with kisses.

“I’m so happy to see you,” I say between smooches. “First class was awesome.” I remember the British phrase for thank you that he’s taught me. “Ta very much. And I followed your schedule to the minute.”

He chuckles and stills me with his big paw on the nape of my neck to claim a deep kiss. Then he lowers me to the ground.

And I realize something’s very wrong.

His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. Those eyes that were so hot and wanting even through the phone on our video-call this morning have gone cold, bracketed by deep, tight lines. Those weren’t there this morning. Under his summer tan, his skin is grey. He’s holding himself strangely. He’s still military-straight, but his stomach’s tight, like he’s clenched against a blow.

“Sir, is everything okay?”

He collars me with his hand on the back of my neck and presses a kiss to my forehead.

“I’ve missed you,” he says. “I found a sushi place not too far from the hotel, but I couldn’t get a reservation until eight. I know that’s crazy late for you.”

And him. Some of his strain might be from jet lag, but there’s definitely something else going on.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m really looking forward to it. A California roll in California? Do you think that’s too trite?”

He chuckles and kisses me again while I watch his expression closely. So much strain. “No, baby. You have your tourist sushi.”

I go up on my tiptoes and nuzzle into the warm spot under his jaw. He still smells like sandalwood, but there’s something else, too. Something acidic and a little bitter, like the rind of a lemon. Is he getting sick? I have First Defense with me; I always use it when I fly. Maybe I should offer it to him.

My big, yellow suitcase appears on the conveyor belt. It distracts me and I tug Logan towards it. He retrieves it, and my smaller suitcase, when that arrives on the conveyor, and loads them onto the cart. I lay my backpack on top of the suitcases and take his hand when he offers it to me. That he can wheel the laden cart with one hand shouldn’t surprise me. That he wheels it to a handicapped bathroom after we get through the outer gate, does.

He pushes the cart inside, draws me through and locks the door behind me. “Over the sink. Ass up, shorts and panties down, if you’re even wearing any panties,” he says, but it’s a pale imitation of his sexy growl.

I am wearing panties, because I feel indecent without them. I move into position, there’s no way I’m hesitating even for a heartbeat, not with him in this mood, but as I’m sliding my shorts down, I ask, “Sir, can we communicate?”

He stops what he’s doing–unbuckling his belt from the sound of it, a noise that’s like Pavlov’s damn bell to a submissive and has me practically drooling between my legs–and draws in close behind me. “Yes, Emmy, what’s wrong?”

There’s no way to tackle this but head-on. Trying to be subtle with someone as honest and straightforward as Logan is just insulting. “Please, Sir, has something happened? I don’t—I don’t feel like your heart’s in this.”

He puts a warm hand in the small of my back. “Bad day, baby doll, but you’re going to make it all better.”

“I’ll do anything you want to make it better, Sir.” And I mean that. If he wants me to drop and blow him, even here in a public bathroom, I will. If he wants to hit me with his belt, I’ll take it without making a sound. “But please don’t do this if it’s not what you need.”

He blows out a long breath and pulls my shorts up. “Turn around.”

I do, and the pain is stark in his eyes now. It pierces my heart like a red-hot needle. I reach for him. “Oh, Daddy, please, what happened?”

He picks me up, sliding his big hand under my bottom. When I wrap my legs around his waist, he turns and walks us the two steps to the door. With my back propped against the door, he leans in and kisses me, slow and deep.

When he lets me up for air, I stroke his face, freshly shaved for me, again. He smiles back at me, and this time it reaches his eyes. “How’d you know?”

“You look really strained. Are you jet lagged? Are you getting sick?”

“Just jet lag.” He tips his head to the side, pushing his cheek into my hand. It’s not just jet lag. “I didn’t sleep much last night.”

That’s why he was texting me all night. “I saw your texts. Do you want a nap? Do you want to go back to the hotel and have a nap? We could just cuddle.”

He gives me a chuckle that has absolutely no humor to it. “What happened to me being so rough with you when you land that I fuck you without any foreplay?”

I don’t know what happened to that. All I know is that he looks wrecked, and not at all in the mood to play.

“Please, just tell me what you need right now. Please let me help.”

He pecks the tip of my nose. “I need you.”

Typical male evasive answer. “Communication? Please?”

He blows out a breath. “You want to know the