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Silent treatment was a slow sort of torture she wasn’t used to. He was killing her, and the drive home was taking forever due to the icy condition of the roads.
The closer they came to the mansion the more she sensed his stare on her, burning through the shadows, through the material of her dress, and into her skin. Okay, maybe not through her dress, but a girl could dream.
He obviously wasn’t happy with her. A person could choke on the tension in the air.
Her finger nudged the window button and the cool breeze hit her skin like a gulp of water eases thirst.
“Hot?”
Every breath filled her belly and she seemed to breathe faster than usual. “A little.”
A low grunt was his only reply.
She wanted to kick Erin for getting her in trouble. But why was she in trouble? She’d done exactly what was asked of her, every time, for precisely two weeks. If he was really all that particular when it came to his out of the house mayor functions, he should give her more notice and clarify his expectations in advance.
She hated taking orders from Erin. As a matter of fact, she hated the way Erin constantly tried to overthrow her authority where Addison was involved. Who was the governess here? Addison was her job, and Skylar had done nothing short of care for her properly since the moment she accepted the job.
Attending balls was above her pay grade. She hadn’t complained. She’d found a last-minute dress and made it all work. She even worked late, so that the mayor wouldn’t be disrupted, which was really the only instructions she’d been given. It wasn’t her fault no one told her when to leave.
“If you didn’t want me there, why did you insist I come?” she suddenly snapped.
But as soon as the words left her mouth, as soon as she found herself finally looking at him, the hard lines of his beautiful face cast in moonlit shadows and the hungry glow of his eyes, she realized she’d drastically misjudged the situation.
13
Did she think she could hide behind Addison all night? Even with his daughter sleeping in her lap she was barely covered.
Skylar’s breasts were practically spilling out of that dress, and the moonlight accented every dip and curve. She looked too young, too innocent, and too damn tempting for him to deal. And what was this about him not wanting her there?
The limo pulled into the driveway. There wouldn’t be enough time to discuss her little outburst now, and the roads were too shitty to simply joyride and talk out the misunderstanding. But he couldn’t let it go.
Who knew how much time they would have once they made it inside the house? According to their recent behavior, she’d likely put Addison to bed then disappear to the third floor. He couldn’t let that happen.
“Let’s get one thing straight, Skylar. If I don’t want something, I don’t do it. You were there, because I wanted you there.” The limo parked. “We’re home.”
The driver opened her door before she could muster a response, and the next several minutes were focused on navigating the icy walkway, unlocking the house, and getting Addison undressed and into bed.
His daughter didn’t stir once through the process as he hovered, watching Skylar the entire time, not giving her a single shot of escaping the upcoming confrontation. The longer he observed her moving about in that sexier than sin dress, caring for his child, blushing under his inspection because she knew damn well he stared, the more he wanted her.
He was through denying his attraction.
Tonight, when she first arrived and smiled at him, he caught something in her stare. Her presence made his pulse fluttered with awareness whenever they were within a few feet of each other, and he was coming to guess that her temperamental moods were less to do with the fact that he’d kissed and touched her, and more to do with the fact that he’d stopped before finishing what they started.
Fuck propriety. He wanted her every which way and then some.
He wanted her under him, on her knees in front of him, riding him, stroking him, screaming for him. Hell, he even wanted her sweet for him. He wanted the freedom to kiss her at will when she danced around in cute little aprons. He wanted to trap her under mistletoe and lick her cheek when she made a mess of herself while baking. He wanted to feel her up when she was soft, in her pajamas, sneaking down for a cup of bedtime tea, and steal into her room when she tried to hide from him.
He wanted her sexiness, but also her softness. Perhaps that was where it all began. She was such a nurturer at heart, he wanted her to take care of him.
