Chapter 1

1

DEAN

C LANG!

On my back in the wide open garage, I crank the wrench and feel the bolt turn easily. There's no way in hell I'd ever let anything rust on my bike, so these tune-ups tend to always be more pleasant than frustrating. Stress isn't something I need any more of, being the Chief of Police around here.

It's not like Wickford, Rhode Island is a haven for crime or anything, but hell...people can certainly get up to some bullshit no matter what the location. I'm hoping it will be a quiet weekend since I left the Lieutenant in charge this weekend. Taking days off isn't something I usually do, but my son is coming home for Thanksgiving.

My son and his new girlfriend. Well. Whatever flavor of the week he drags here, I mean. Girlfriend is a strong word when it comes to Brody Dixon. The thought makes me scowl. I hate how much of a little prick he is to these girls.

I've wanted more for my son for as long as I can remember, but he's proven to be both girl-crazy and lazy. He lucked out with some IT job outside of Providence, and it lets him sit on his ass in an office basement for most of the day. I don't know what kind of woman he thinks he's going to bag with a work ethic like that, though. I wonder what lie he's managed to tell this new one.

Cranking the wrench again, I blow out a breath. I don't even want the two of them here, but family is family. Brody is probably hoping for a few free meals and a chance to charm his little piece with the small town he grew up in. Wonder what he told her about me—his asshole Police Chief dad.

The streets here are quiet, and I hear the car before I see it. An obnoxious green Kia Soul—like an ugly ass shoe box on wheels—comes down the road, and I take a deep breath to brace myself for what I'm going to have to deal with now. Maybe it won't be so bad. I've already gotten the spare room made up, and if I can just avoid Brody for most of the weekend, then we might make it through without arguing. He calls me an asshole, which might be true, but I'm also a realist. And Brody really gets on my nerves these days.

I grab a shop towel and start to wipe my greasy hands on it, standing as the car pulls into the driveway. My house isn't big, but it's well maintained, all by my own hand. Brody has expressed frustration in the past that I don't buy something newer and bigger considering how much money I make, but what's the point? I live alone, and I like the old house.

Just a brick ranch with a dark gray roof, a nice little backyard, and a garage big enough for my cruiser, my bike, and whatever project car catches my eye. It wasn't until he was a teenager and started to get an eye for the finer things in life that my son ever had a problem with his childhood home. It might have bothered me then, but I don't give a flying fuck anymore.

The driver's side door of the Soul opens, and Brody climbs out, looking like a weaker version of me from twenty years ago. He gives the house a sneer but wipes it off his face quickly enough when he looks over at me and raises a hand. "Hey, Pops. Long time no see."

Still wiping my hands, I start to saunter down the drive to him. Then the passenger door opens, and an angel climbs out, stopping me dead in my tracks.

Fuck me.

She's gorgeous. Long brown hair falls in soft waves over her shoulders, catching the sun, and she's wearing a white t-shirt and tight black jeans that mold perfectly to her generous curves. She's a little bit hippy and all legs, and damn…

I think I just stopped breathing. She hasn't seen me yet, stretching her arms over her head so her tits strain against her shirt. Holy shit, this is who Brody brought with him? This fucking goddess? Surely this can't be his girl. There's no way in hell because as soon as I see her, I know something without a shadow of a doubt.

She's mine. All mine, even if she doesn't know it yet.

I want her. Damn, do I want her. Her heart-shaped face turns up to meet my eyes, and hers are a bright cornflower blue. A soft pink blush colors her cheeks and her lips part. Her lips are lush, pouty, and full, and I think about her wrapped around me, her mouth full of my cock and that blush coloring her skin.

What the hell is wrong with me? I've never had such a visceral reaction to a woman before. Not ever.

Brody comes up behind her, and I force myself to look away, focusing instead on the annoyance that is my son. He's looking at me but not meeting my gaze, and he's got his hand on the small of the woman's back like he's staking a claim. "Pops, this is Delia," he says.

