I strip off my clothes and climb into the bed in nothing but my underwear. I'm somehow vividly aware that I'm sleeping in Emmett Swan's house in my undies. Thankfully, it's one of the good pairs I got from Victoria's Secret with a coupon freebie.

Not that he's going to see me in my underwear.

Why not my hormonal, horny inner voice protests.

Because this isn't going to go anywhere, my pragmatic, older sister inner voice scolds. I roll my eyes at her wisdom and settle into the pillows.

I almost asked him if I could borrow a T-shirt or something. The words were right there on my lips, but I had a feeling that if I planted the idea of me wearing his T-shirt, he might sort of like the idea, and that cannot happen.

Though the truth is, he probably thinks a lot less about me than I think he does. Isn't that always the way? That kiss in the kitchen? Ha, he was just trying to prove he can manipulate me.

The way his eyes heat up and he gives me that crooked smile, like I amuse him and maybe he even thinks I'm cute? Must've been my imagination.

Though he did threaten to get kinky with me. That's promising, isn't it?

I shake my head and punch the pillow to fluff it up, though I probably put more force into it than necessary. It's probably a very high-end luxury pillow or something and did nothing to earn my sexually frustrated tension.

I sigh.

"You're too good-looking for your own good, Emmett," I whisper, as I imagine him stripping down to his boxers or something, and does he like the way the sheets glide against his manly legs? I can tell he's all defined muscles and strength. And man does he ever smell good, like those little masculine cologne paper inserts in the magazines they leave around the vet's office.

I double sigh.

I hope Prince is okay. I hope Dany is, too.

And for some reason, I sort of relax in the knowledge that I'm not the only one taking care of everything for once. Emmett's here, too, and even though I hardly know the guy, I can tell he's the type that would make sure things were taken care of. He brought us here, cooked dinner, got Dany situated. I mean, in most cases, people choose the kids they have. He didn't. That accounts for some of his grumpiness, I guess.

I'm so damn tired, and the amaretto's made me woozy. At least I'm not hungry. I like a guy that can cook, it's a nice life skill, I think to myself as I close my eyes and drift off to sleep. I dream of pizza.

I wake, just as I'm about to bite into a pepperoni-laden slice, and my reality is a lot less pleasant than the dream. My head throbs, and my mouth feels strangely dry.

Oh, God. Oh no. I didn't.

I so did.

I drank myself into a hangover. I haven't done such a stupid thing in years.

I groan as I sit up in bed and hold my head with both of my hands, just to make sure it stays in place. I hear heavy footsteps outside my door, too heavy to be anyone's but Emmett's, then I glance at the time on my phone. 5:55 a.m.

God, he is out of his mind.

It's too early for movement at this time of day. It's too early for anything except maybe planting crops or something.

I groan again.

I sit up and feel a little better now that I'm sitting up. Maybe I imagined the hangover thing.

I will not let Emmett Swan best me. If he can get up and go bench press or whatever the fuck at the ass crack of dawn, two can play at this game.

I stand up and decide a few squats never hurt anyone. I hold what I think is a good squat pose, then lower myself onto my haunches. Wow, nice. I feel a burn, and I think I'm supposed to feel that burn. I stand, then fall into squat position again, but my balance is off, and my head is killing me. So, although I try to squat, the world spins instead and I crash to my knees, my hands planting straight in front of me. I brace myself on the floor as the room spins.

Ow.

Ow!

I note my position—on my knees, hands flat on the ground in front of me, ass perched high— and I can't help but wonder, what would Emmett do if he found me in this position? A quick slideshow whips through my mind, and a shiver runs through me.

Then I realize I'm hungover, alone, and kneeling on bruised knees on the floor wearing nothing but my free panties.

I stumble back into the clothes I'd tossed on a little chair by the bed. I'd give anything for a good change of clothes and my own toiletries, but I'll get by. Dany needs me right now, and today's a big day.

I walk to the bathroom and tug my fingers through my mass of frizz—er, curls—then splash water on my face and quickly brush my teeth. This takes like ten minutes because there's lots of pausing and holding my head so it doesn't explode.

I slide my shoes back on and head for the door. Prince didn't do his bedtime duty, so he may be up soon anyway.

I note the door to Dany's room is ajar as I walk toward the stairs, and there are voices in the kitchen. I peek into the room. Prince is gone, too.

I hold onto the railing for support as I walk downstairs.

Coffee.

Ibuprofen.

Water.

In that order.

