“A little, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. It was upsetting, but I’m fine now.”
He stopped in front of her, so sincere and . . . warm. “You keep saying that, but your eyes say something different. I hate to see you sad, Daph. You sure the hell don’t deserve to be sad.”
Then he wrapped his arms around her and held her.
At first Daphne resisted, pulling back, but he held her firm, tucking her head beneath his chin. His hands rubbed her back. Clay was solid . . . and warm . . . and so much what she shouldn’t want. But she did. God help her. His arms felt so good.
Which meant she stayed exactly where she was even as the mood shifted from comforting to the point where arms were not just arms and the hardness she pressed against not intrusive but very welcome. Her body took over before her mind could catch up.
His lips brushed her temple, and she felt that once forgotten but newly awakened liquid heat ignite in her pelvis. It would be so easy to give herself to him. Temptation scratched at her resolve.
What would it hurt?
Clay moved his hands lower, cupping her ass and pressing his erection against her belly. Damn, the man got hard fast.
Daphne lifted her head. His blue eyes were limpid pools of Come on in, baby.
“Daph,” he whispered, his gaze dropping to her lips. He lowered his head and brushed his lips sweetly against hers. Somehow the bare glancing of his mouth over hers was ten times more erotic than if he’d kissed her fully. He made his way down her throat, and though she had every intention of stopping him, she allowed it for a second, two seconds, because it felt so good to be wanted. His fingers slipped the top two buttons open, and the rasp of his whiskers against the tender slope of her breast made her catch her breath.
She wanted him so badly . . . but she couldn’t go there.
Couldn’t make that mistake again.
They had to stop.
Just as Daphne was about to press her hands against his rock-hard chest, a knock sounded.
“Clay, stop,” she said, shaking her head and stepping backward.
Clay did indeed stop the sweet torture he was performing on his way to her breasts. In that he was an obedient man. But then he took the three steps to the door and opened it before Daphne could protest.
Ellery stood in the hall with her hand raised in a fist.
Clay stood, looking at her daughter, his eyes still dilated, his tight jeans framing his arousal in an in-your-face display of manhood.
Daphne clutched her shirt, which gaped to reveal the edge of her lacy bra and probably the outline of her hardened nipples. She knew she looked flushed, turned on, and out of breath.
And totally busted.
Ellery’s hand dropped as her eyes widened. Then she snapped her gaping mouth closed as she took in the scene before her. Daphne could almost see the wheels turning in her daughter’s head. Mom with her shirt half-unbuttoned. Spin. Click. Clay standing with an unapologetic erection pressing against his fly. Spin. Click. Intimacy almost as thick as the overly plush rug in the hall. Spin. Click.
“Can we help you, Elle?” Clay asked. His tone told Ellery in no uncertain terms that she was interrupting something. Daphne could see exactly when her daughter understood what was going on. The realization crackled in those pretty blue eyes she’d stared into as she nursed her . . . as she taught her to ride her bike . . . as she betrayed her with her ex-boyfriend.
“I came to . . .” Ellery shook her head, her mouth pressing into a tight line as her angry blue eyes narrowed. “You know what? Never mind.”
“Nope. I can see I interrupted. Carry on.” Ellery reached out for the doorknob. Clay still held the door ajar, but as Ellery tugged at the knob, he released it.
The last thing Daphne saw before the door shut was the absolutely devastated and furious glare of her only child. Daphne’s heart hit her toes, and her stomach immediately cramped.
“Oh my God,” Daphne said, doubling over and clutching her middle. She backed up, hitting the tapestry chair in the corner of the room. “She knows. Ellery knows about us.”
“Who cares? We’re adults,” Clay said, moving toward her. He’d started unbuttoning his