“Yes, Daddy,” I say, making an indecent sound with my lips. “Every drop.”
He kisses me again, spinning my senses into a dizzy ride. “Good night, little bird. If you’re really good…don’t wash it off.”
Then he’s gone, the door closing with a firm click.
I stay where he leaves me, sprawled across the bed, skin sticky and humming. Down the hall, Sophie’s door creaks, and for one dizzy moment, the danger of how close she is, makes my pulse flutter again.
But underneath it all is sheer joy.
Whatever this is, it isn’t over. Not yet.
Chapter 14
Nathan
A week later, I push open the door to the penthouse, shaking off the rain.
The smell of butter and caramel hits me immediately. There’s laughter too, high-pitched and unrestrained. Then I see them.
Jasmine and Sophie are curled up on the couch, blanket tangled around their legs, a bowl of popcorn balanced dangerously between them. The glow of the TV flashes across their faces in jerky, stuttering light, the sound effects of some ridiculous horror movie filling the room with overdone screams and creaks.
Sophie spots me first. “Dad!” she calls, lifting a hand in a mock warning. “If you sneak up on us like that, you’re going to end up wearing this popcorn.”
Jasmine twists around, her hair sliding over her shoulder, and my chest pulls tight at the sight of her—lips glossy, eyes alight with mischief, cheeks flushed from laughing.
My heart squeezes in my ribs. Every time I see her like this—happy, at home, unguarded—I feel that dangerous swell in my chest.
Then my gaze shifts to Sophie.
The girl who made me a dad.
The scared little girl she’d been when I first married her mother comes rushing back to me—eyes shadowed with anxiety, chest rattling with wheezing breaths.
Asthma attacks kept her from sleepovers, from birthday parties, from being a carefree child. But now…
Her cheeks are rosy from laughter and there’s a brightness in her eyes I haven’t seen in years. She’s come into herself, steadied and bolstered by Jasmine’s companionship.
The latter has been her anchor, her constant. And seeing them like this—side by side, safe and strong—I feel the kind of peace most men never get.
“This is what you’re watching?” I ask, tugging off my jacket as I step closer. The screen flickers with an over-the-top ghost face, shrieking through tinny speakers. “That’s not horror, that’s comedy.”
“Shut up,” Sophie giggles, clutching the blanket higher. “It’s terrifying.”
“Terrifyingly bad,” Jasmine shoots back, smirking at me before scooping another handful of popcorn.
Sophie gasps in mock offense. “You were just squealing two minutes ago!”
“I wasn’t squealing,” Jasmine insists, tossing popcorn at her. “I was—startled. Big difference.”
Their laughter fills the room, and for a moment I just stand there, soaking it in. The house used to be cavernous, sterile. Now it smells of butter and vanilla candles, pillows are askew, books are stacked on side tables, half-finished mugs of cocoa forgotten on coasters.
Jasmine has made it a home, and Sophie has flourished in it. And without even knowing it, so have I.
Jasmine stands up, brushing crumbs from her lap. “Clearly we’re going to need reinforcements if Sophie’s going to keep hiding behind the blanket every time the music swells.”
As she passes by, I let my hand drift, just enough to brush against hers. The barest contact, hidden by the angle of the kitchen.
She slows down. My fingertips trace along her knuckles. Heat flares low in my chest when her breath stutters, when her fingers twitch like she almost wants to catch mine. But then she’s gone, swallowed by the warm light of the kitchen.