But at the bottom of the stairs, I pause. The voices sound… happy. Content. I close my eyes against the rush of heat that comes to my cheeks when I hear Emmett's manly laugh. If he's laughing, he's either genuinely happy, or on the cusp of insanity. I'm not sure which one would surprise me more.

I come around the corner to the kitchen and take in the scene in front of me.

Dany's up on one of the barstools, swinging her little legs. But Emmett… oh, heavens, he's wearing shorts and a sleeveless T-shirt, and there is absolutely nothing left to the imagination. Still, I give it an involuntary go. I imagine his ass is all tight and muscled and perfect, his legs are powerful while he pins me in place as he—

I shake my head. I have to stop this.

Prince sees me, gets to his feet, and trots obediently over to remind me of his undying love and affection by whining and wriggling with excitement, his little pink tongue lapping at whatever part of me he can reach.

"Hey, boy," I say, wincing against the pain in my head when I bend to pat him. "I hope you were a good companion for Dany last night."

"He was the best," she says, wriggling her fingers at me and grinning from her perch atop the stool. "Hey, Regina. Are we going to find my mom today?"

Emmett turns around and catches my eyes. A tingle of awareness travels straight down my spine, and his own eyes heat as he watches me. His grip on the wooden spoon he's using to stir eggs in a skillet tightens, then just as quickly as the awareness flashes in his eyes, it's gone.

"I-I don't know if we can do that today," I say, stuttering as I try to process that look he just gave me.

"Are you feeling okay?" he asks, and I can't see the smugness on his face because his back is to me, but I can imagine it just fine.

"Of course," I lie, because I am not going to let him make fun of me for making a rookie drinking mistake. "Why would you ask such a thing?"

"Heard a crash and bang a few minutes ago," he says, "Thought maybe you fell. Maybe hurt yourself."

"Oh that, nah," I say, waving my hand and forcing a borderline lunatic laugh, all high-pitched and squeaky. "I just tripped and fell."

"On what?"

Nothing, jerk face.

"That matters?" The best defense is a good offense, amirite?

Frowning, he puts the spoon down on a spoon rest and walks over to me.

I'd wondered this morning if I'd imagined things, if things weren't as intense as they'd seemed. But when he reaches me, all alpha male sexiness in his still-sweaty clothes, his skin gleaming after working out, I realize me imagining things has only just begun.

"Did you hurt yourself?" he says, his brows drawing together as he brushes the back of one large hand along my cheek. My skin heats.

I shake my head. "Bruised my knees, but nothing else," I say with a shrug. I mentally war with myself between telling him to go back to cooking so he stops invading my personal space and asking him to carry me up to his bedroom and check my body out with a closer inspection to see if I missed any little scrapes or bruises he can doctor with his own magnificent hands.

Instead, I stare at him, the power of language somehow forgotten.

He looks down at my knees. They're reddened, but otherwise okay. He brushes one thumb over one bruised and reddened spot. Tingles erupt on my skin, and I flirt with asking him to kiss my owie.

I blink, coming to.

"You need some pain meds," he says.

I do. I need way more than that, but it's a good start.

He opens a cabinet and removes a small white bottle, shakes a few pills into his palm, and hands them to me.

"What are these?"

"Ibuprofen."

I sniff them, making Dany giggle. "Do you sniff all your medicine?"

I give her a side-eye. Just because she's cute doesn't give her permission to mock me.

"No, sometimes I lick it, too."

Emmett stares at me, and when I look at him, his wicked, molten gaze tells me he's gone down that dark and dirty road again, as if imagining other things I like to lick.

God, the nerve!

I narrow my eyes at him, and when Dany bends to pat Prince, I point my two fingers at my eyes, then swing them back to him, a silent declaration of I'm watching you.

He smirks. God, that crooked smile could unnerve a woman.

My head feels better after some orange juice and the meds, so by the time he serves us breakfast, my stomach rumbles.

I have to admit, I could get used to a guy cooking for me. I mean, even though I know he owns restaurants and likes to cook, he seems the type that hires out for everything. But Emmett really knows what he's doing. The eggs are cooked to perfection, the bacon crisp, just like I like it, and the thick slabs of sourdough bread are toasted golden and slathered generously with butter. The steaming cup of coffee laced with cream he puts in front of me tastes like it was sent from heaven above.

"Don't drown yourself in it," he mutters, and at the side of the counter where Dany can't see, I flip him off.

"Naughty, naughty," he murmurs. "Might have to do something about that."

"Okay, so," I say loudly, as if he didn't just threaten something that made my lady parts spring to life, "I need to get as much information as I can."

