Page 72 of Detention with Daddies

The hallway is mostly empty. I pull her into another room to talk.

To confess how I feel to her. To put myself out of my misery if she doesn’t feel remotely the same. Surely, I’m not so far gone to be reading that heavily into our interactions.

All I want to do is kiss her though. That pouty, glossy red mouth is worse than a siren call.

But I hold back because Waylen steps into the room right behind us.

I’ve stolen his date, and I’m not at all sorry about it.

WAYLEN

Olivia is such a breath of fresh air, so much better at engaging these boring donors than I ever could. Her charms have them laughing, sharing stories, investing themselves in the magic she’s created at their table.

More than a few of them nod to each other when the dinner breaks for dancing and bidding on the fundraising items.

I gather Olivia’s hand and nod to the dance floor. “Shall we?”

Her smile is bigger than normal, fueled by several glasses of champagne and good conversation. I know she can move gracefully. I’ve watched her since that first observation of her training with her clinic subjects.

Maybe I can impress her with my own skills. Tilly had me taking dance lessons with her for months before our wedding to ensure I didn’t embarrass her on the day.

When I tuck Olivia against me, I’m excited to touch her so blatantly in public. To have an excuse.

“Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Yes. I didn’t imagine this would be as fun as it is. I don’t usually get such positive responses to what I’m working on.”

I laugh a little. “Well, to be fair, a good number of the donors are exactly the people you’re championing for.”

Her laughter peels up to the high ceilings. I’m enamored with her. Taken with every inch of her pale skin, those freckles create a beautiful landscape across her skin. I want to taste and lick every one of them. Map them out across her body. Study them like constellations.

I want the time to do so, and I haven’t gotten the chance.

Our start was set off with a bang. By my inability to keep myself in line. To convince myself that I shouldn’t. But I can’t say I’m sorry for giving in. Not with how much of my bandwidth she takes up now.

She narrows her eyes playfully at me, like she can read my thoughts. If anyone could, it would be her. She fulfills so many of my fantasies—and not just the sexual ones—that it can’t be a coincidence.

And as per usual, she submits to letting me lead. Olivia is a wonderful dancer, letting me spin and dip her in a few fancy steps.

I enjoy the way she clings to my shoulders for the last few steps, but just as I knew would happen, Nick comes and takes her from my arms. Then one of the donors from our table. Then, surprisingly, Matteo steps in for a dance.

But when he slips her out of the ballroom to the hall, and then into another room, I can’t stop myself from following.

We may be on rocky ground, but I’m not backing down without a fight. Not with this deep-rooted obsession simmering in my veins.

I find them in a stare off that I can’t begin to unravel. The volume of her skirt billows around his legs. Matteo still has his hand gripping the back of her dress, a half-drunk flute of bubbly in her hand, and they’re close.

That simmer builds to a boil.

Matteo sees me first, and there’s a pause before he takes a step back—not a big one though.

Olivia peers at me over her shoulder with wide eyes.

The fact that she doesn’t step out of his grip strikes a sore spot deep in my chest. I shouldn’t be so surprised. Not after the rumors about the two of them, although I would have pegged Nick as the more obvious choice.

Still, she’s my date tonight, and I don’t want to lose that small hold on her until I have to.

Olivia is quiet like I’ve never seen her before. None of us say anything. The tension builds as my gaze shifts from her stunned eyes to Matteo’s possessive hand on her.

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