Page 34 of Daddy's Christmas Obsession
"Good morning, Kyra." He doesn't turn around, somehow sensing my presence. "Sleep well?"
Something in his tone makes flames lick up my neck. He knows exactly how I slept. Knows what I did in that bed.
"Fine." My voice comes out breathy. I clear my throat. "The guest room is very comfortable."
"I'm glad." He turns then, spatula in hand, and his full attention hits me like a physical force. Silver threads through his dark hair. Stubble shadows his jaw, making him look even more devastatingly masculine. "Coffee?"
"Please."
I claim a seat at the kitchen island, studying the granite. Victor places a steaming mug before me.
"Thank you." I wrap both hands around the cup to hide their trembling.
"I'm making omelets," he says, returning to the stove. "I remember you mentioned enjoying them."
"That sounds wonderful."
Silence settles as he finishes cooking. I watch the controlled grace of his movements, the confident strength in his hands as he flips the omelet with practiced ease. Everything about him speaks of mastery—analyzing data, making breakfast, getting what he wants.
"Here we are." He slides a plate before me. Restaurant-quality presentation, perfect melted cheese, diced vegetables arranged just so. "Eat while it's hot."
"It looks incredible. Where did you learn to cook like this?"
He sits across from me with his own plate. "I've never been one to settle for less than excellence."
The statement hangs between us, weighted with meaning I'm not ready to examine.
We eat quietly. The omelet tastes amazing, but I barely notice, too busy staring at Victor. The precise way he cuts his food. The movement of his throat when he swallows. Occasional glances that feel like assessments.
"About last night." The words drop like stones into still water.
I nearly choke on my bite.
"Victor, I—"
"Let me speak first." His voice carries gentle command.
I nod, pulse hammering against my ribs.
"I want to apologize if I made you uncomfortable. Coming into your room was presumptuous. I thought I heard you call out, and I was concerned."
The lie sits between us. We both know what he heard. What I said. My cheeks burn.
"It's fine. I should apologize for being inappropriate."
"Kyra." My name sounds different in his voice, intimate and warm. "Look at me."
Meeting his gaze takes every ounce of courage I possess. The intensity there steals my breath.
"There's nothing inappropriate about acknowledging what exists between us. I've been careful to maintain boundaries because I respect you. But we both know there's more happening here than mentorship."
My heart pounds faster. Is he really acknowledging this? The tension that's been building since I arrived? The electricity that crackles every time we're alone?
"I don't know what you mean." The lie tastes bitter.
His lips curve in a smile that makes my stomach flip. "I think you do." He leans forward slightly. "Dreams have a way of revealing what we hide from ourselves during waking hours."
Oh God.He's really doing this. I should shut it down, change the subject, remind him why I came here—for his expertise, not to explore this dangerous pull between us.
