Page 7 of Obsessed Mr. O’Brian

Her slobbery thumb smears along my back. She nods.

“Was it as big as this one?” I ask with a playful squeeze and gentle shake of my shoulders.

She stiffens and doesn’t respond. I sigh.

“I think your Daddy is jealous, lovie. I don’t blame him because I think your hugs are soooo sweet; and I just met you. Your daddy has loved you for a lot longer.” When she tilts her head to look up at me through her lashes, my heart stalls. She’s so pretty, but other than the wicked smarts shining from her eyes and her familiarity with Artur, I wouldn’t place them as father and daughter. I can’t find an ounce of him in her features.

There’s no doubt she’s Regina’s daughter—the resemblance is striking—but Regina and Artur have been sweethearts ever since the accident, so Lola must be his. I just never would have imagined his genes would be recessive. Artur O’Brian was never the type to take a back seat when there was something he wanted, and the thought of his biology acting any differently seems ludicrous.

I push my musings aside and force one arm out from around her, hoping I’ll be able to let her go if I manage in small increments, but my hand settles on her back and rubs small, soothing circles.

“How about we enjoy our hug for a few more seconds before you go back to your father so he can have one, too? How high can you count, Miss Lola?” I ask, hoping a distraction will ease the transition.

She purses her lips in thought but doesn’t seem interested in taking the bait. I lift my hand from her back and hold up two fingers where she can see.

“This many?” I prompt.

Her unimpressed glance tells me everything I need to know. I chuckle and open my hand to show her all five fingers.

“This many?”

She shakes her head.

“More?” I ask with exaggerated delight.

She nods.

“Ten?”

She nods harder.

“That’s so many! Can you show me?” I ask.

She pushes upright and holds up all ten of her cute, pudgy little digits. I smile and ignore my discomfort despite being aware of how my skewed dress shows an obscene amount of side boob and how her spit slowly dries on my back.

“That’s amazing, sweetheart. How about you put down each finger as I count, and when we’re done, you can give Daddy a big, huge hug even bigger than mine.”

She narrows her eyes and shakes her head.

I chuckle and pat her back.

“Okay, not bigger than mine, but one just as sweet, yeah?”

She gives her father a skeptical look over her shoulder before nodding. Wracked with bittersweet emotions, I lead the countdown and steal a kiss to her forehead before I pass Lola over to Artur. I step backward. She grabs the front strap of my dress as I take another step.

Mortification streaks from the top of my head to the tip of my toes as I flash Artur; his daughter’s tiny yet mighty hand pulling the front of my gown away from the whole of my breast and creating a gap so big between my body and the fabric I can see the floor under my high heels. I gasp and step forward, but the widening of Artur’s eyes confirms his bird’s eye view down the front of my dress.

He must think the worst of me. Braless and wearing a scrap of lace masquerading as panties—which I bought to avoid showing a panty line in my bridesmaid gown—along with the stripper-esque high heels, doesn’t paint me in a good light. I look more like a hooker than an innocent and trustworthy woman.

Which I’m not, but not by choice.

My body may no longer be innocent, but my mind doesn’t remember the act. Panic dims the lights around me as his massive hand reaches out for me.

Artur peels Lola’s fist off my strap with surprising gentleness considering the cold fury sparkling in his golden orbs. My nipples harden impossibly further, and the mere brushing of his knuckles against the upper slope of my breast zings straight to my core. A tiny sound escapes my throat, and I wish I could catch it and shove it back down when his lips twitch in disgust.

Lola squirms and reaches for me again, but I step out of reach and hastily adjust my dress as Artur coaxes her into hugging him. His endearing tone as he addresses his daughter only highlights how little he thinks of me.

I take a deep breath, check my dress again, and lift my head, but one glance at Artur’s scowl transports me back in time. Lying in his hospital bed a few days after the accident, he gave me the same hate-filled glare.