Page 63 of A Tempting Seduction

“Make sure you stick with your friends all night.” His voice carried the authority of an older brother who'd been looking out for his baby sister since she was born. “Don't accept drinks from strangers. Don't leave your drink unattended. Don't walk to your car alone.”

“Ford,” Fiona started, but he was just getting warmed up.

“Keep your phone charged. Text me when you get to wherever you're going. Text me when you leave. If anyone bothers you, call me immediately.”

JR looked up from the toys he'd been unpacking from the diaper bag.

“What's Uncle Ford talking about, Mommy?”

Fiona shot Ford a warning look, but he was staring at her dress like it personally offended him.

“Is that dress supposed to be that short?”

“Ford James Larson.” Fiona's voice carried the edge that meant he was treading on thin ice. “I'm twenty-eight years old, not eighteen.”

“You're my baby sister.”

“Your baby sister who's been married and had two children. I think I can handle a girls' night out.”

Ford ran his hand through his hair, frustration radiating from every line of his body.

“Just promise me you'll be smart about it. And if you drink too much to drive, call me. I don't care what time it is.”

“I'm not stupid, Ford. Quit worrying.”

Fiona kissed both kids goodbye, grabbed her purse, and headed for the door before Ford could launch into another round of protective big brother warnings.

The moment the door closed behind her, I started laughing again.

“How would you be if you ever had a daughter?” I asked, imagining Ford trying to cope with a teenage girl who wanted to date.

“I intend to marry a woman who would only give birth to sons.” Ford's expression was completely serious. “It's a requirement.”

“That's not how biology works.”

“Then I'll adopt only boys.”

“What if your wife wants daughters?”

Ford considered this for a moment.

“Then I won’t get married. I'll move to a monastery and become a monk.”

I laughed until my sides hurt, picturing Ford in monk's robes, trying to pray away his protective instincts.

“Uncle Ford, what's a monastery?” JR climbed onto my couch, his four-year-old brain processing our conversation.

“It's where men go when they're scared of little girls,” I told him.

JR looked confused.

“Why would you be scared of little girls? Suzy's little and she's not scary.”

Ford sat down beside JR and pulled him onto his lap.

“You're right, buddy. Little girls aren't scary. It's when they grow up that the trouble starts.”

“Mommy's grown up and she's not trouble.”