Daisy nodded and raised her arms toward Leah as though asking to be picked up. “Yes, please. Daddy might be mad.”
“Oh, Daddy won’t be mad.” Leah bent and picked her up, hitching her onto her hip as Daisy’s arms wound around her shoulders. “If Daddy’s mad, I’ll show him how to calm himself down real quick. Don’t you worry about that.” She lifted the brass knocker and let it fall a little harder than necessary.
No answer.
Narrowing her eyes, she knocked again.
She was readying to knock a third time when the door swung open.
“I told you to get the hell out of here and not come back.” The man’s dark hair sprouted from every angle, his raging eyes bulged and his right hand was swathed in a blue-and-white—and bloodied—dish towel. His gaze held Leah’s for a split second before he snapped his attention to Daisy.
“My God, Daisy. What are you...?” He cupped her under her armpits, wincing slightly as he pulled her from Leah’s arms to hold her close. He pressed a lingering kiss to her temple.
Leah stared, completely stunned by this flannel-shirted, blue-jeaned, incredibly good-looking man...despite the bulging eyes. She coughed in a bid to find her voice. “Mr. James?” She planted her hands on her hips. “You’re Daisy’s father, I presume?”
Apparently, when his eyes had softened and were filled with regret rather than rage, they looked good. Really good. Leah stepped back.
Oh, good Lord. She’d be damned if those weren’t the eyes of Templeton’s reclusive novelist, Ethan James.
* * *
ETHAN INHALED AGAINST the slam dunk of shame versus relief that had hit him in the chest when he’d seen Daisy in a stranger’s arms. Albeit a beautiful stranger. “Yes. Yes, I am. Ethan James. It’s nice to meet you.” He stuck out his left hand, balancing Daisy on his right hip and forearm. “Thank you so much for bringing her back. Where was she?”
The stranger ignored his offered hand, her hazel eyes flashing dangerously even as rain dripped from her blond bangs and slipped behind her glasses. “Why would you not know where your child is at all times?”
“I thought...” He stepped back into the hallway. “Look, why don’t you come in? I’ll put some coffee on. You’re soaked.”
She snatched a look behind him. “Thank you, but no. I just want to know why your little girl was wandering alone on the beach—”
“The beach?” He turned to his daughter. “Why were you on the beach? Why would you leave the house?”
Daisy sniffed and burrowed her face into his neck. Ethan’s heart hitched at the depth of his neglect. Nausea rose bitter in his throat and he looked to the woman who’d brought his precious baby home. “I was caught up with something. I really can’t thank you—”
“Caught up with something?” Her eyes narrowed. “As in work?”
Whether rightly or wrongly, he suddenly felt defensive. “Hey, I’m trying my best, okay?”
“No, not okay.”
Her glare was mean, yet justified. He slumped his shoulders and shifted Daisy onto his other hip, his right hand throbbing as warm blood trickled over his wrist. The woman’s gaze snapped to his injured hand and he held it behind his back. “Look, I need to... Why don’t you come in? I really appreciate you bringing Daisy home. The least I can do is offer you coffee and a towel.”
She frowned. “What have you done to your hand?”
Damn it. “Nothing.”
“Nothing?” She raised her eyebrows. “That dishcloth is doing a pretty bad job of soaking up nothing.” Sighing, she waved him back and stepped into the hallway. “Let’s go into the kitchen and I’ll take a look.”
“You really don’t have to do—”
“No, I know I don’t.” She brushed a hand over Daisy’s head. “Same as I didn’t have to bring your sweetheart home, either, but I did.” She nodded toward the kitchen. “This way, right?”
Ethan held Daisy closer as his gaze followed the denim-clad ass of the blonde bombshell that had just detonated her way into his house. Fine, she’d brought his daughter home. Fine, he was an asshole for not realizing Daisy wasn’t still upstairs watching her iPad, her ever-present earphones stuffed into her ears. Fine, he was the one who let his daughter watch her iPad while he worked hour after hour...
He shut the front door before he looked at Daisy. “Why did you leave the house? You know you should never go anywhere without telling me.”
“I went to the beach.” She lowered her gaze to the buttons on his shirt and twisted them one at a time. “Are you mad at me?”
He opened his mouth to respond, but the blonde woman called from the kitchen. “It will be a shame if you’ve dripped blood all over your fancy wood flooring, you know.”
Ethan shot a glare to the kitchen doorway before pressing a quick kiss to Daisy’s head. “We’ll talk about this later, when the lady’s gone, okay?”
“Her name’s Leah.”
Ethan walked toward the kitchen. “Leah, huh?”
“Yep.”
As he entered the kitchen, she stood with her back to him, wetting another of his dish towels under the running tap. “Take a seat and remove the dishcloth. I’ll use this one to see what we’re dealing with. What happened?”
He needed to get her out of his house. He needed to stop her questions. Lowering Daisy onto one of the six chairs around his dining table, Ethan sucked in a breath through clenched teeth as the wound on his hand screamed in indignation. “I cut it with a kitchen knife. Damn stupid.”
“Where’s the knife?”
“What?” Ethan straightened and met her gaze as she strolled toward him, brandishing the dishcloth, her cheeks ever so slightly flushed with clear anger.
“I don’t see any knife. Where is it?” She defiantly held his gaze despite him standing over her by nearly a foot. “Well?”
“I threw it into the back garden.” He shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “I’ve got a bit of a temper.”
Her big hazel eyes narrowed and he struggled not to squirm. Shaking her head, she nodded toward the table. “Sit.”
He sat, uneasy that he was mildly turned on by her assertiveness. He snapped his gaze to Daisy and closed his eyes in shame.
“Do you feel sick?” Leah’s voice cut through his inappropriately fogged brain. “Dizzy?”
He opened his eyes. “No. I’m good.”
“Well, for the record, you don’t look good. Here.” She gestured toward his wrapped hand. “Let’s have a look, shall we?”
Blowing out a breath, he reluctantly held it out.
With a gentle care he hadn’t expected, she unwrapped his hand, flinching slightly as she looked at his slashed palm. Ethan stared at her bowed head. Her hair was blond, but had every shade from almost cream to shots of shimmering gold. It looked silky soft, falling forward as she gently probed around his wound, her glasses edging down her perfect nose.
She abruptly looked up and he snapped his gaze to hers. “What’s the verdict?”
“The verdict...” She glanced at Daisy before facing him. “...is that this is far too deep to have been done by the accidental slip of a kitchen knife.”
Ethan scrambled for a response. Her intelligent, knowing gaze held his as seconds passed. He opened his mouth to say something—anything—but she got there first.
“So,