Page 23 of Off Limits

“Nothing,” she says shyly. “Nothing more than…what did happen.”

Dani’s red head bobbing in that kid’s lap is an image I’ll never forget. The idea of what her mouth might have felt like, her tongue, makes my balls ache.

“You’re saying you wouldn’t have had sex with him?”

She shakes her head mutely. I wonder how I would have felt if I had walked in the room to find her naked underneath him.

“It made me jealous to see that,” I say, suddenly and unexpectedly. The comment seems to come from nowhere, I didn’t expect to say it, but now that I have, I don’t back away from it. I keep my eyes on her face to see her reaction.

The colour spreads on her cheeks, but she doesn’t seem upset. She blinks. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

It’s the rawest I’ve ever felt. For a moment, we hold each other’s eyes, saying nothing. My blood is thundering through my veins. I’ve crossed a line, broken down a boundary, but I don’t know how far I’ve gone, where this leads. Nowhere, maybe. Regardless, I’ve said something forbidden. I’ve forced a change.

Gritting my teeth, I take a breath and reach for my little girl’s hand. “Dani,” I say, my voice husky and low. But before I can say anything more, the waiter’s voice interrupts us.

“Will there be anything else for you tonight?”

I wrench my eyes to the side to see him standing at the table, innocently unaware of the moment he just interrupted.

“Nothing else,” I answer, releasing Dani’s hand. “Just the bill.”

He turns to leave and I look back at her, a sense of horror settling over me. She gives me a half-smile, expectant and inquisitive, and I run my hand through my hair and compose myself.

I’m on the verge of making a move on my stepdaughter. The heat that’s been coursing through my veins turns to pure, burning shame.

“Time to go,” I say, once I’ve signed the bill. I’m brusque now, all business.

“Yes, Daddy,” she says sweetly, swinging her long legs to the side of the bench to stand up and absolutely gutting me.

Danica

WE WAIT IN silence for the valet to pull the car up, and when he does, Jean-Luc tips him and walks over to the driver’s side. He doesn’t open the door for me, or give me a smile, or even so much as flash a glare at the valet when he clearly runs his eyes over my body, checking me out.

I’m still reeling from the moment in the restaurant.

Jean-Luc is jealous? Of Kye?

But now it’s as if nothing’s happened, and the functioning part of my brain kicks in to remind me that there’s no way my stepfather was going to say something inappropriate to me, and I’m fucked up for even thinking and hoping so.

Isn’t it more likely, I torment myself, that he meant ‘jealous’ about something else, and you misunderstood it and now he’s angry?

We drive in uncomfortable silence for a while until Jean-Luc finally speaks. His tone is casual, fatherly, like no weird moment has passed between us.

“I hope you had a nice birthday, sweetheart,” he says.

“The nicest, thank you.” My fingers reach up and clasp the diamond around my neck. It was a good birthday. Better than last year. Jean-Luc had called and mailed a gift to the house—we were still living in the old house at the time—but Melanie was away the whole weekend and never acknowledged it, having clearly forgotten.

“When we get home,” I ask tentatively. “Do you want to watch TV for a while?”

He swallows, keeping his eyes fixed on the road. “Maybe that’s not such a great idea, sweetie. I have a lot of work to do.”

“Please don’t make me hang out alone on my birthday,” I plead when we get home, until Jean-Luc relents, and even opens a bottle of champagne and lets me have a glass.

We sit on the living room couch at opposite ends, facing each other. Jean-Luc has taken his dinner jacket off, and his tie, and unbuttoned the top of his shirt, exposing a hint of dark chest hair. I can’t ignore the way the bulk of his arms and shoulders strain the fabric of his dress shirt. He rests one arm along the back of the couch, and lifts his champagne flute with the other, initiating a toast.

“To you, on your birthday.” We clink glasses and drink, and before long the sweet, bubbly liquid is making warmth radiate out from my centre. I feel happy, more relaxed and confident than I’ve felt in a long time, and it feels nice to get a little drunk with Jean-Luc. Better than drinking beers on the beach with the kids from my high school. Longing to be closer, and feeling impulsive, I scooch over beside him, inserting myself under his arm and leaning my head on his shoulder.

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