Page 94 of Under Daddy's Spell

“Who were you talking to?”

“I...uh...” she stammered as she glanced at her phone.

This was her opportunity to come clean. Would she take it?

He hoped that she would and was rooting for her.

When she stated simply, “Lucinda. She’s buying an old book from me,” and nothing further, he couldn’t say he wasn’t disappointed.

He crooked his finger at her.

Slowly, feet shuffling, the epitome of a naughty girl getting caught with her hand in the cookie jar, she walked over and stood before him. She wouldn’t meet his eyes, but that wasn’t acceptable.

He put a forefinger under her chin and tipped her face up to his.

“It’s time to tell me what’s going on. You can start with the potion.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

TESSA SAT ON THE BENCHat the end of his bed where he put her. Jordan stood over her, his arms crossed, a more severe expression on his face than she’d ever seen before, and ordered in an imperious voice, “Let’s have it. From the beginning. Leave nothing out.”

After keeping things from him for the last twenty-four hours, adding lie upon lie on top of it, when she started telling the story, it was like a steam release valve had been opened. Everything came pouring out, not only the facts of her inexcusable behavior but the tumult of emotions teeming inside her—the guilt, the shame, the fear that the terrible thing she’d done couldn’t be undone.

At the end, when she broke into such gut-wrenching sobs, she wasn’t sure how much sense she made. In the state she was in, he hadn’t asked any questions. Instead, he sat on the bench beside her, pulled her into his lap, and rocked her in his arms while whispering things she couldn’t hear over her crying.

With her tears dried, for now at least, she waited for her Daddy, who in this case was both victim and judge, to pronounce sentencing. The seconds passing, echoed by the soft tick of the clock on the mantel, were torturous.

He stood next to the chair she’d sat in that morning, staring at the same view she had. Although she had been focused on the colossal mess she made, a part of her brain must have committed it to memory because could still see it clearly. It was the perfect spot to sit and think, but she wished he’d hurry and wrap up his deliberations before her nerves completely unraveled.

When he turned from the window, instead of coming to her, he moved past her.

Tessa couldn’t keep from anxiously blurting out, “Where are you going?”

“To get into dry clothes. This towel is cold and damp.”

It was little wonder. He’d come to her in the kitchen, fresh from a shower, nearly an hour ago.

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