Page 7 of Daddy's Claim
His hand came to rest on the back of my thigh. “You’re going to apologize?”
“Yes! Just stop hitting me!”
Whatever I’d expected to come next, it wasn’t for him to lift me up and settle me on his lap like a child who’d just come running to Daddy with a scraped knee. Or for him to press a gentle kiss to the top of my head as if he was kissing it all better.
And I certainly hadn’t expected the rush of warmth to my core or the overwhelming desire to snuggle into his broad chest for comfort.
“What are you doing?” I asked, unable to keep the suspicion out of my voice. What the hell was his angle?
“Holding you. I thought that was obvious.” Amusement laced his tone and I got the distinct impression he was laughing at me.
“Please let me go.”
His heavy sigh almost made me feel bad, but he did release me. Hopping up off his lap, I jerked my dress back into place, pulling it down as far as it would go and hissing as the scratchy fabric scraped over my abraded skin. But when I twisted to inspect the backs of my legs, I realized there was no way the dress was long enough to cover the smattering of bright pink handprints painted on my skin.
“I can’t go out there like this!”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s humiliating!”
“You should have thought of that before you berated and humiliated that girl in front of everyone.”
Tears burned in my eyes, just adding to the utter humiliation and misery of my wedding day. “I hate you.”
“Too bad, princess. You’re stuck with me.”
Three
Nora
With my face burning from the humiliation of what I’d just endured, I trailed my bully of a husband back into the living room. A small part of me had expected my father to leap to my defense, but he was lounging on the couch, chatting with Cole as though nothing had happened. As though he hadn’t just heard his only daughter being beaten in the next room.
Jesus, had I really been so awful that he could be so indifferent to my pain? Was he really that happy to be rid of me?
That thought hurt more than any spanking.
Fighting back a fresh wave of tears, I approached the maid who was wringing her hands beside a now neatly-stacked pile of luggage.
“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” I said quietly, my voice strangled by the tears clogging my throat. “Thank you for bringing my things downstairs.”
Without giving anyone a chance to critique my apology, I turned on my heel and strode out of the living room.Unfortunately for me, Michael’s legs were a hell of a lot longer than mine, and he managed to cut me off before I reached the front door.
“I’d like to go wait in the car,” I said stiffly, staring straight into his chest.
But apparently I wasn’t to be afforded even that small reprieve. Gripping my chin between his thumb and forefinger, Michael tilted my face so I was forced to look up at him.
“I know that was hard for you,” he said softly, his voice surprisingly kind. “I’m proud of you, princess.”
For the first time, the nickname sounded like a term of endearment, rather than a taunt. But I refused to let myself get drawn in by a few gentle touches and sweet words. “Thanks. Can I go now?”
“Sure. I wouldn’t mind having you to myself for a few minutes.”
It was probably useless to point out I’d wanted to be alone, so I bit back the scathing retort burning on my tongue and let him guide me out to the sleek SUV waiting at the bottom of the stairs.
Inspiration struck as he was opening the door. “Wait! What about my car?”
“We’ll have someone bring it over for you.”