Page 35 of Daddy's Christmas Obsession
"What exactly are you saying?"
"I'm saying I find you extraordinarily compelling, Kyra. Not just your brilliant mind, though that caught my attention first." His eyes hold mine steadily. "I'm saying that if you want to explore this attraction between us, I'm open to that possibility. And if you don't, we can continue professionally without awkwardness."
The offer hangs there, deceptively simple. As if nothing's complicated about wanting my ex-boyfriend's father. As if crossing that line wouldn't shatter everything.
"I don't know what I want." The admission whispers out.
"I think you do." That unnerving confidence again, the certainty of a man who's always gotten what he wants. "But I understand your hesitation. There are complications. My son. Our age difference. The mentorship I've offered."
His clinical assessment of our obstacles somehow makes this more thrilling rather than less. The way he lists reasons we shouldn't be doing this while clearly intending to do it anyway.
"Take the day to think about it. No pressure. No expectations. I have work to attend to until early afternoon. Perhaps you'd like to review the research materials I provided some more?"
I nod, grateful for the reprieve, the chance to think clearly.
"Excellent." He rinses and loads the dishes, every motion purposeful. "We can reconvene for dinner. I'll prepare something special here tonight."
"Just us?" The question escapes before I can stop it.
His eyes meet mine, amusement flickering in their gray depths. "That depends entirely on the conclusion you reach during your deliberations, doesn't it? I have no intention of sharing you with the outside world just yet."
He crosses to where I sit. When he reaches me, he leans down, his lips close to my ear. "For what it's worth, Kyra, you have nothing to be embarrassed about. Desire is nothing to be ashamed of, especially when it's mutual."
My breath catches as his hand brushes my shoulder—a touch so light it could be accidental if not for the heat in his eyes when he straightens.
"I'll be in my study if you need anything."
Then he's gone, leaving me alone with my racing heart and chaotic thoughts.
Mutual.The word echoes in my mind. He wants me too. Not just as a promising researcher, not just as an interesting mind to cultivate. He wants me the way I want him—physically, completely.
I try to summon rational arguments. He's Aaron's father. My mentor, offering to open doors in my career that would otherwise stay closed.
And I'm utterly isolated here with him. Miles from the nearest neighbor, no car, no cell service. The rational part of my brain recognizes the vulnerability of my position. I should be afraid.
I'm not.
Against those logical protests, my body remembers the electricity of his touch. My mind recalls how he looks at me like he sees all of me—not just the ambitious scientist, but the woman underneath. How he remembers tiny details about my coffee, my food preferences.
No one has ever seen me so completely.
***
By mid-afternoon, I've abandoned all pretense of working. Instead, I explore the cabin, noting details I missed yesterday. Bookshelves mixing medical texts with classic literature and biographies of powerful men. Subtle but exquisite art—all originals, I suspect. Photographs showing Victor receiving awards, shaking hands with notable scientists and politicians.
Nothing of his son. Nothing personal at all. Just evidence of achievement, influence, power.
I find myself outside his study door, drawn there like metal to magnet. I raise my hand to knock, then hesitate. What am I doing? What will I say?
The door opens before I can decide, and Victor stands there, unsurprised to find me hovering.
"Kyra. I was just coming to find you."
He steps back, gesturing me inside. I enter, acutely aware of crossing a threshold that feels symbolic.
The study matches him perfectly—dark wood, leather furniture, walls of books. A large desk dominates the space, multiple monitors displaying our research data.
"Have you reached a decision?" He closes the door with a soft click.
