Page 16 of Mile High Daddy

I raise an eyebrow, unsure if she’s teasing or genuinely asking. “A virgin?”

She nods.

“No,” I say simply, waiting for her reaction.

She smiles faintly, her confidence growing. “Didn’t think so.”

The air between us shifts, almost crackling.

“I don’t want to sound desperate,” she says suddenly. “I’m twenty-four already. I haven’t been on a date for the past few months. People just cancel on me, and at this point, I’m not sure if it’s ever going to happen. God, I thought I would die today as a virgin.” She hesitates, biting her lip as her eyes drop to her glass. “But…what if we…?”

My body tightens, every instinct screaming at me to stop this now. She’s here, in New York. I should be making the call, letting her father know where she is. That’s the plan. That’s why I’m here.

But then she looks up at me, her green eyes wide and unguarded, and I feel the pull of her like a vise around my chest.

“What?” I ask, my voice rougher than I intended.

“What if I want you to make love to me?” she says.

5

LILA

My heart is pounding so loudly I’m sure he can hear it. The moment the words leave my lips—I want you to make love to me—the room feels impossibly small, the air charged with tension so thick it’s almost suffocating.

But he doesn’t respond.

The silence stretches, and I can feel the heat rising to my face, burning my cheeks and ears. He just…staresat me, his gray eyes unreadable, his expression impossible to interpret.

What was I thinking?

“I didn’t mean it like that,” I blurt, scrambling to find an exit from this moment. My voice is shaky, my words tumbling out too fast. “I mean, I don’t know what I meant, but…forget it, okay? Just—forget I said anything.”

I push myself off the couch, my legs unsteady as I make for the sanctuary of the bedroom. Maybe if I hide under the covers for the next fifty years, I’ll survive the humiliation.

But before I take two steps, his hand catches mine.

“Lila.”

His voice is low, almost a growl, and it freezes me in place. I glance back, but before I can say anything, he pulls me toward him with a strength that feels effortless.

The next thing I know, I’m in his lap, his hands firm on my waist, holding me there like I belong. My breath catches, my heart slamming against my ribs as I find myself face-to-face with him, so close I can see the faint stubble on his jaw, the way his pupils darken as they lock onto mine.

There’s a roughness to him, from the scar on his cheek to the faint shadow of stubble. Nothing about him is polished, but everything about him demands attention.

“You don’t get to walk away after saying something like that,kiska,” he murmurs, his voice rough and laced with something that sends a shiver down my spine.

“I didn’t—” My protest dies in my throat as his hand moves, brushing against my side, his thumb skimming the bare skin where my shirt has ridden up.

“You meant it,” he says, his gray eyes pinning me in place. “Didn’t you?”

I want to argue, want to deny it, but the words won’t come. Because the truth is, Ididmean it. Every syllable.

“I…” My voice falters, and I feel the heat of his gaze everywhere, like it’s burning through me.

His hand moves again, this time sliding up my back, his fingers threading into my hair. “Say it again,” he says, his voice dropping to a whisper.

My pulse is racing, my breaths uneven as his eyes search mine. I’ve never felt this exposed, this raw, and yet I can’t look away.

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