Page 2 of The Beekeeper

I was Degenerate Blaze, Hollywood’s resident Problem-Child Casanova. My exceptional mistakes were only topped by my more-than-exceptional films. Funny the things fame will get you forgiven for—fame and having a lawyer like my brother.

I had to think if I hadn’t been who I was, maybe Megan would’ve told me sooner. Maybe I could’ve met Paisley when she was younger. Maybe I wouldn’t have had to find out that I had a daughter and that my daughter’s mother was dead at the same time.

“I’m fine! I’ve got it!” a voice sing-songed as the door to the pastry shop on our left swung wide as it was pushed open with a foot.

It didn’t matter that the woman who’d opened it was carrying a stack of boxes so tall it completely blocked her face, or that those wooden boxes were stamped with Harper’s Honey on them, I’d know that sweet-as-sin voice anywhere.

Harper Hamilton.

My sister-in-law’s gorgeous, younger cousin staggered like a drunken Jenga tower straight toward us.

“Yes, I’m sure I’ve got them. Max’s truck is right out⁠—”

Shit. I grabbed my daughter’s arm and pulled her out of the path of collision.

“Harp—” My warning turned into a grunt when she crashed, boxes first, into me.

“Oof—” She gasped. “Oh my god. I’m so sorry. I can’t see⁠—”

Biting back a growl, I took the top two boxes from her, leaving only one left in her hands.

“I’m sorry—Blaze.” Her apology ended abruptly when she saw who she’d crashed into, and like a cloud over the sun, her entire expression shuttered and her cheeks were stamped with a bright red. “I’m so sorry. I swear I didn’t see you there.”

“How could you with all these boxes?” I muttered and watched her color deepen. I’d seen that blush dozens of times in the last eighteen months, and it still did things to me I’d never admit out loud. “Where do you want them?”

“In the back of Max’s truck.” Harper blew a few loose strands of dark-blonde hair from her face; the rest was loosely held back in two braids along either side of her head.

I made for her brother’s old pickup and heaved the boxes over the tailgate, feeling her behind me like a ray of sun against my back. I turned and took the last box from her hands, wincing at the crackle of heat along my skin when my hands brushed hers.

“Thank you,” she murmured and quickly folded her arms over her chest, drawing my attention to her long-sleeve shirt that read ‘Save the Fucking Bees’ in some fancy font.

I reined in a smile—an easy feat when my eyes absorbed the rest of her. Her small breasts pressed against the fabric. If she had on a bra, it wasn’t thick enough to hide the outline of her nipples, and her distressed jeans teased slices of her creamy skin where they were ripped.

I scowled, irritated by the unwanted—unstoppable crackle of lust through me.

Harper Hamilton was off-limits for every reason in the book: she was family. She was twenty-five, so not that much younger than me, but enough.

Harper Hamilton was the kind of woman who would’ve caught Degenerate Blaze’s eye. Blonde, honey-colored eyes, and small but full curves that made me feel like I could palm every piece of her in a single hand. That made me feel like I could so easily possess her. I wouldn’t have cared that she was off-limits for every reason in the book: she was family, younger, and had a huge crush on me when she was a teenager; for Degenerate Blaze, off-limits meant open-season.

Daddy Blaze, on the other hand, was learning to heed warnings, obey boundaries, and not get involved with someone who only cared about the version of me that wasn’t real.

I stiffened. “Any more?”

Her mouth opened and shut and then she answered, “Just one, so I can handle it.” Harper didn’t wait for my reply before she spun. “Oh, Pais. I didn’t see you there,” she exclaimed and then proceeded to stop so suddenly that I ran into her. Again.

“Shit—”

I crashed into her; my chest to her back. Her ass to my groin. My sanity into a wall of dynamite. I grabbed her arms so she wouldn’t go flying forward, which only then kept her flush to my front and my hardening dick.

Fuck.

I’d been ignoring my needs for far longer than was healthy, but what the hell was I supposed to do? My life was a singular disaster, and the only thing that was important—the only thing I could focus on was being there for Paisley. My daughter was my priority, not my dick and the inappropriate woman it was attracted to.

“I am. So. Sorry.” Harper scrambled out of my hold and onto the sidewalk, turning and looking mortified.

Neither of us said a word for a single, tenuous second, and then Harper quickly returned her attention to Paisley, crouching in front of her and proceeding to pretend like what just happened…hadn’t.

“Did you get ice cream for lunch?” Harper asked, instantly inflating a conversation with my daughter like a life raft she’d use to sail away from our interaction. “Wow, you are one lucky girl.”