She finished it off by dressing it in a blue gown with yellow bows. When she held it up for inspection, a feeling of breathlessness came over her as heat radiated through her chest. Try to break this one, Van.
She hopped up, carrying the doll with her, and stopped at the display cabinet. The angle of the light cast her reflection in the glass door. She guiltily tugged up her shirt and revealed her tummy. Having neglected her purging habit in Van's ever-watchful presence, she'd gained weight. At least six pounds, maybe more.
Bile simmered in her throat. She tucked the doll under her arm and pinched her hip, a repulsive hunk of flesh. Saliva burst through her mouth, overwhelming her with the sudden need to spit. She clamped her lips closed, fighting it.
Maybe he wasn't telling her his secrets because he'd lost interest in her. She hadn't made much progress combating the OCD, and she fought him every day when he dragged her outside. That must've been it. He was tired of her.
With her self-berating thoughts banging in her head, she left the garage in search of him. To show him the doll, to hold him, kiss him, talk with him, it didn't matter. She needed his strength and their connection.
When she stepped into the kitchen, she slammed to a halt. He leaned against the counter, sipping a glass of tequila, dressed in a suit. His strong, freshly-shaven jaw and thick, dark hair were just two of the countless traits that made him painfully attractive. He wore a narrow black tie and black button-up shirt beneath a suit that matched the striking color of his pale gray eyes.
The spice of his cologne reached her nose, seductively tempting her arousal. And taunting her insecurities.
Did he want to go on a date? He knew she couldn't. Oh God, she couldn't. She bit down on her cheek. Stop being so self-absorbed. Maybe this had nothing to do with her.
She swallowed her dread. “You look...Wow.” She wanted to eat him. She laid the doll on the counter and reached up, adjusting his collar and stroking her knuckles over his jaw. Then she slid her palm down his tie. “Why are you dressed up?”
He drained the glass of tequila and set it beside the doll. “I'm going out.”
A cold fever flashed through her cheeks. Dressed like that? A date with someone else? Her hands shook, and she gripped them behind her back. “Where?”
His eyes, God those eyes, pierced through her like knives. Then he sharpened the cut with his answer. “I'm going to see Liv.”
Probably an inappropriate time for Van's cock to get hard, but fuck him, Amber's jealousy was as sexy as her tight little body. He leaned against the kitchen counter, shoved a hand in his pocket, and gave his dick a firm pinch, not that it helped.
Her jealousy, however, was bred from her poor self-worth, which was the root of the bulimia, the need for perfection, and the avoidance of outside.
She held her composure admirably, but that didn't mean her insecurities weren't bursting at the seams. Her hands were behind her back, so he leaned in, straining to hear the crack of her knuckles. The popping didn’t come, but her cheeks flushed a lovely shade of pink. And was that a growl in her throat?
Somehow, she pulled off a pleasant voice. “Why would you need to see her?”
Because his daughter was growing up without him. Because his infrequent visits to Liv's window over the past three weeks weren't turning up any information. There'd been nothing on her possible connections with the cartel or FBI; nothing to tell if she was using those connections to trap him in the event he attempted to contact their daughter.
His involvement in Mr. E's operation was still unknown to authorities. If he surfaced, it would threaten his freedom and ironically Amber's. Liv would rat him out if she sensed even a hint of danger with regard to their daughter. Prison was not an option.
The one thing he wouldn't do was take Livana from her stable life with Mr. E's widow. Despite his history with kidnapping, he would never do that to his daughter. Fuck, he just wanted to be a part of her life and needed to make sure Liv understood that.
He turned the glass of tequila on the counter round and round as he collected his thoughts. Telling Amber about his purpose with Liv meant revealing his parenthood and exposing the looming reason he'd taken Amber, why he'd worked so hard to help her conquer the disorders. She would eventually find out his intention to use her as a character reference with Liv. How would she react to that? Would she think he was using her? Was he?
He used her body for his pleasure, and he depended on her strength to be a better man. But most days, it was a damned struggle to reconcile his goal with all the sentimental crud sticking to his heart. He was so wrapped up in Amber, adrift in the most thrilling moments of his life, he'd lost his bearings.