Page 60 of Paper Horses

“Why?”

I drew back, giving her a wicked glare. “Because when I get back, I’m going to spend the day using it like I’ve dreamed of for fifteen years.”

“All day?” she asked, her eyes wide.

With a chuckle, I bumped her legs apart with my knee and slid my hand down her body. “All damn day.” Palming her warmth, I watched as the hues in her eyes shifted. “And you’re going to come for me repeatedly until I’m satisfied.”

A perfectly manicured brow arched. “Until you’re satisfied?”

I plunged a finger into her, loving the exhale that escaped as her face contorted with pleasure.

“Exactly.”

Hands wrapped around my neck and pulled me down, sending my mouth meeting hers. Separating from her for even a few minutes was going to be difficult now that I had her back, and I didn’t want to think about how miserable it would be when the car returned to take her home.

Stopping the kiss, I removed my finger and sat back, cleaning it and convincing myself not to continue until she broke. “Just like honey,” I said, rising and adjusting myself.

Sprawled on my bed, with her hair streaming around her, eyes lit with excitement, tears dried, she looked like a goddess.

“Get under the sheets and wait for me.”

I rolled my neck, trying to focus on anything but the taste in my mouth and the tempting woman in my bed. The sheets ruffled, and I glanced back to see her sitting up, her knees drawn to her chest, sight on me.

“And no more tears, Olivia.” I stopped, reconsidering my words, and turned to her. “No. Cry if you want and when you want, but don’t shed tears about what’s to come. We’ll deal with that when the day arrives. For now, you cry about anything else and I’ll be there to catch your tears. Understood?”

“Tears don’t solve anything,” she said in a quiet voice.

“Maybe not, but they sure as hell make you feel better when they’ve been bottled up inside of you like they have, and I refuse to let you bottle that shit up anymore. I want you free of it. So free that you’ll walk up to your father the next time you see him and with that confident, bitchy tone you have, tell him what a piece of shit he is before you cut him from your life.”

She gnawed on her bottom lip. “Tori thinks there’s room for reconciliation.”

I gaped at her. “You’re joking, right?”

A head shake had me questioning why Gabe’s wife would think he should be anywhere near the man who had treated his children so horrendously.

“And what does your brother think of that?”

With a shrug, she said, “He’s taking it in steps, but I doubt there will be anything but hate there.”

“What about for you?”

Her eyes dropped. “Mama was the one who held us together when she was having her good days. She doted on us, especially Gabe.” She rested her chin on her knees, and I had to force myself to ignore the fact that she was completely naked. This was important for her to talk out, and I needed to understand. “He’s like her in a lot of ways. He doesn’t see it. Thinks he takes after our father, but that’s not true. Only when he’s working is he like him. He has her ways, the softness she had.”

I tipped my head, watching as she took a deep breath and lifted her gaze to me. “And you?”

“I am my father’s daughter.”

A resolute confession with no regrets, no guilt. Owning the distinction from her brother, the one that connected her to a man no one would want to emulate. Quiet stretched between us like a bridge waiting to be crossed as I tossed those words around in my mind.

“How do you feel about that?” I asked, tucking my hands in my pockets.

“I don’t know. As horrible as he was…” Admitting she was anything like him was something she didn’t like, and maybe she’d never admitted it before. Shielding the truth behind the same walls she’d built to hide her emotions.

I walked back into the room and squatted before her, taking her hand in mine. “You’re not everything he is, Olivia. Maybe you made yourself hard and indifferent because that’s the way you needed to be to prove yourself, but that’s not who you are. Not the girl I fell in love with, or the woman who keeps giving me glimpses of that girl. You wear a mask to show the world you’re his daughter. Tough and uncaring. But the other parts of you, the intelligent, talented, calculating woman, are who you are without his influence. And the parts of you that you tucked away to fit into his world are still there. It might take some time to set them free again, but I can promise you, I’ll make every attempt to help you because those are the pieces I love most about you. The amazing, smart, caring, beautiful woman you are.”

She snorted, and I could see her covering her emotions. “I doubt anyone would call me caring.”

“Not your nephew?”