She holds out a hand, stepping closer. "It's so good to finally meet you, Mr. Dixon."

Her voice is melodic and sweet. I stare down at her, still feeling slightly stunned. As soon as I touch her soft skin, it's like an electric jolt runs through me. I look down at Delia, watching her eyes go wide and her pupils dilate. All of my blood is rushing to my cock, and I'm struggling to keep my brain running.

Looking into her eyes tells me something else too. It tells me that she's just as bothered by me as I am here. It's there in the way that she shifts from foot to foot and in the way her tongue darts out to wet her lips, like a sinful little invitation.

Oh, it's going to be a difficult few fucking days, that's for sure. I'm forty, too young to have a heart attack, and yet I'm still worried it's coming on.

"Call me Dean," I say, clearing my throat. "Nice to meet you." I drop her hand, and the loss of her touch is almost painful. "You guys are staying for Thanksgiving, huh?"

"Yes," Delia says, nodding her head. Her brown hair swishes and her lips tip up. "Thanks so much for having me. It's been a really long time since I've had an actual Thanksgiving dinner, and I'm really excited."

I raise an eyebrow. "I'm sure it will be fun, but I've got to be honest…I'm ordering catering. Cooking an entire Thanksgiving dinner might be beyond me."

She giggles, her laugh like the sweet ringing of bells. "Oh, I'm sure you could pull it off if you really wanted. But don't worry…didn't Brody tell you? I'm a professional cook!"

I shake my head once to banish the image of her cooking for me in nothing but an apron. "Oh yeah? So if I buy the stuff, you're going to keep me well-fed, huh?"

There's a flush high on her cheeks like she isn't sure if there's something more sexual behind my words. Honestly, I'm not even sure if I mean for it to sound dirty, but I'm definitely thinking about all the other things she could serve me to eat that I'm hungry for. Namely, what's between her legs…

"I can try," Delia breathes, biting her bottom lip. "Do you have a big appetite, Mr. Dixon?"

I open my mouth to answer her the words, I can show you just how big my appetite is, when my son huffs, and I'm snapped out of the haze that this girl has put me in.

Brody rolls his eyes. "Come on, Delia, enough chit-chat. Let's go inside. Pops, did you make up the spare room for us?"

My gaze shoots daggers at him for interrupting me, and I see a brief flash of fear in his eyes. I should be ashamed of how easily he scares, but right now, it's working to my advantage, so I don't feel too bad that my own son is a little bitch.

"The spare room is ready," I bite out. "But the bed is only a full size, as you know."

"Cool." He looks down at Delia, who looks suddenly unhappy. "We don't mind being close. Do we, Dels?"

She wrinkles her nose. "I already told you I'm not comfortable–"

Brody scoffs. "Come on. Look at this place, Delia. Do you really think Dad has more room? Look at this cracker box."

Anger flares. "You're more than welcome to get a hotel, you little shit. But I was under the impression you couldn't afford it."

Brody's face goes red, but he doesn't say anything. I look back at Delia, softening my tone with some effort. "You can take the guest room if you want, Delia. Brody can sleep on the couch."

She looks relieved. "Oh, that's okay. I can sleep on the couch, and he can take the guest room."

"My son is more of a gentleman than that," I tell her, and I can see Brody clenching his jaw out of the corner of my eye. I've backed him into a corner, and I know he doesn't like it. I don't give a fuck.

"Of course," he says between his teeth. "Let's go in."

Laughing to myself, I let Brody lead Delia around me and toward the house, hooking my thumbs into my pockets and following them. Watching Delia's hips sway and the round globes of her ass is a nice distraction, but I've got some thinking to do. Brody might be my son, but his hand on her shoulder is unacceptable. Once I make a decision, I don't back down, and I've decided that Delia is going to belong to me.

It's going to be one hell of an interesting holiday.