Page 65 of A Tempting Seduction
“Pwincess!”
“That's right, sweetheart,” I said. “She's a princess.”
Suzy turned to look at me with those enormous blue eyes, then pointed directly at my face.
“Pwincess!”
Heat flooded my cheeks as I realized what she was saying.
“No, honey. I'm not a princess.”
“Pwincess!” Suzy insisted, her voice rising with determination.
“Suzy, I'm just Ruby.”
The toddler's face scrunched up with frustration at my failure to understand something so obvious. She crawled across the blanket toward me, reaching for my hair.
“Pwincess!” she repeated, tugging hard on my red braid.
“I think she's saying you look like the princess in the movie,” Ford said, his voice warm with amusement.
Suzy grinned, then clapped. “Pwincess,” she said with obvious satisfaction, then gave my braid another hard yank.
The embarrassment that had been building in my chest intensified. I'd never thought of myself as princess material. Princesses were delicate, elegant, and beautiful. They wore ball gowns and tiaras, not jeans and coffee-stained aprons.
“Suzy's exactly right,” Ford said quietly, leaning close enough that his breath tickled my ear.
The words sent shivers down my spine. Ford's voice held a note of reverence that made me believe, just for a moment, that maybe I could be someone's princess. Someone's treasure.
His treasure.
“Stop,” I whispered, my cheeks burning with embarrassment and something deeper.
“Princess Ruby,” Ford murmured, so softly that only I could hear.
My heart hammered against my ribs as Ford's hand found mine, his fingers intertwining with mine in a gesture that felt intimate despite the presence of two small children. Ford's thumb traced circles on the back of my hand, the gentle touch both soothing and electrifying.
“Uncle Ford, what's that mean when you trace on Miss Ruby's hand?” JR asked with the curiosity that made four-year-olds both adorable and dangerous.
Ford's hand stilled, and I felt his slight intake of breath.
“It means I like Ruby very much,” he said simply.
“Do you want to marry her?”
The question hung in the air like a live wire. Ford's grip on my hand tightened slightly, and I found myself holding my breath waiting for his answer.
“That's not a question for little boys to ask,” Ford said diplomatically.
“Why not?”
“Because it's a grown-up question.”
“I'm gonna be a grown-up someday.”
“When you're a grown-up, you can ask all the grown-up questions you want.”
JR seemed satisfied with this explanation and returned his attention to his cars. But the tension between Ford and me had ratcheted up several notches, the innocent question exposing feelings neither of us was quite ready to discuss.
