Page 33 of At First Flight
“Yeah, something about you being on a list of billionaire heirs.”
“Mm-hmm, not just any list—world’s sexiest.”
He wags his eyebrows, and I find myself giggling.
“How much did you have to pay to rig that list in your favor?” I joke.
Leaning closer to me, Dean brushes his thumb back and forth across my hand. “You don’t think I could have won it on my own? Don’t you think I’m sexy?”
That silly song about being too sexy starts playing in the background of my mind as I lock eyes with Dean. Another giggle threatens to burst forth.
“I…” I begin just as Dean rotates his entire body to face mine, mimicking how I’m sitting. “I think I should head to bed.”
“It’s seven thirty.”
“Well, maybe I’m tired.”
“Or maybe I make you nervous.”
“You don’t,” I reply, my voice cracking midway.
Somehow, Dean’s closer now, his face mere inches away from mine. My fingers itch to reach out and touch the stubble along his jaw.
“I think you want me to kiss you.”
Breathlessly, I reply, “Wrong again.”
His eyes trace my movements as I lick my lips.
Suddenly, his mood shifts, and Dean moves back against the couch and takes a sip of his drink before reaching for the remote on the coffee table.
“Whatever you say, ghost girl.”
Brusquely, I stand from the couch, my wine nearly spilling from my glass. “I think I’ll spend the rest of the evening in the library. Thank you very much.” My feet smack against the hardwoods as I move toward the front of the house, where I noticed a small library filled with books earlier. I make sure to grab the wine bottle on my way.
Just as I’m about to turn down the hall, Dean’s deep voice calls out, “You know, I’m not going to kiss you until you ask me.”
“Not going to happen.”
Dean’s laughter fills the living room as I walk away. I swear I hear him say, “It will.”
“Arrogant bastard.”
Chapter Seven– Dean
The mornings with Lila under my roof start with the scent of maple syrup and laughter. Not a bad combination.
I glance up from the financial report open on my laptop, the blue light from the screen casting a glow across the dark wood of my desk. I’m supposed to be focused on quarterly returns and partnership projections, but all I can hear is Evelyn’s squeal from the kitchen.
“More pancake, Lila!”
Her tiny voice carries through the hallway, bouncing off the walls of this new house like it’s always belonged here. I shut the laptop. Screw projections. For five minutes, I want to see what this house looks like with a little light in it.
I step out of the office barefoot, scratching at the stubble on my jaw. The hardwood is cool beneath my feet as I pad down the stairs toward the kitchen. The scent hits me before I reach the doorway—coffee, cinnamon, and something so warm it makes my chest ache.
She’s got Evelyn balanced on one hip, her brown hair wild with sleep. Remnants of syrup cause some hair to stick to her cheek. Lila is talking to her in a soft, animated voice while flipping pancakes one-handed.
“Do you think butterflies like pancakes?” Lila asks, clearly mid-conversation. “Maybe they prefer nectar, but who can resist maple syrup?”
