It was a combination of expensive mistresses and lifestyle that had led to him dipping his fingers into my corporate accounts, skimming money he stupidly thought would never be missed.
But I’m equally pissed with her mother for leaving a vulnerable child with a man like Warren Michaels.
The bastard wasn’t fit enough to bear the label of father. He’d left Skye with a succession of nannies until she was fourteen, then basically left her to raise herself.
No wonder she was in desperate need of a Daddy.
Not that I intend to assume a conventional fatherly role, of course. But I fully intend to see to her every need, even those she’s not aware she has.
Starting with changing her mindset about what she perceives as her failures.
“You know that’s bullshit, right?”
Her gorgeous blue eyes widen at my forceful tone. Then she shakes her head. “It’s not. The stage fright was real. And awful.”
“I get that. But blaming you for it instead of finding the root cause was bullshit. As was saying your mother left you because of it.”
Her mouth wobbles for a fleeting moment before she firms it. “But she left without so much as a goodbye. And…and I haven’t heard from her since.”
“Are you saying everything was great at home before she left? Think back,” I urge.
Her forehead crinkles adorably. So adorably I can’t stop myself from leaning forward to drop a trail of kisses there until she stops frowning.
Christ, her skin is so fucking soft. I can’t get enough of touching her. So I don’t. I take her hand and kiss her knuckles to encourage her to continue.
“No, I guess not. They fought a lot in the months before she left.”
“What about?”
“Money, sometimes. Other times it was about Dad coming home late. Or not coming home at all.” She pauses and blinks, then darts a glance at me. “Do you…think he was having an affair?”
“I don’t just think it, angel,” I murmur.
Her eyes widen, then cloud with hurt. “So they had problems and he let me think…” She stops, swallows, and I vow then and there to make Michaels pay twice as hard for hurting his daughter.
I turn her hand over and kiss her palm. She shivers delightfully. “Now you know the truth. So you can stop blaming yourself. The stage fright was probably compounded by the tension at home. And I think you’re well on your way to being rid of it.”
She blinks in surprise. “You do? How?”
I grin at her expression. “Let’s see. You scream at the top of your lungs when I fuck you, knowing very well my staff are just outside. You kiss me and ride my cock in my office, on top of the piano, or beside the pool knowing anyone walking past can hear or see us.”
She turns beetroot and I groan at how utterly breathtaking she looks, blushing in the sunlight. “But…that’s different.”
“Yes, it is. It’s far more intimate and yet you barely blink at it.”
“But it’s because I’m so…engrossed in it,” she mumbles against my chest.
“Or my little princess is a closet exhibitionist. Regardless, that’s the way it’ll be when you’re on stage. You’ll forget there’s an audience and immerse yourself in the love of your craft. When you’re that fully engaged, you won’t even need to think about who’s watching you.”
She absorbs my words for a minute. Then glances up me, all big eyes and fuckable mouth that make me so hard my dick can drill through diamonds.
“Does that mean you’ll allow me to go back to the studio? Maybe I can test the theory? See if there are any small parts I can try out for in Off-Broadway productions?”
My heart lurches at the tentative hope in her voice.
And I try.
I really try to be a reasonable human being. But that weak asshole doesn’t stand a chance against the ruthless, possessive bastard reigning supreme within me when it comes to this angel. It knocks any reasonableness clean out.
“No, angel. I’m not ready to share you with the world just yet. For now, you only dance for Daddy.”