Page 14 of A Daddy for Hanna
CHAPTER7
The smellof frying fish filled the kitchen. Lady sat impatiently at Hanna’s feet, tail wagging in anticipation of dinner. Ben had been in his office since they arrived back at the cabin with a fine catch of five medium-size trout.
Hanna had enjoyed their morning and afternoon spent together. She shivered with excitement, recalling the feel of his body pressing against hers as he guided her to cast the pole.
She closed her eyes, savoring the delicious flood of memories. His warm, callused hands on hers. The accidental brush of his stubble on her cheek. The unstoppable flutters in her belly.
The pulses of warm delight between her thighs.
Whatwasthat, anyway?
She put the thoughts aside, tucking them away to reexamine another time and concentrated on dinner.
Later that night, as she was brushing out her damp, freshly-washed hair, a knock on her door startled her. Ben had never visited her in her room, though it was located directly beside his. Her heart raced and her palms became sweaty. She threw the hairbrush on the bed, wiped her hands on her pajama shorts, and hurried to open the door.
“Good evening, Da-Daddy. Did you need something?” She peered up at him, slightly embarrassed over her stuttering of his new title, and instantly became lost in his dark, beautiful eyes. Often when she gazed into those depths, her throat constricted and her insides shook with a longing she couldn’t reconcile.
To want a man this way must be indecent.
But she wanted him so much that she wondered if being decent mattered anymore.
Urges she ached to quench plagued her day and night.
Constant throbbing. Constant restlessness.
It was as if she were ill, but only his touch could cure her condition.
How to proceed with her urges was a challenge she wasn’t brave enough to face. Yet. At least not without a sign of equal desire from Mr. Foster. Daddy.
Did he ache for her too?
Did he toss and turn in bed, losing sleep over his cravings?
“Would you like to watch a movie?” he asked, and his intense gaze penetrated deep, making her feel increasingly flustered. “I can make popcorn.”
“A movie? On the television?” She’d spotted a large television in the living room, but she hadn’t seen him turn it on once since her arrival. Though she’d been curious, she hadn’t toyed with the device, even when she’d been alone in the house. Especially after her incident in town. She’d asked to go to a movie and ended up earning a spanking over her behavior.
Her eyes fell to his large hands as the memories came rushing back.
Those hands…
Firm, yet gentle. Caring.
“Yes, on the television.” A smile touched his voice.
“All right.” She beamed at him, eager to spend the evening at his side.
“My movie collection isn’t very large. Why don’t you pick something off the shelf?”
Not only was she going to spend the evening with Mr. Foster, but she was going to watch her first movie. Thrilled beyond measure, she followed him to the cozy living room. She inspected the movies lined up on a shelf next to the television.
After several minutes of inspecting the covers, she glanced up at Mr. Foster, feeling a bit overwhelmed.
“There’s so many to choose from. How do I decide?” It was like she was back in the mall, staring at rows and stacks of clothing. Too many choices scared her sometimes, and she hated this weakness inside her. Would it ever leave? Would the world she’d longed to join always feel so large and intimidating? The world she’d left had been suffocating, and all she wanted was a middle ground that included the freedom to make her own decisions.
He gave her a patient smile. “How about a musical?” His chest pressed against her arm as he reached for a movie. A warm puff of breath hit her cheek, and the scent of his soap tantalized her. Pine? Eucalyptus? He moved away too quickly, though his delicious masculine scent lingered, and she found herself wishing he would brush his body against her again.
“Sure,” she said, trying out an English word she hadn’t used yet. Mr. Foster said it was a casualyes, whatever that meant. It felt strange on her tongue.
