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“I did. I even used one of the lessons to—"
“Delia, how old are you?”Save my life,I finished my sentence in my head.
“I’m twenty-four.”
“Daddy’s forty-two,” she said. It might have just been an observation, or she might have been making a point.
“Corinne, you’re not supposed to reveal a gentleman’s age,” Robert said with a grin.
I could barely keep up with her questions as we pulled up to the mansion, its expansiveness taking my breath away yet again. She continued as we carried the food inside, following so close behind me that, at one point, she stepped on the back of my shoe.
“Corinne, back up,” Robert said sternly, and I smiled gratefully as Corinne apologized to me and stepped back, continuing her chattering.
“Sorry. So is my daddy your boyfriend?” she asked, and the question hung in the air for a second. I didn’t know how to answer that yet.
“Corinne,” Robert shot a look her way, and the little girl looked down apologetically, “That’s enough.” His phone buzzed, and he looked at it for a moment, reading a message. He opened it and started typing, his face intensely set on the screen.
While he glanced at his phone with an intense look, I glanced down at Corinne and mouthed, ‘No, he’s not.’ She smiled mischievously, then hid her smile in her tiny palm.
Sighing heavily, Robert stopped typing and said, “I need to make a work call. Show Delia where the kitchen is and put the food away, please.”Oh, I know where the kitchen is.My face burned at the mention of the kitchen as I remembered how we had defiled it together. He pointed his phone at her like a wand and commanded, “No more personal questions.”
As soon as he was out of earshot, Corinne started walking toward the kitchen and asked, “If he’s not your boyfriend, is he going to be?”
“I don’t know,” I answered honestly, thinking of the child I still needed to tell him about. I didn’t know what we’d be after I told him.
Corinne looked at me for a minute and then opened the fridge door. From behind the door, she asked, “But do you like him?”
I considered her question. It was a tricky one. I knew that she probably had complicated feelings about her father dating another woman after her mother. Instead of answering directly, I asked Corinne, “Hey, can you tell me where the bathroom is?” as she sat down at the counter to steal some bites from a blueberry pie.
“Sure!” she chirped, hopping off the chair. She skipped to the entrance of the kitchen and pointed down a long hallway. “Second door on the right. Just don’t go into the room across from it. That’s Daddy’s room, and he doesn’t like people to go in there.”
I nodded and saluted. “Aye, aye, Captain.”
She giggled as I walked away and down the hallway.
From down the hall, I could hear him on the phone in his office, speaking angrily with someone. I heard the words, “Is thisa joke? I told you what I wanted to do already,” and cringed. Whoever he was talking to was getting chewed out good.
Curiosity gnawed at me. I glanced toward the bathroom, then at his bedroom door. Before I could stop myself, I pushed it open just a crack and peeked inside.
The first thing I noticed was an office chair near the door—strange for a bedroom. The bed, with red wine-colored sheets, caught my eye next. Hanging from one of the posts was a pair of handcuffs. Anger boiled inside me.
How dare he talk about wanting to lay claim over me? How dare he say that I needed to commit to being with only him when his bedroom was likethis?
I felt my anger boiling at the idea of him having kinky sex in this bedroom, the very bedroom he wouldn’t let me stay in because of his daughter, supposedly.
Was this why he wouldn’t have me in here? I might see the evidence of his escapades?
I turned to leave, fury etched on my face, but I ran straight into Robert. His expression was unreadable like a shut door, but his crossed arms and piercing green eyes made me stop in my tracks.
He crossed his arms, his forearms bulging, and tilted his head. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Excuse me,” I said, trying to get past him, but he narrowed his eyes, the green piercing me like a knife through the heart.
“I asked you a question.” His voice was stern, not budging from the doorway.
“I had to go to the bathroom,” I said, not technically a lie, but I felt a blush flooding my face anyway.
“And you thought it was in my closet?” he quipped sarcastically. He was angry. His daughter had warned me, and I’d done it anyway. Not that I cared. I was done with Robert Hastings and his idiosyncrasies.