She glanced up at Mr. Hotface, her mind muddling through a complete scenario of him killing her, stuffing her in a closet, and no one finding her for a week... and then what would happen to all her grandmother’s teapots?
The logical side of her brain gave the hysterical side a good slap. She knew Finn Dashwood enough to know he wasn’t the sort. Especially with a daughter as witness.
“I promise to playnice,” Finn whispered as he passed her into the room.
Play nice?
Her cheeks flamed in appreciation and the hysterical side tipped a brow.
Very nice.Daphne pinched her eyes shut and mentally replayed their earlier rivalry. He is a smug, tea-insulting, salt-pouring, arrogant Brit. Not a knight in a well-worn T-shirt. And she knew his kind. Here one day, gone the next, leaving a broken heart and the scent of... vanilla and cedar behind.
What she needed was boring and faithful.
Because flirty, dangerously handsome,andfaithful didn’t seem to exist in her world.
Daphne ignored the intoxicating draw of a baritone voice and the yummy scent of vanilla and bent down to greet Lucy. Her poor little face had blood smears across her nose and cheeks, but when she pulled the pillowcase away to offer Daphne a smile, the blood appeared to be only tiny traces of its previous... mess.
“Is that your dog?”
“It is.” Daphne waved toward the sweet, old boy. He’d been Granny’s gift to Daphne when Jack moved out six years ago. A guard dog... who never really grew into the “guard” part. “His name is Winston.”
“As in Churchill?” Finn’s brows rose.
“Exactly.” Daphne nodded, offering him a warning look. “A solid name for a protector.”
Winston, of course, proved utterly useless in discernment, giving one sniff before promptly sitting in full welcome.
“Yes, I see. Top-notch security.” Finn’s lips tipped up just a little.
“Well,” Daphne sighed. “At least he’s a good snuggler.”
And then she replayed her words and completely avoided eye contact with the man.
Lucy wiggled out of her dad’s arms, pillowcase still pressed to her face, and placed one arm around Winston as if they’d been long-lost friends.
At least Lucy didn’t seem to be in pain. That was a good sign.
Daphne leaned in Finn’s direction, voice low. “What on earth happened?”
“A nosebleed.” Finn’s voice was steady as he recounted the evening’s events. But the flirty pub owner persona had taken a back seat to this other Finn. The protective dad one. “And since our moving truck failed to arrive today, we have no supplies.” He exhaled. “It’s not dangerous, just messy. And I didn’t want to drag her around town this late.”
Daphne’s gaze caught in his.
“Of course not.” She’d seen serious Finn a few times before. Usually when he apologized. And the look beat against the flirt assumptions like an all-out drum solo. This was a tired, caring dad doing his best. Her defenses crumpled slightly.
She pulled her attention from him and crouched to Lucy’s level. “Well, Lucy, lucky for you, I’m baking cookies. They should be ready when you’re out of the bath.”
Lucy perked up. “Chocolate chip?”
“The only kind worth staying up past bedtime for.”
“Baking cookies?” Finn arched a brow. “This late?”
Daphne lifted her chin. “It’s always a good time for cookies.”
She shot Lucy a wink as she stood, then schooled her face before turning back to him.
“Ah, while watching...” He gestured with his chin toward her television, where the screen paused quite dramatically on Ethan Hunt running. “Interesting choice for a tea princess.”
