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Instead, she looks like the lost little girl she still is.
Sighing, I close the notebook and turn toward her. She doesn’t look up at me, doesn’t take a bite, doesn’t do anything but play with her food.
“You need to eat before it gets cold,” I tell her, grabbing my fork and shoveling eggs into my mouth, knowing she won’t start eating until I do. Her bottom lip slips between her teeth as she nods.
So meek. So obedient. So sweet.
She brings a bite to her mouth and slowly chews before taking a sip of her sweet tea. I’ve never met anyone more addicted to iced tea than she is. I can’t help the chuckle that escapes me, and she finally lifts her eyes to mine.
“What?” she whispers.
“You and that dang tea,” I say, shaking my head with a smile. “I think you’d inject it straight into your veins if you could.” The corner of her full mouth tips in a grin.
“I wouldn’t get to taste it if I did that,” she says, picking the glass up again with a giggle that punches me straight in the gut. Maybe lower. “And I love to taste it.” She wraps her lips around the straw, and I stare, my mouth going dry as she swallows with a happy hum.
I feel lightheaded as all the blood in my body heads south. I try to look away when she sets the glass down and goes back to her food, but I can’t. She stabs a chunk of watermelon and brings it to her mouth. As she bites down, a trickle of juice drips from the corner of her lush, pink lips and down her chin.
My jaw tenses. My hands tighten into fists under the table as she drags her finger up the trail of juice and sucks it off, completely oblivious to the borderline pornographic show she’s putting on.
Get it together, Isaac. Don’t be a sick asshole.
“Eve—” My voice is raw as she snaps her eyes to me, blinking those big baby blues innocently. God, she really has no clue. I clear my throat and take a long drink of my coffee, ignoring how hot it is as it burns its way down my throat. I focus on the pain, needing it to yank me back from whatever messed up place my mind has gone all of a sudden. “I’ll need your help after church this morning. I’m meeting with Mrs. Johnson.”
“Again?” Eve asks, tilting her head to the side, her expression turning concerned.
“That baby of hers is still sick,” I sigh, drumming my fingers on the table.
I sigh for a million different reasons. Maybe because I don’t know what to do to help Mrs. Johnson or her son. Or because I don’t know why the hell I’m looking at my stepdaughter like this. Maybe because I’ve finally gotten my erection under control.
Thinking about work, that’ll get the blood flowing away from my dick.
“Oh, no, that poor thing,” she says, pressing her hand to her heart. I nod, agreeing with her. “We have to help them, Isaac.”
“I know, sweetheart,” I say, my voice thick with exhaustion, despite the fact I just woke up. I shake my head, turning back to my plate and going over my notes. We fall into a comfortable, if not unusually silent, meal.
The sound of Eve’s chair sliding across the worn wooden floors pulls me from my preparations. I blink rapidly, clearing my mind. My plate is empty and she offers me a soft, demure smile as she clears my place setting. With her hands full, Eve turns toward the sink, her round ass swaying side to side in her black, form-fitting pants.
Without my permission, my eyes zero in on the movement.
Is she even wearing panties under those? They’re skintight.
My knee jerks, colliding with the bottom of the table in an effort to tamp down my sudden erection. Again.
What the hell is wrong with me today?
Eve hums as she bends over the sink and begins to wash the breakfast dishes. Those fucking pants are molded to her ass, giving me the perfect impression of the skin I know is silky soft beneath them.
The Lord is testing me. He has to be. Why else would He put such temptation before me when I’m already struggling so much?
I can’t have this. Can’t be thinking like this. But then, she sways her ass to the music in her head, taunting me, and I snap.
“Eve!” My barked voice echoes around the peaceful kitchen as the sound of a dish colliding with the porcelain ricochets off the walls. She squeals and turns wide, doe eyes my direction. I swallow, roll my neck a few times, and give her a forced smile. “Go get ready for church, sweetheart. I’ll do the dishes for you.”
She gapes at me. “What?” Her head’s shaking before the words have even formed. “I can do it. I’ll be quick, I prom—”
“Go,” I snap, jerking my finger toward her room down the hall. I never raise my voice. Not at her. But she—something is messing with my head today. “Hurry up. I don’t want to be late.”
Swallowing roughly, she jerks a nod and rinses her hands before practically sprinting from the kitchen. My fingers find my temples as I try to rub away the tension building behind my eyes.
