Living with the Single Dad by Whitley Cox

Author:Whitley Cox [Book 4]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Whitley Cox
Published: 2023-05-22T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

The sound of a warbling baby and the beep of the microwave roused Isobel from her slumber. She stretched, pointing her toes and reaching her arms above her head. Parts of her body tingled, and a dull but pleasant throb between her legs reminded her of last night.

She rubbed her shoulder, remembering Aaron’s teeth. He’d marked her, just like she’d asked.

Smiling, she rolled over in bed and pushed her face into his pillow, inhaling deep.

Ahhh.

It smelled just like him.

Manly, musky, fresh and oh so delicious.

She was about to get up and go see to Sophie when she remembered that it was Sunday and she technically had Sundays off. So far, Aaron seemed to be doing all right when left on his own with his niece. Sophie was also an easy baby, so that helped. She seemed to get that Aaron was simply doing his best. She didn’t demand too much from him, didn’t prefer Isobel over him and seemed to settle quite quickly when Aaron picked her up and put her against his chest.

Last Sunday, Aaron had let Isobel sleep in, albeit not in his bed this time, and when she woke up, she found him wearing Sophie in the stretchy wrap and making pancakes on the griddle. The man didn’t cook very often (well, besides grilling on the barbecue), but he managed to make a mean breakfast.

She could smell freshly brewed coffee—another thing (besides all things in the bedroom and breakfast) that Aaron was very talented at, as well as something that smelled an awful lot like waffles.

Her stomach rumbled at the thought of homemade waffles with maple syrup or fresh fruit and whipped cream.

Then her nipples pebbled and her core clenched at the thought of Aaron covered in whipped cream. Mmmm. Yes, please.

Taking one final whiff of his pillow, she swung her legs out over the bed, grabbed the nearest shirt she could find—his big, black T-shirt—and tossed it over her head. She fixed her hair up into a big, ol’ messy bun on the top of her head with the hair elastic she kept around her wrist and headed out to the kitchen to see what was cooking.

She stopped in her tracks when she entered the kitchen. He was singing. And dancing. Well, swaying … or something, but whatever it was, his ass in those gray sweatpants wiggled and taunted her the way a proud male bird flapped and flittered his plumage for a potential mate.

She released a slow breath.

Down, girl.

“Making waffles with my baby. She can’t eat them yet, but when she can, she’s going to love them. Love them so. Just like she loves her Uncle … whoa, oh, ohhhh,” Aaron sang, shaking his hips and pulling a waffle out of the iron and flipping it onto a plate. “Sophie Boo Boo, what can I do? What can I do, ooh, ooh, oooooh.”

Isobel snickered. He didn’t have the greatest voice, but it wasn’t terrible either. Her father certainly had worse. Aaron’s voice, although not pitch perfect, was deep and manly—soothing.

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