Like being able to see her but not touch her. It was pretty much constant torture. Not that I wanted it to end.
Right now, I was doing my best to ignore that she was sleeping in the giant shirt I’d given her that first night. I was sure she had other things to sleep in. But she’d chosen that, of all things. And it was so fucking sexy on her it made my dick hurt.
Her legs were bare from mid-thigh down. Her gorgeous, creamy, golden thighs. Even worse, her perfect little toes were bare. Those feet of hers . . . they were the cutest damn things I’d seen in my life. I wanted to suck those toes until she screamed.
I was one thousand percent certain she was not wearing a bra.
I was one thousand percent not certain whether she was wearing panties. Part of me was praying fervently that she was. The other part of me was praying much louder than she wasn’t.
I carried the water back to her and took her hand, curling it around the glass. We stared at each other, the air between us filled with electricity. I knew this was dangerous. I was so close to saying to hell with it, pulling her into my arms and burying myself inside her for days.
Weeks.
Years.
“Parker . . .” I said, my voice raw with need. I still held her hand where it circled the cup. I rubbed my thumb over the silky skin of her inner wrist. She leaned toward me slightly, and I jerked away abruptly.
“Go back to bed,” I growled. My voice was rough and sounded harsher than I meant it to. She blinked and inhaled sharply. Then she turned tail and ran.
I stood there, feeling her absence. It was like all the air got sucked out of the room without her there. Like the warmth and beauty were gone. I was losing my damn mind. I wanted to chase her down the hallway and tackle her. Just take what I wanted, again and again, until I was satisfied.
If it was even possible to be satisfied. I doubted it. I wanted her too badly. It felt like it would never end.
Instead, I walked back to the couch and opened the file.
The first thing I saw was a picture of Parker as a little girl. I traced the picture with my fingertips, just as I’d done the first time I saw the picture. She was precious. Confidence and intelligence shone out of her stunning blue eyes. I felt an overwhelming sense of tenderness well up inside me.
I bet that’s what her kids will look like. Pure and perfect, just like her.
Dangerous thinking, Shane, I thought. You are not her baby daddy.
I moved on, flipping through the file with reverence. Her report cards in grade school were all perfect. Her attendance, her aptitude scores, socializations. Even her participation in sports and after school programs.
And her art. My God, even her childhood art spoke to me.
Parker’s talent went well beyond her age and the average abilities. Judging from her records, even her teachers knew she was special. She did summer scholarship programs for young designers. Sketched constantly. She even got in trouble for doodling in class, although her grades were so good that they didn’t really do more than send a note home to her parents.
Everything changed when she was fourteen or fifteen.
Her class photo from that year was different. The sparkle was out of her eyes. Her hair was pulled forward as if she was trying to hide her face. And the clothing she wore was bigger, looser. She wore darker, more muted colors as if she was trying to disappear inside her clothing.
Objectively, I knew it had to be hard to be a girl with generous curves. Confusing. I’d never thought of it from the female perspective before, but I could see it now.
Especially if you had a fucking predator living in your house with you.
Parker had reasons to be ashamed or want to hide her sexuality. And it showed. I cursed, wanting to throw the file across the room. Almost as much as I wanted to clutch it against my chest, reach into the old photographs, and save her.
But I couldn’t. Because this had happened years ago. And I didn’t have a time machine.
Ninth grade. That was the year her mother remarried and destroyed her daughter’s life in the process. A good-looking widow who liked the finer things, Alice Sawyer hit the jackpot when she met John Winters. Wealthy, good-looking, and generous, he was an upstanding member of his community.
From what Cain had found online, it looked like he had swept the single mother off her feet, spoiling her with gifts, expensive vacations, and love.
And Parker’s troubles seemed to be over too. No more scholarship programs. Now she could go to the local art school and take classes with top teachers. She even got a car for her sixteenth birthday.