He sobers. "I won't be much help." He hops up on a seat beside me, filling his own plate with scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast.

I nod. "You'll fill things in for me as I need them. Dany, I need you to tell me everything you know."

She's young, so she can't help me out much, but between what she tells me and what he does, plus the glory that's the internet, by the end of breakfast I have her mom's name, birthday, and even found some old, defunct social media accounts she once created.

I look to Emmett. "Today, I need you to put me in touch with her social worker. I can't just ask them information. For privacy reasons, I'll need your permission before I can do that."

"Of course," he says, biting into his toast, his gaze on mine seductive. "I'm happy to give you permission."

Wait, is it my imagination again, or did he totally just make that sexual?

What a brilliant prick the man is.

He chews and swallows, and how can chewing and swallowing be so sexy? I watch his Adam's apple move, and the way his tongue captures a stray crumb. When I realize I'm staring, I blink and bring my gaze back to my notepad.

"And your father, you never met," I say, still taking notes. "Does he know about her?" I ask Emmett.

Emmett nods. "Yeah. He paid child support sporadically a few years ago. That much I do know."

"What's child support?" Dany asks. She's pushing eggs around on her plate. She seemed to have a perfectly good appetite before, but it appears that now that we brought up her mom, her fears are resurfacing.

"Child support is money that a father will give a mother for a child he doesn't live with." I keep it on the simplest terms.

She doesn't respond, but goes back to eating her breakfast, as Prince goes to the door and whines.

"Why's he whining?" Dany asks.

"He needs to pee, probably."

Emmett groans. "Well, no one's asking you to handle it," I say in what I hope is a superiorly haughty tone. I hop down from the bench and look around for his leash. I remember Emmett's words earlier.

You need a leash.

I had one in the shop (of course), and I remember what he said about a leash to me (of course) and I'm pretty sure we brought him here with one. But I can't find either it or my shoes. I frown, looking all around the place for them, and can't for the life of me remember where I kicked them off. Guest room?

"I'll take him out," Emmett says.

"Thank you, that's very nice of you." I aim for icy politeness.

He shoots me his signature grumpy glare. "It's better than letting him pee on the floor."

So maybe not so nice of him.

"Prince, pee on his floor," I order the dog, who's no more capable of peeing on command than he is of walking a tight rope, but Emmett falls for it.

"Christ," he mutters, yanking open the door and half-sprinting with the dog in tow.

Dany looks at me and smirks. "Good one."

Maybe that wasn't the right thing to do.

"Don't do that. You have to behave for him, okay?" And I suppose if I'm to be a good example, I should behave for him, too. "You have to make sure you don't give your uncle a hard time while you're here, you got it?"

"Yeah," she says on a sigh.

"I mean it, Dany. I want to help you, and to help you I need his help, and he's not going to want to help you if you're always giving him a hard time. Got it?"

She nods, and that's when I realize she's got braids plaited on either side of her head. "Got it."

"Who did your braids?"

"Uncle Emmett."

What? Since when did he add braid little girl's hair to his list of tricks?

Well knock me over with a feather.

I fire up his laptop, and the first thing that pops up is a YouTube video, "How to braid hair."

A rush of warmth floods me. He Googled it. He actually Googled it. Okay, so there aren't many things about Emmett I'd call adorable? But this is one of them.

Looking around the room, I quickly tap on his browser history. What else goes on in his mind? What else has he looked up?

But as soon as I go to look, the door opens. I slam the laptop shut and spin around, hoping I look innocent, as a furious Emmett comes stomping into the kitchen.

"You said he had to pee," he says. "He did a lot more than that."

I snort. "Ah, well, that's not usually until later in the day, but perhaps he wanted to give you a gift."

His narrowed gaze promises retribution. "Give me a plastic bag from the drawer," he says through gritted teeth. "First one to the left of the sink."

I hop down and get him a bag. Would it really kill his vibe to tack on the occasional please?

I would offer to go clean it up for him, but he knows the location and it's good for people to do menial labor every once in a while. So, I hand him the bag and go back to work.

By the time he's back, I have a list of information I need. Dany's school, her teacher's name, and the principal. Her father's full name and his social media as well. I watch in amusement as Emmett scrubs and scrubs his hands at the kitchen sink, nearly overflowing the damn thing with bubbles.

Prince trots up to me, clearly proud of having completed his business. I pat his head. "Good boy," I croon, picking him up and snuggling him on my lap. I whisper in his ear, "You give the big, bad man a run for his money?"

I swear Prince gives me a wink.