Daddy Dearest

Chapter Two

Mr. Davenport POV

I had to quickly get away from her. Without helping her out of that car or offering to carry in her bag, I enter the house from the garage and head directly to the den, where we have a mini-bar. I bring up the bottle of Lagavulin that I keep in a locked shelf and pour myself a shot into a highball.

I take a quick look around to make sure I don't have an audience--with five other people in the house, that's not always possible-- and guzzle down my drink like a dehydrated man who has just crossed a desert without a drop of water. I close my eyes to enjoy that silky heat that surges through my veins and calms my nerves.

I could not stop touching her. Whilst we were in the car, I wanted nothing more than to haul her onto my lap and nuzzle her neck. She smelled incredible. That mixture of fruity body lotion, her sweat, and that special fragrance that a woman emits when she's menstruating... It took all of my concentration to keep my eyes on the road and off the perky, apple-shaped tits that strained against the thin material of her t-shirt.

I reach down into my trousers so I could adjust myself, lining up my hardening cock to my navel. Jesus, what kind of dirty, old man am I turning into, lusting after a girl I raised practically along with my children, a girl twenty-five years my junior? Hell, what am I doing panting after a female who wasn't my wife?

I used to criticize her father for falling in love with his own daughter's nanny. Nancy Beckett was only eighteen when she started working for the Plums and Harry married her when she was twenty-one. He'd agonized over desiring a young woman more than half his age and I had judged him harshly for it. Several years later, I am in the same boat and worse yet, she is the daughter of a man who was once almost like a brother to me.

Father of the Fucking Year Award, that's what I deserve, especially since I know my own son desires her, too. He's been harboring a crush on her since they were in the sixth grade.

I pour another half a shot of scotch into my glass and gulp it in one swallow. Waverly would be horrified if she knew I was guzzling down a lovely sipping scotch like it's cheap liquor store bourbon. But that would be nothing if she found me getting sauced on a late Friday afternoon when I'm supposed to be driving the family in two hours for dinner. By the time I set down the highball glass a second time, my hand was no longer shaking. I have got to get a hold of myself. I'm acting like an overly hormonal teenage boy with a perpetual hard-on.

The motion sensor above the door that leads to the garage beeps and I look up in time to see Melody cross the living room, clutching her overnight bag to her front. With her hair pulled up into a high ponytail, she looks even younger. She stops at the mouth of the den and waves awkwardly at me.

I wave back. Hopefully she didn't see my rock-hard boner while we were in the car earlier. "Charlotte is in her room and Charlie is in the backyard with his mother. You know where to go. You practically live here." I attempt a smile, but I can't be sure if it were successful.

"Thank you, Mr. Davenport." She bobs like a maid before the Lord of the manor and dashes off upstairs to join my daughter.

I put away the evidence of my drinking right before I hear some noise behind me and my six-year-old daughter Madison launches herself into my arms. Behind her is her eleven-year-old brother Noah, looking like the somber little professor as usual in his brown cords, navy blue jumper, and horn-rimmed glasses.

"Daddy, Noah is being a poopy-head. He said everyone is full of bacteria, but I've got the most in the world!"

My son smirks and pushes up his glasses along his freckled nose. Waverly says out of all our children, he's the one who resembles me the most. He's also the biggest smart-ass. "It's true. Bacteria are everywhere. There's, like, a million bacteria on the top segment of this finger alone." He holds up his thumb.