“Thumb?”
He takes my hand when I don’t move. His brows flatten and he pauses, studying my fingertip that’s healing well enough. A quiet grumble leaves his throat, like the sight of the damaged skin bothers him. Then he gently places my thumb against the screen on the panel.
“What are you doing?”
“Scanning your thumbprint.” He’s focused on the lit-up panel as he keeps my hand held in place.
“Why?”
“Because that’s how you’ll gain access through the front door and to our level in the elevator.”
“But I’m always with you and Molly. Why would I need to be added?”
“There might be an occasion where I need you and Molly to come home ahead of me. Or I might require you to come and collect something for Molly without me. There are any number of reasons I might want you here, Tate,” Sullivan says, his face the picture of intent concentration as he completes my security set-up on the panel.
“Sure, that makes sense.”
My stomach does a tiny victory leap. This must be huge for him. He watches me like a hawk when I’m with Molly. He doesn’t even leave the room. Even if he never asks me to use the scanner, the act of him adding me speaks volumes alone.
Ashley is going to flip out when I tell her.
“Do you have much work to do?” I ask once he’s finished.
“I always have work to do.” He exhales, meeting my eyes. “But no, it can wait.”
“Oh… okay. Should I get started on dinner, then?”
I look at him, growing hot under his intense gaze. He hasn’t mentioned our night together once in the past two days. I thought perhaps he’s changed his mind and decided me coming back to work for him would be where he drew the line. That we should only have a professional relationship.
That would be the sensible thing to do. The wise decision.
He was nothing but a gentleman last night. Working when we came in, while I played with Molly, until he declared he wished to make dinner for us all. I expected him to need to work tonight too. Otherwise, why am I here?
“I thought…” His eyes drop to my lips, and he runs his tongue along his own, the move so sexy that I can’t not stare. “Perhaps you’d like to bathe Molly with me first?”
“Really?” I snap out of my trance. “You want me to help?”
His eyes glitter. “I do. But be warned, she likes to splash.”
The smile remains glued to my face while I run the bath inMolly’s bathroom. He’s never asked me to help with bathtime before.
Sullivan helps Molly undress by pretending to be a tummy-loving monster whose sole purpose is to deliver noisy, wet raspberries to unguarded tummies. Her high-pitched squeals of delight as he presses one after another to her little round belly make my heart feel like it’s about to fly out of my chest. It’s hard to believe the same ruthless, suited billionaire is the same doting father who is now kneeling on the bathroom floor in designer suit pants, and a shirt rolled up to his elbows.
He drops his hand past all of the bubbles and tests the water temperature, before depositing a still giggling Molly in.
“Toys, Daddy!”
“How could I forget?” He winks at her and reaches for a plastic tub on the floor.
“This one?” he asks, tossing a little yellow duck in so it disappears underneath the bubbles.
Molly giggles and pushes her hands through the foam to search for it, sending water sloshing up the sides of the bath.
“Or did you mean this one?” He sends a small plastic monkey somersaulting through the air and into the water.
Molly laughs with all the unbridled joy of an almost three-year-old as toy after toy are sent sailing into the water in a succession of splashes and plops.
“Daddy!” she shrieks, like she’s telling him off.
