The Man For Her: 9-Book Steamy Romance Bundle

Chapter 1
Daphne

“Seriously, Dad. This really isn’t necessary.” I cringe as I cradle the phone between my ear and my shoulder, the stretch making my strained muscle complain. I would use my hand to hold the phone, but my good wrist is in a brace and I need the other hand to pour milk into my cereal.

Not my finest cooking effort, but I’ve had a rough twenty-four hours.

“Daphne, don’t fight me on this,” my dad says, his voice crackling over the line. “You know I’d be there myself if I could.”

I sigh. Yep, that much is true. I love my dad to pieces, and we’ve always been close, but he can be so overprotective. If he wasn’t out of town working on a big construction contract, I know he’d be at my door insisting that I let him look after me.

“It really wasn’t that bad,” I say.

“The car’s totaled,” my dad says, as if I could forget. “And you’re hurt. You shouldn’t be alone right now.”

“Hurt is an exaggeration,” I say, even though my wrist twinges. Getting T-boned by a car running a red was no joke, but the airbags did their jobs. I’m a little bruised up and exhausted, but it’s not like I can’t get to work and take care of myself.

My dad sighs. “It’ll make me feel better. You don’t need to be alone while you’re recovering. It’ll just be for a few weeks.”

“What, you don’t trust me?”

“You know that’s not—”

I cut him off. “You know I’m twenty-six, right? I can take care of myself. I don’t need a babysitter just because I got in a little car accident.”

“I saw the police report,” he says. “It wasn’t a ‘little’ accident, Daphne. That’s why I’m doing this.”

Fine. Whatever. Sending his best friend to my place to check on me is his way of showing he cares. Despite my irritation, it’s probably just easier to go along with it.

Anyway, it’s not like he’s sending just anyone to check on me. Heath was at my dad’s side when I was born, when Dad was barely eighteen. He stuck around through the ups and downs, including my mom’s death when I was just a baby. I’ve never met Heath, but I know he has to be a trustworthy guy if he and my dad are still best friends.

“All right, all right,” I say. “But not for more than a few days, okay?”

“Depends on how your recovery is,” my dad says.

“I’m really not that hurt.”

“I just wish I could be there for you. Feels like I’m never there when it matters.”

“You’re being dramatic,” I say, sighing. “Listen, I’ve got to get ready for work, but I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”

I hang up the phone and finish scarfing down my cereal, then get dressed to face a rowdy classroom of third graders. It’s best to dress for function, so today it’s overalls that hug my curvy frame, with my long, wavy blonde hair in a plait that hangs over one shoulder. I’ll pin it up if the kids are grabby today.

I’m about to call for a cab to take me to the school when there’s a knock on my door. With my half-finished coffee in hand, I go to answer it.

And I nearly drop my mug on the floor.

The man standing on my porch is devastating. There’s no other word for it. He’s tall and broad-shouldered, with a thick head of salt-and-pepper hair tamed by a baseball hat turned backward and a hint of shadow on his defined jaw. He’s wearing a plain white t-shirt that pulls tight across his broad chest.

And, wow, those tattoos. Dark ink winds from his hands all the way up his arms: skulls and roses and panthers and pinup girls all in varying states of fading. The ink disappears under the hem of his sleeve. I can’t help but wonder if it continues. Does it run all the way to his shoulders and his chest?

Something low in my gut clenches tight and hot.

“Hey,” he says in a voice so low it’s almost a growl. “You must be Daphne.”

I balk. No way. This can’t be—

“I’m Heath,” he says. “Your dad called me and says you need a ride to work this morning.”

“What?” I say. “I was just about to call a cab, that’s really not necessary—”

“Well, I already drove out here,” Heath says. He throws a grin at the car parked at the curb, a gorgeous old Crown Victoria. “I’m off work today, so it’s no problem for me to drive you.”

“That’s really not necessary,” I say. I accepted my dad’s demands that I let Heath check on me, but having him show up right away is crazy. Almost as crazy as how his grin makes me want to press my thighs together. “I can get to work. I don’t need a babysitter.”

Despite my cool tone, Heath laughs.

“He wasn’t kidding when he said you might be feisty,” he says. “Come on, killer. No need to call a cab. Where are we going?”

Killer? I huff in irritation. But the phone call with my dad has already taken up a chunk of my morning, and now even if I do boot Heath off my porch and call a cab, I’m going to be late.

“Fine,” I say. “Let me get my bag.”