Hiyaaaaa

Edward.

She's got balls. And a filthy little mouth that backs up her Texas-sized attitude, even though she looks sweet as candy. I can't believe I haven't seen her around. Then again, I'm gone more than I am at the house. So it kind of makes sense.

But if she knows I live across the street, she must have seen us, the three of us. Yet, she takes my hand and strolls around the neighborhood with me. Doesn't she know I'm married?

Just when that thought pops up in my mind, she plays with my wedding ring as her dainty little fingers are woven through my own. As if they've always been there.

"Lovely wife you have," she says casually.

I chuckle.

"Ah, chérie, is that sarcasm I note?" I joke. Her cheeks redden a bit more, and I find it absolutely adorable for someone with her attitude to get shy this quickly.

"Why, oui, sir." Her flair is immeasurable, the way she flips her ponytail around and the overly articulated French makes me laugh. "Perhaps." She ends it with a wink.

God, she's beautiful.

"Edward," I introduce myself as we're around the corner of my house, standing by the back door that leads to the laundry room. She really has the perfect lips to say the word 'sir'. I haven't heard it dripping with innuendo like this in ages. God.

"Bella." Her youthful smile brightens up the entire morning, totally one-upping the sun right now. Her blotchy, post-running complexion has settled into perfect rosy cheeks, glossy lips to match, as if she's glowing from within. I can't believe I've never even seen her before. How impossible is it to miss her?

Then again, I'm not really one to run around and look at all the different women. No, because I've outgrown my ways, as my father says it, since I've been dating Vera exclusively. It's the proper way to do it. Vera isn't really the guilty one here. My father is. He is the one who made us get married. Vera has been in love with me from the start. For a few months, at least. Her affection for me grows smaller each and every day. And somehow she makes me feel like I'm the asshole.

"Bella, entrez-vous," I say, holding the glass-paneled door open for her. This is so not me, not Edward post-vows. I haven't even talked to an attractive woman alone, a stranger, before today when it's not business related. But somehow, Bella seems to have me breaking every rule I have followed until now.

"What's with the French, sir?" She cocks her head to the side, the benign title she keeps and keeps on giving me ringing in my ears. It's been fucking years, fifteen, easily.

I blink a couple of times, willing the memories to fade. Thinking about it only makes it worse. And I'm already doing things I really, really shouldn't be doing. Like pretending I know how to nurse wounds. Like doing the former to get the beautiful stranger into my house while I still have the house all to myself.

I swallow thickly, Bella's frown catching my attention.

"My mother is French," I explain. "She raised us bilingual."

"Oh, wow," she breathes with huge eyes. "I've never even been out of the States."

I give her a sympathetic smile.

"Won't your wife mind it that I'm here?" Bella's head whips around, her ponytail almost whipping right into my face. I imagine grabbing her hair, wrapping the silky strands around my wrist, tugging hard until she hisses and falls down onto her knees.

God. What is she? Some AI-girl designed to make me break? A private investigator Vera has spying on me?

"You're just the friendly, girl-next-door who I'm gonna be taking care of, aren't you?" I don't know why my voice drops, or why her pupils dilate at my words. Hell, I don't even know why everything I think and say seems to have innuendo with this girl.

"I'd love for you to take care of me…Daddy." The words tumble from her lips effortlessly, until she pauses, calling me that. No one's ever said it in a sexual context. Until now. I wasn't old enough to be into it, back then. I wasn't nurturing and dominating. I was brutal and possessive, hunting my prey until they dropped in my lap.

Bella managed to do the unthinkable: get me hard. And her little expression, the doe eyes and the pouty lips? Those almost make me explode right into my pants.

I was right. She's downright dangerous for my morals.

"Aren't you a cocky little thing?" I whisper.

Bella shudders at my words as I lean down and brush some strands of mahogany and magenta out of her face. I can feel the heat of her skin, smell her perfume mixed in with just her. I close my eyes, trying to pull myself together. This attraction feels electric and downright scary. Sure, I've been attracted to quite a bit of women. But this feels different. It feels powerful and…carnal. As if I have to have her. It feels like how it's supposed to.

She looks up at me, never once breaking eye-contact, deep brown eyes with flecks of gold through thick, black lashes. I can almost count the freckles across the bridge of her nose. I'm that close to her.

"Laissez-moi, princesse," I say.

Turning the faucet on in the laundry room, I reach for the cabinet where I know we keep stuff like bandages.

When I grab some disinfectant and some band-aids, and face my neighbor again, she seems nailed to the ground, her eyes trained on me.

It's getting too hot in here even though the A/C is on, so I dump my cap on the counter and run a hand through my hair.

"Rinse your hands to get rid of the dirt."

She does as I say, wincing as the lukewarm water touches her palms.

I see a fresh towel in one of the laundry baskets, neatly folded as only our housekeeper does it.

Grabbing it, I wet it under the faucet, but not once does she take her eyes off me. I'd say it's unsettling if not for the wave of heat and arousal that travels up my spine.

Bella's eyes leave mine for an instant. But they're still glued to me, slowly making their way down my torso, my bare arms, down, as if she's checking for loose thread at the seams of my T-shirt, down my crotch, where she lingers until she meets my gaze again.

I arch up a brow.

"Yes?" I wonder. "Can I help you find something, petite souris?"

"Actually…" she starts, neglecting the running water, not caring that her hands are sopping wet and her knee is bleeding. I let my eyes roam, too, from the cropped, tight, indigo top that hugs her tits like it's made for them, to the curve of her hips, the bare legs, and then I smile at the white, frilly socks that peep over the high-tops of her dark blue sneakers.

So innocent-looking, yet the stare she's giving me right now is downright diabolically sexy.

"Mhm?" I cock my head to the side, willing her to go on. Her hands drip water all over the tiles as she walks closer.

"Maybe you could help me find something to ease my pain, Daddy."

Fucking hell on a Sunday.

I let out a groan, out loud. Of course Bella looks like the cat who ate the canary.

"You're not at all an innocent little neighbor, are you?" I ask pointlessly.

She shakes her head, licking her lips, craning her head we're staring into each other's eyes. There is definitely electricity here. Sexual tension on steroids.

"Do you want me to make you feel better?" I drop my voice to a hoarse whisper, leaning down until my lips almost meet the shell of her studded ear. I haven't touched her, but I'm aching to.

"Yes, Daddy," she almost begs.

"How did you want me to do that, princesse?" My mouth is bone dry, heart racing a thousand beats per minute.

Bella ponders her words. I wonder where she gets the guts to do this, to so openly seduce me. Hell, I don't even feel my wedding band at the moment. It's like I'm sucked into an alternate universe. Like nothing else matters.

"A kiss to make it better?" Her tone is so sweet, accompanied by the cutest of pouts and a hint of spice.

I caught myself a brat, I realize.

And I never really thought I needed one.