October 7, 2017
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“Evangeline Meadows burst through the doors of Alasdair’s study like a poorly contained nuclear explosion. Her lilac eyes, which usually sparkled with humor and mischief, were glowing now with nothing less than unabashed fury as she stormed over to his desk and glared down at him as if she wanted to thrash him to within an inch of his life.
His hell-cat of a daughter stopped directly in front of where he sat calmly watching her, and rested her delicate hands on the solid mahogany desk, her full lips turned up in a snarl as her long nails dug into the highly-polished wood. “Please, Father,” she ground out, slowly, venomously, as if the very word was leaving a bad taste in her mouth that she just wanted to rid herself of and he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was way past the point of being merely upset with him.
His daughter was thoroughly pissed off and out for blood. His blood. And he really couldn’t say that he blamed her one bit. “Please, tell me the rumors that I’m hearing hold no truth to them. That they are just that: idle gossip and rumors!”
Alasdair grimaced guiltily at his daughter as a tired sigh passed his lips. He’d known that this moment was coming. It was inevitable. Yet he had been dreading it with every fiber of his being. He had been such a coward for not telling her himself.”
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