Page 82 of Tell Me Again
Sashayed. He wasn’t even sure exactly what that word meant but there was no other way to describe it. His stomach lurched as he watched her move forward in a pair of strappy heels and a formfitting, sparkly cocktail dress that showed off way too much leg. His gaze zeroed in on the scar above her knee, the one she’d gotten when she’d crashed on her scooter several years ago. Back when she was his sweet tomboy and a hug from Daddy could make the hurt all better.
Christ, how he missed those days.
Unaware of him watching, she placed her hands on her hips and pivoted, turning to face away from him. Sam came to stand in the doorway, clapping softly as she grinned at Grace. “A natural,” she said, and then her words were lost under the roaring in his head.
She wore a skintight, floor-length emerald dress with cutouts on either side of her waist, her creamy skin peeking through. The neckline plunged to deep between her breasts, and the dress was crafted of some sort of material that seemed to shimmer and catch the light each time she moved. Her hair had been pulled back, revealing the smooth column of her neck.
He must have made a noise, because they both turned to where he stood. Sam looked as gobsmacked as he felt, but Grace bounded over, or more like toddled over, in her towering heels.
“Hey, Dad, we’re playing dress up with Sam’s modeling clothes.” She spun in a small circle in front of him. “This is the dress I’m thinking of wearing to the dance. Isn’t it beautiful? It’s Chanel. My friends are going to freak out when they see it.”
Although her enthusiasm bubbled up and spilled over, he wanted to drag her to the bathroom to wash the makeup off her face and pull her hair out of the intricate braid that wound around her head. He wanted her in pigtails and brightly colored tutus with smears of jam across her cheek. He wanted to stop time. Right now.
“You look beautiful,” he said instead, because he might be an old dog, but he was learning. His daughter didn’t take well to tirades or ultimatums, and he wasn’t in a position to give either. The dress was more conservative than several of the ones he’d seen in photos on her phone that her friends planned to wear. Her makeup was light and age-appropriate. He had no reason to complain.
Other than the deep ache inside his chest that his little girl was growing up.
“Thanks, Daddy,” she whispered. “I have to show you the pictures Sam took of me in the other dresses.”
As she moved toward her phone on the coffee table, Trevor’s gaze slammed into Sam’s. “Wow,” he mouthed to her, lifting a brow.
She blinked then glanced down and gasped, as if she hadn’t realized what she wore. Her hands immediately lifted to cover the gaping V-neck of her dress, making him smile.
“Sam said they were too mature for a junior high dance,” Grace told him, holding out her phone for his inspection. He glanced back in the direction of the doorway but Sam had disappeared. “You should see the clothes she has in there.” Grace’s blue eyes widened. “I mean, there are racks of stuff from every famous designer in the world. They loved her.”
Of course they did, Trevor thought. Sam Carlton was arguably the most beautiful woman in the world, and he wasn’t even being biased. He also had to admit that his daughter was going to be just as breathtaking.
That fact solidified in his brain as he scrolled through the photos on her phone. They showed Grace in an array of outfits and a multitude of poses, each one of them more stunning than the last. Spots swam in front of his eyes and he found it difficult to take a breath as he struggled to wrap his brain around the ramifications of these pictures.
“Do you think I look pretty?” she asked, her voice young and hopeful.
He opened his mouth then shut it again. Maybe he was having a heart attack, although panic was more likely. Yeah, that must be it, because panic swarmed his body like he was on a sinking ship in the middle of shark-infested waters.
“I’m more impressed with what’s between your ears than seeing you preen for the camera,” he bit off and immediately regretted it.
Grace’s head snapped back. Her eyebrows furrowed and her mouth compressed into the teen scowl he’d so quickly come to know and detest. This time he had no one to blame but himself.
“I can be smartandpretty, Dad,” she told him with a thirteen-year-old sneer. “They’re not mutually exclusive—oh, no, that’s a big word.” She glared at him. “Are you surprised I understand it with my blond hair?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Grace.”
“Me?” She took a step away from him. “You’re the one being ridiculous. And a big jerk, too. I’m sorry I can’t be your little girl anymore, Dad. I’m sorry you liked me better that way.”
“I don’t—”
“This is who I am.” She grabbed the phone from him. “You can’t stop me. Maybe now you control everything, but it won’t be like that forever.”
Before he could reply, she turned and stomped away. Two steps and an ankle gave out. She stumbled, bent, and peeled off the shoes, tossing them into the pile in front of the couch then hurried past Sam, who now stood in front of the door to the bedroom or closet or whatever secret female space was at the end of the attic.
It was a space that scared the hell out of him.
Sam winced as the door slammed shut behind her. She’d changed from the slinky dress to her normal uniform of a T-shirt and baggy jeans. As sexy as she’d looked in the green number, he liked her even better this way. It left more to his imagination, which was on constant overdrive when it came to this woman.
“The kids at camp have a saying they love to use,” she drawled. “Climb in the oven because you just gotroasted.” She gave a harsh laugh. “I think that describes the way she took you down.”
Trevor registered the truth of the words and that he’d deserved the tongue-lashing, but he did his best to ignore both as his panic transformed into something bitter.
“You let her do this?” He gestured to the discarded clothes like they were castoffs from a burlesque troupe on the Vegas strip.
