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“I got it from here.”

“Oh, do you?” He allows his gaze to drop down the length of me, gluing to all the parts I think he either likes or hasn’t had the chance to get a good look at. “Well, why don’t I just stand on by and watch?” He hands me his lemonade. “I’ll enjoy the view.”

I take it.

Because I’m in jean shorts that I know will ride up my thighs when I bend over and a white tank top that hugs my skin. I’ll have Dodger drooling at the sight of me by the end of the afternoon easily.

Or, I’ll have him thinking about things longer than maybe he has before.

“If that’s how ya wanna spend your day,” I hedge. “Would you be a sweetheart and order us some subs from Nemo’s in about an hour? Daddy needs to watch his blood sugar, and I’m sure he’ll be hungry.”

He doesn’t answer, just nods, and I turn on my heels and make the twenty yards over to my father, who’s looking at a piece of my greenhouse like it’s foreign.

“Daddy, I’m gonna take over.”

He looks over at me and shakes his head, lifting a metal square piece in his hand. “I can’t figure out where in the hell this goes.”

“Why don’t ya go back up to the house and cool off?” I notice how red his face is and the beads of sweat peppering along his forehead. “Ya’ve been out here for long enough.”

He glances back at the greenhouse that, I would say, is as big as a medium-sized shed but with windows, inside of walls, and frowns. “We got the shelves in. I just can’t think of where this goes?”

“It’s part of the pergola, Daddy.” I pluck it out of his grasp and hand him over a glass of lemonade. “Bobbie is expectin’ ya. Go cool off.”

“But the door⁠—”

“I’ll get the door.” I pull him by the bicep in the direction of the house. “Go on now, get.”

He complies, but not before stealing one last look at the greenhouse before taking off. It’s a losing match anyway when it comes to me because I dig my feet in when I want something done.

Placing my lemonade down, Dodger lounges out on the lawn. His long legs are spread and crossed while he leans back with all his weight on his hands.

Examining my legs because I leaned over to set my lemonade down.

Retrieving a Phillips screwdriver, one of the hinges to the door, and the three screws, I hunch down and place them back in their spot. I purposely open my thighs a little wider, even though he can only see from the back, to show how flexible and cute my butt is.

I take my time, and there’s no doubt in my mind that he’s taking in the view. Without much brain power behind it, I still take my time so I don’t strip anything out.

When I’m done, I pick up the same hardware and work on the middle section, which then leaves the top.

It’s higher than me, so it causes me to rise on my tiptoes to reach. I’m able to get two screws inside the holes and struggle for a few seconds with the last one when my hand resting on one of the wooden panels is pulled around to my spine.

Then the one with the screwdriver.

My wrists are bound with long fingers, and they can only belong to one man. And before I can turn my head to confirm it, I’m lightly shoved into my greenhouse like I’m about to be put in handcuffs and placed under arrest.

“You should’ve called,” Dodger’s tone drips with this masculine energy that only screams he’s had enough of watching, and now he’s going to help. “I would’ve come over…to help you.”

That slight pause has me immediately going to his comment from the afternoon of the kid’s charity for their playground. That I should call him when he was off-duty if I liked his handcuffs so much.

I know that’s what he meant before adding the helping me part.

Dodger isn’t stupid, and I’m not slow.

“I thought you just wanted to watch,” I mutter playfully. “I didn’t want to bother you.”

“You don’t bother me unless you’re callin’ me about stupid bullshit that’s common house knowledge. Everything else, I’d prefer it.”

I wiggle my hands a little to see if he’ll let go, but he doesn’t. “I’m not resistin’.”