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However, I shake that traitorous thought from my head as soon as it slides in.
I was protecting her.
My daughter is a happy child.
A loved child.
I made sure that she didn’t lack anything in her life.
As my eyes focus on Zayn, I find myself studying his form.
He’s got more tattoos.
I can see one peeking out from the edge of where he rolled up his sleeves. I never understood his style. He is always dressed to the nines.
Even in his black shirt, which is form fitting, his lean and muscled frame is very obvious in it. A pair of fitted blue jeans tops off his outfit.
It is simple, so elegant, and so Zayn.
He emits class and breeding, but a part of me is wary of him.
I know he wants people to think of him in a certain way, so he adopted the role.
Five years shouldn’t seem like much, but it feels like a lifetime ago. I can still, however, remember how it felt having him watch me from his office. Inside his custom tailored suits and skin lurked a predator, one that had set its sights on me.
Oh, he was always careful never to touch me.
But he also disliked other men putting their hands on me.
I saw the quiet fury in him when someone would brush their hand against mine, the possessiveness.
And I bathed in it.
I enjoyed playing with fire, taunting him with what he wanted but refused to allow himself. Our game veered on the edge of danger and chaos.
A Russian roulette of sorts.
I wanted a man who could take me, dominate me in bed, and the steady way in which he would watch me, it would make me shiver at times in desire. There was always something so watchful, so deadly in his gaze.
Our friendship was odd, hesitant, but it existed nonetheless, a comradeship underneath those heated glances, the burning desire.
I never expected him to toss me away so quickly.
As he sits here in our daughter’s room having a tea party with her, I wonder if this is the same man that I once knew. I wonder if he is actually planning to step up or is all this just lip service?
There are slight changes in him.
His demeanor is different. There is a certain calm to him that wasn’t there before, a steadiness that never existed five years ago, as if he managed to overcome the demons that haunted him.
It is at that moment that he looks up and that blue gaze that always used to make my womb quiver locks on mine and he raises a brow, not at all bothered by the fact that he has a tiara on his head and is sipping from a plastic cup.
“If you’re quite done here,” I drawl, enjoying the sight far too much, and not wanting him to see the effect he still has on me, “dinner’s ready. Put your dolls away, Mila. Zayn, you can keep wearing that tiara if you’d like. It suits you.”
He leans over to glance in the full-length mirror that stands next to the bed, completely unfazed. “You’re right, It really brings out my best features.”
I roll my eyes. “Hurry up. I’m not heating anything up again. It’s fresh off the stove.”
In the half hour that Mila spent with Zayn, she bonded with him a little bit. Kids seem to adjust easier to changes.
