Please Me Daddy (Gracie) novel Chapter 63

**Across Distant Skies Lies Hope Waiting To Be Found by Kade Rowan Flint**

Control yourself, woman.

Grace.

You know that feeling when everything goes wrong?

And I’m not talking about the exhilarating kind that leaves you breathless. No, this was the kind that sends your mind racing like a frantic mouse, desperately searching for a way out. I could duck left, dodge right, maybe even bluff my way through it, but deep down, I knew every escape route led to the same dead end.

That was me, right here, right now. Completely and utterly trapped.

It was almost absurd, really. A door stood directly in front of me, an invitation to freedom just a few steps away. All I had to do was reach out, turn the handle, and walk through. Yet my body remained frozen, paralyzed by the instinctive knowledge that if I ran, he would catch me in mere strides. And a nagging voice in the back of my mind whispered that fleeing might only make things worse.

He wasn’t blocking my escape. No, he leaned casually against the bathroom door, arms crossed over his chest. But the way he held himself was reminiscent of a lion lurking in the tall grass, eyes locked onto its prey, waiting with a predatory patience that dared me to make a move.

My gaze darted to the bed, seeking distraction, and landed on the cat sprawled out like it owned the place. I swear that little furball was smirking, its tail flicking with amusement, clearly enjoying my discomfort far more than it would have chasing a mouse or indulging in a nap. The creature was every bit a reflection of its owner—same expression, same air of superiority, and an attitude that screamed smugness.

I licked my dry lips, finally mustering the courage to meet Apollo’s gaze. He was watching me intently, one brow raised, his expression inscrutable.

I let out a nervous laugh, stretching my arm in the most exaggerated way possible. “I-I was just stretching. Definitely not sneaking away.”

The smile I forced felt like the most pitiful attempt at bravado I had ever made. I even lifted my hand a little higher, inadvertently causing the blanket to slip just enough for my right breast to escape its confines.

Apollo’s eyes dropped instantly, lingering on the exposed skin for a moment that felt like an eternity.

Heat surged through my face, and I yanked the blanket back up to my chin, the flush creeping all the way to my ears. It was ridiculous; he had seen everything last night. He had touched me in ways no one else ever had. Yet here I was, my heart performing acrobatics in my chest, betraying the very calm I was trying to project.

Just because I had experienced the best night of my life didn’t change who he was to me.

I coughed, attempting to dispel the awkward tension, my fingers running through my disheveled hair in a futile effort to regain some semblance of composure.

I needed to talk. Conversation was my lifeline.

“Nice cat,” I blurted out, gesturing toward the little creature that seemed to embody all my feelings of inadequacy.

The cat cracked open one eye, shot me a look filled with disdain, then promptly rolled over and closed it again, as if to communicate that I was not worth its time.

Perfect. Even the damned cat thought I was pathetic.

Apollo pushed himself off the wall, his demeanor suggesting that our previous exchange barely registered with him. Without uttering a single word, he began to walk toward me.

My fingers gripped the blanket tighter, knuckles turning white. For a fleeting moment, I thought he would stop right in front of me, but instead, he brushed past, the faint scent of his soap enveloping me like a warm embrace.

I swallowed hard, my knees feeling uncertain, wavering between standing firm and collapsing beneath me. I turned my head just enough to watch him stride into another part of his room, which I now realized must have been his walk-in wardrobe.

I swallowed hard, my thoughts swirling, and blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “Hm… were you planning on chasing me yourself?”

Apollo’s brow furrowed slightly, confusion flickering across his features. “What?”

“I—uh…” I rubbed my arm, suddenly aware of how ridiculous I must sound. “I mean, if you were planning on chasing me yourself, I can… you know, go back to sleep, and then you can chase me out.”

He stared at me as if I had just declared that the sky was green. I held his gaze, feeling the weight of the moment. His head tilted, as though he were scrutinizing me under a microscope, trying to determine if I was joking. The problem was, I wasn’t. He was probably accustomed to chasing women from his bed. Perhaps he intended to do the same to me.

When he realized that, he didn’t dignify my comment with a response. Instead, he straightened, brushing my words aside as if they were insignificant, and spoke in that low, composed voice of his. “Get dressed and come downstairs, Miss Grace. We have a lot to discuss.”

I blinked, momentarily stunned. “Wait, what? Now?”

He was already turning away.

“W-wait—” I stepped forward quickly. “My clothes aren’t here.”

Without sparing me a glance, without a hint of hesitation, he replied, utterly indifferent, “Wear one of mine.”

I stood there, hand on my head, trying to wrap my mind around what he had just said.

Did this man just… suggest I wear his clothes?