Page 33 of Possessive Bodyguard Summer

I blinked.

Clay looked at his daughter. "Kaleigh."

"What?" she asked innocently, shoving a piece of her waffle into her mouth. "She was awake last night. I could hear her talking. Both of you."

My cheeks heated. "Oh, Kaleigh-girl..."

Clay's eyes flicked toward me.

For a second, I wondered if he was worried she’d heard too much.

But then Kaleigh shrugged and went back to her breakfast like she hadn’t just casually announced she’d been eavesdropping.

"Kids are supposed to sleep," Clay said.

“I was sleeping.”

“You just said you heard us talking.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Daddy."

I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. The expression on Clay's face was priceless.

"What?"

"You and Monwoah are being weird."

Clay cleared his throat. “What do you mean, we’re being weird?” he asked before taking another drink from his mug.

Kaleigh looked between us like the answer was obvious. "You keep looking at each other funny."

He nearly choked on his coffee while I stood there, wide-eyed and in shock. “We are not,” he finally spat out.

“Are to.” She glanced over at me.

I looked away, suddenly very interested in the coffee maker on the counter.

Four-year-olds were terrifying. Especially when they were right.

“And you were talking quietly last night. Like when you don't want me to hear.”

Oh I wished the world would swallow me up whole, right now because unfortunately, she was also right about that.

Clay opened his mouth, closed it, then looked completely defeated. "Eat your breakfast."

Kaleigh grinned. "That means I'm right."

I couldn't stop the laugh that escaped.

Clay looked over at me. And there it was again. That smile. The one that wasn’t fake or guarded. The one that made my chesthurt in ways I didn’t want to think about because it was so damn rare for Clay to grin like that.

“I swear, she’s trouble,” he muttered under his breath.

“I’m pretty sure she gets that from you,” I said, trying not to start laughing again.

His brows lifted and he scoffed. “Beg your pardon.”

“Admit it, Wilder. She gets it from you.”