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A muscle in his jaw ticked, a sure sign his temper was brewing. “Your dinner won’t taste nearly as good after I wash your mouth out. That’s the only warning you get, Olivia Jane.”
She knew firsthand he wasn’t bluffing. Soap, hot sauce, vinegar. He’d employed each and every trick in the book to break her swearing habit years ago. Even as mad as she was, she knew when she was pushing too hard against that particular boundary, so she swallowed the profanity-laced retort burning on her tongue.
But that didn’t mean she was ready to completely back down, either. Crossing her arms over her chest, she glared at him. “I’m not writing lines.”
They stayed there, eye to eye, for several long moments before he spoke again. “Go to your room.”
Her heart thumped hard against her chest at the prospect of another punishment so soon. “I don’t wanna.”
“Now, Olivia Jane Monroe.”
“Fine.” Tears of frustration and humiliation burning against her eyes, she climbed off the bed and stomped down the hall to her room. James was right behind her, and the second she stepped through her door, he grabbed her arm and marched her to the desk.
With her arm still locked in his vice-like grip, he used his free hand to jab a finger at the five lines she’d written. “What does this say?”
“Why?”
Several hard swats had her dancing in place as he renewed the fire in her bottom. “Read it, Olivia.”
“Fine!” she snapped, trying to jerk her arm away but his hold on her only tightened. “It says ‘I will be honest with Daddy.’ Happy?”
“And are you being completely honest with me about why you didn’t write your lines?”
The guilt she’d been trying to ignore clawed at her tummy. “I don’t know,” she mumbled.
“Then let’s try again.” His voice gentled, but the grip on her arm didn’t ease. “Why didn’t you finish your lines?”
The wet spot on the paper had dried, leaving behind smudged ink and a slightly wrinkled spot on the paper. It mocked her, telling her she wasn’t brave enough or smart enough to tell the truth.
“I was sad,” she said, not lifting her eyes from the mocking little spot.
“Why were you sad, little one? Because I spanked you and made you write lines?”
“No.”
“Then tell me why you were sad.”
“Because I wasn’t honest. I lied a lot and I ruined everything.”
“Oh, Livvy.”
“I’m sorry.” The sob burst out of her and a split second later she was in his arms, weeping into his chest. “I’m sorry I’m so bad and I ruined everything and I didn’t write my lines and—and—and—”
“Shhh. Little one, you’re not bad. And you didn’t ruin everything. We just hit a little bump in the road is all. And now we have a fresh start.”
“But I ruined that too!”
“You did not.” The simple phrase rang with authority. “You’re going to sit back down and write your lines like a good girl, and I’ll be back up when dinner is ready.”
Sniffling back another wave of tears, she looked up at him. “Are you gonna spank me again?”
His lips lifted in a sad smile, giving her his answer before he even spoke. “What do you think, little one?”
Sighing heavily, she snuggled back into his chest. “I think you love me and I learned my lesson, so no more spankings are needed.”
His chest vibrated with laughter. “Nice try. You’re getting another spanking before bed, with Daddy’s belt. How many strokes is up to you.”
“Even if I finish all my lines?” she asked, even though she knew the answer.
