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“So stop it,” she whispered to herself, grabbing the shampoo because she needed to get clean and go to bed. “It’s not going to happen. And it shouldn’t.”
It was time to wash that man right out of her hair.
Chapter
Twelve
“Daddy, can you do my hair like a princess?” Delilah asked, skipping into the kitchen in her fairy outfit. It was almost lunchtime on Saturday.
“Do princesses wear their hair in a ponytail?” he asked, hoping to hell she did. He was feeling tetchy and his third coffee of the day wasn’t cutting it. He’d spent the morning shopping for new shoes with Delilah – princess ones, of course, with glittery leather and little straps with sparkling buckles.
Why the hell did everything have to be princess? He’d tried to steer her toward a pair of cute little engineer boots, but she was having none of it. Fuck the patriarchy.
“No she doesn’t, silly.” Delilah pouted, and for a second she looked so much like Jade it made him blink. Most of the time he didn’t see that much of his late wife in her. Delilah was a Hartson through and through. But these occasional glimpses were like a fist to the stomach.
Another reminder that he’d failed to give his kid everything she needed.
“I want my hair to look like Cassie’s,” Delilah said firmly. “With pretty waves that go down around my shoulders.”
Pres blew out a mouthful of air. Of course she wanted to look like Cassie. And damn if that didn’t get him thinking about her again. The same way he had last night, remembering the way she’d looked when she’d shattered against his hand.
Christ, he needed a cold shower.
“She told me that I didn’t need to call her Miss. We’re friends,” Delilah said, full of satisfaction. “Can you do my waves now?”
“I can’t put your hair in waves. It needs to be set.”
“What about a curling wand?”
Where the hell had she learned about hair appliances? The kid was six. “I don’t have a curling wand.”
“Cassie does.”
Of course she did. Cassie had everything. Including his balls every time he looked at her. Or touched her. Or made her come.
Ah fuck. He needed to get over this.
“I’m not calling Cassie to borrow her curling wand. She’s working today anyway.”
“At the dance school?” Delilah asked.
“Yep.” She’d mentioned it last night. Marley had made sure they dropped her off first since the rest of them had the weekend free.
“Can we go see her there?”
“You’re going to a party,” he said patiently. “That’s why we’re doing your hair.” There was something kind of funny about a six year old’s attention. It wandered like a nomad, like her thoughts were always ten feet ahead of reality.
“Oh yeah. Like a princess.”
“A princess with a ponytail,” he reminded her.
“Can you at least do a braid?”
Fuck. Well, he could try. “If you promise not to cry while I’m doing it.”
“Just don’t tug too hard. You can wet it like Cassie does.”
Twenty minutes later, they were walking out of the door. Delilah’s hair was in some kind of braid, though it wasn’t his best effort. Not his worst either. But she’d praised him anyway, like he was the kid and she was the parent.
