“Don’t,” he said, standing from his position behind the desk, his large, masculine hands planted palms down on the pristine surface. He didn’t even have the decency to look surprised that she’d burst into his office. He just looked…smooth and calm and unaffected as ever.
It was just unfair, because her cage was well and truly rattled.
“Don’t panic?”
“No. There’s no need. When we divorce I’ll sign custody of Ana over to you. You have my word on that.”
“Oh.” She let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding in a rush. “That does make me feel better.”
“I thought it might.”
“Then there’s the home study.”
“You and Ana should move in with me. Soon.” That he said with a kind of grim determination that let her know exactly what he thought of it.
“I can see you’re completely thrilled at the idea.”
“I value my own space,” he said.
“Well, as you mentioned, it’s a big house. I’m sure we won’t be on top of each other.”
He lifted one dark brow, and horror crept over her as she realized the double meaning of her words. As she pictured just what it might be like to be on top of him.
Or to have him on top of her.
Her entire face heated, prickling awareness spreading over her skin. Her heart was racing and she was…turned on. And it was obvious. She was certain it was.
She was such a dork. A side effect of spending her school years as the funny one. She didn’t know how to be smooth; she knew how to go for a joke. Another side effect of that was that guys didn’t flirt with her.
Well, that might have also been because of the time Michael Weston had tried to make out with her at a party and had ended up cutting his tongue on her braces. No one had wanted to kiss her after that. Kissing her became a running joke, and very firmly kept her in her place as school screwup.
Well, after that someone had made her think he wanted to kiss her, and more than that. It had all been a gag, of course. Thinking about that reduced the horror of the situation a little bit, because nothing, nothing in the history of the world, was quite as bad as meeting a guy under the bleachers after prom to…to…and having the popular kids standing by, waiting for just the right moment, waiting for the top of her prom dress to come down, for her “date” to pull her out from beneath the bleachers onto the field so they could throw eggs at her. And laugh. And take pictures of her humiliation for posterity.
Yes, that put a woman off dating for a while.
As a result, she wasn’t great at handling men. Unless they were more like buddies. And Dante didn’t feel like a buddy. Not even a little.
“You know what I mean,” she said. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“You know,” she said, narrowing her eyes.
“As for the parent interview…” He neatly sidestepped the moment.
“What about it?”
“I don’t see how it will be a problem.”
“You may have to grow a personality between now and then.”
“And you may want to tone yours down.”
“Why because a fun-loving, smiley person might not make a good parent? Do I need to be a bit more dour?”
“Are you calling me…dour?” he asked.
“If the scowl fits.”
“You’re going to have to keep yourself from taking shots at me in the presence of the social worker. Actually, you should probably keep yourself from taking shots at me because I’m your boss.”
She bit her lower lip. “Yeah. Okay, that could be…”
“And don’t bite your lip like that.” He leaned forward and extended his hand, putting his thumb on her chin, just beneath her mouth.
She slowly released her hold on her lip, her heart pounding heavily, butterflies taking flight in her stomach and crashing around, making her insides feel jittery.
She could only stare at him, at his incredibly handsome face, his dark, compelling eyes.
“I’ll try not to,” she said, not sure why she agreed with him. She should be annoyed that he was being so dictatorial, and yet she found she wasn’t. But that could be because he was touching her, and men didn’t make a habit of touching her.