Stiff and tense with the stark, familial intimacy of the moment, I screwed my eyes shut so I didn’t have to face her father less than a foot away from me on the pillows. Her movement had pulled him closer. His hand and wrist were millimeters from my belly. I struggled to think what I could do with my arms. Naturally, one would drape one over her small body, but his arm was there. I settled for resting mine awkwardly along my side.

Xavier’s fingers must be stroking her arm or something because I could sense the small and gentle rhythmic movements.

Dauphine’s shuddering breaths calmed and deepened, and her body relaxed.

I opened my eyes slowly, looking at the top of her head and wondering how long it would take for her to get into a deep sleep so I could slip out.

I couldn’t help my gaze moving up to where I knew Xavier lay.

Dark eyes studied me. I saw gratitude warring with conflict.

Keeping my breathing as steady as I could, I held his gaze. Long moments passed. The longest I’d allowed myself to really look at him, I realized. Certainly the longest we’d locked gazes. I surrendered to the experience, as if he was a decadent chocolate mousse after I’d been on a years-long diet. It felt rich, intoxicating, and really, really bad for me. The tension grew, but underneath was an intimacy that felt deeper somehow, perhaps due to the sleeping child resting between us, but also underscoring the fact that Dauphine was the most important element here. And somehow it also came with the message that anything or anyone that might threaten her, Xavier Pascale wouldn’t hesitate to cut out, cleanly and without hesitation.

His eyes began a slow roam over my face.

He didn’t have to say anything for me to understand just a fraction of how weird this situation must be.

It was too intimate.

It was too much like a family.

It was so intensely personal.

Strange things were happening inside my chest, and making me want to reach out and brush his dark hair from his temples.

Things that made me want to place a kiss in his daughter’s hair as if she was mine.

Ours.

For an inkling I understood the pure connectedness, fierce protectiveness, and familial love a mother must feel when she shelters her child with her mate.

His gaze returned to mine. And then suddenly the heat of his fingers pressed against the fabric of my shirt.

My breath stuttered to a halt, my lungs seizing, as a current swept over my skin. Was this really happening?

Fingers trailed down and then they were on my skin, on my belly where my tank must have ridden up.

My mouth parted on a puff of air.

And then there was nothing. His fingers were gone.