Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
AUbrEY
Sleep isn’t happening.
I’ve spent the last hour staring at the ceiling, flipping my pillow over every five minutes, as if somehow the cool side will magically quiet my brain, but it doesn’t.
Every time I close my eyes, I’m back in that hallway outside the restroom.
He actually admitted he’d been trying to stay away from me. And the way he looked at me like I was the answer to a question he’d been fighting himself not to ask.
Then another interruption—another almost kiss.
I groan into my pillow.
This has to stop.
I can’t keep replaying the same thirty seconds over and over.
Carefully, I slip out of bed, grateful I don’t have to worry about waking Sydney, who’s sleeping in one of the guest rooms clear across the penthouse.
She insisted she wanted to give me my space, though right now, I would welcome someone to distract me from my own thoughts.
The hardwood floor is cool beneath my bare feet as I quietly make my way toward the kitchen.
I’m wearing nothing more than an oversize T-shirt and a pair of black panties, hardly expecting anyone else to be awake at one in the morning.
The apartment is almost completely dark. Only the city lights filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows paint pale ribbons across the marble countertops.
I don’t bother turning on a light. I’ve lived here long enough to know exactly where everything is.
I reach into the cabinet for a glass.
“Couldn’t sleep?”
The familiar deep voice comes from somewhere behind me.
A startled gasp escapes me before I can stop it. My hand flies to my chest as I spin around.
“Dean!” My heart pounds so hard that it actually hurts. “You scared me.”
He steps out from the shadows near the windows, a bottle of water dangling loosely from one hand. “I can see that.”
Even in the darkness, I can make out the tired smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. It’s the first genuine smile I’ve seen from him in weeks.
“I thought everyone was asleep,” I answer with a whisper.
“So did I.”
For a long moment, neither of us says anything. The silence doesn’t feel uncomfortable. It feels expectant, like we’re both standing on the edge of something neither of us completely understands.
“I tried to sleep,” I finally admit.
“Same,” he says, sounding resigned.
I pour myself a glass of water, mostly because I need something to do with my hands.
The cool glass feels steady, but I don’t.
“You and Sydney looked like you had fun tonight.”
I glance over at him. “We did.”
“I noticed.”
There’s something about the way he says it that makes warmth spread through my chest.
“You followed me.” It’s not really a question.
“No.”
The honesty catches me off guard.
I shake my head with a nervous laugh. “I don’t understand you.”
“I know,” he replies as he takes a step in my direction.
I can’t help but take in just how good he looks in just his boxer briefs. His stomach is like a work of art, each curve distinct.
“You barely spoke to me for two weeks.”
“I know.”
“You acted like I didn’t exist.”
“I know,” he answers without hesitation.
He doesn’t give any excuses or have a hint of defensiveness in his tone. He just gives quiet acceptance.
“I’ve been trying to figure out what happened,” I say as I bite my lip and look away.
His shoulders rise and fall with a slow breath. “So have I.”
I look down into my glass before meeting his eyes again. “That’s a terrifying answer.”
“It is.”
He sets his water bottle on the island before closing the distance between us. Each step seems to shrink the enormous kitchen until, suddenly, it feels like there’s nowhere left to run.
I don’t move—I can’t.
“I thought staying away from you would fix this.” His eyes never leave mine. “I convinced myself that if I quit talking to you”—he lets out a quiet, self-deprecating laugh— “eventually I’d stop.”
My breath catches. “Stop what?”
He’s only a couple of inches away as he looks at me. “Wanting you.”
The words settle somewhere deep inside me. Every confusing moment from the past two weeks suddenly feels different.
He wasn’t pulling away because he didn’t care. He was pulling away because he felt something … enough to scare him.
“I don’t want to keep pretending anymore.”
Neither do I.
The realization comes so quickly that it almost steals my breath. Without thinking, I arch my back, which closes the little space between us.
His eyes search mine, as if he’s giving me every opportunity to change my mind.
Instead, I stay exactly where I am.
He brushes his fingers up against my thighs on each side. My breath catches in my throat as my jaw falls slightly. My panties are instantly wet from the simplest of touches.
He drags them up, taking my shirt with them. He grabs my hips, scrunching my shirt with it, and pulls me flush against his body.
I feel his dick press against my stomach and nearly cry out from how good it feels.
“So, this time,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, “I’m not letting anything stop me.”
I can feel my heartbeat everywhere. In my throat, my chest, and even in the tips of my fingers.
The tension that’s been living between us for weeks seems to melt away all at once.
Slowly, he closes the last few inches between us. His forehead pauses just in front of mine, his eyes searching my face one final time, making sure I haven’t changed my mind.
I haven’t—not even close.
When his lips finally meet mine, everything else ceases to exist. He moves his mouth over mine, slowly at first. Like he is exploring what this feeling is between us.
My hands move to his stomach without a thought.
He groans into my mouth as I move them up to his chest, then to his shoulders before finally moving into his hair.
His hands find my ass and pull me harder against him.
The kiss moves from gentle to more demanding. His tongue mixes with mine, a touch of curiosity there before it turns starved.
I don’t know how long we kiss for, but it goes on for a while. His hand finds my breast through my shirt and squeezes firmly.
I moan into his mouth.
His thrusting tongue has me dripping down my legs with such arousal that I don’t know if I’ll ever recover.
Before I know it, he’s pulling away and taking a step back while his hands rest on my shoulders.
His breathing is erratic as his chest moves up and down quickly.
“Fuck,” he breathes out before closing the distance between us. “That was …”
I watch his mind work as he tries to find the right words.
“I know,” I reply as I work to catch my own breath. “It was.”
He laughs, the sound low and warm, before pulling me into a surprising embrace.
We stand in the kitchen in the darkness of night as his hands move up and down my arms in a soothing manner.
He pulls away and looks down at me. “You should try to get some sleep.”
I grin. “Is that an order?”
“No.” His thumb brushes gently across my cheek. “It’s a request.”
I arch an eyebrow. “And you?”
“I think,” he says with a smile that reaches all the way to his eyes, “I’ll finally be able to.”
I don’t want to leave. Every part of me wants to stay exactly where I am, but I know Sydney is asleep down the hall.
This isn’t the time.
As I start toward my bedroom, I glance back over my shoulder.
Dean is still standing exactly where I left him, watching me with the same soft expression that was hidden behind walls for weeks.
A small smile threatens to break free as I step into my bedroom.
I wake up with a smile on my face. Not because of the sunlight spilling through the curtains or because I actually managed to sleep the entire night for the first time in what feels like weeks.
Because the moment I open my eyes … I remember.
Dean kissed me. It wasn’t a dream.
I stare up at the ceiling, replaying every second of it. The way he looked at me right before his lips touched mine.
The tenderness in his touch before it turned rough and demanding.
The warmth of his hand against my cheek.
The embrace before he sent me back to bed, like he knew if either of us stayed in that kitchen another minute, we’d never make it to our rooms.
A laugh escapes me before I can stop it.
I bury my face in my pillow. “Oh my gosh …”
I sound like a fifteen-year-old with her first crush.
Maybe because, in some ways … I still am.
A loud squeal echoes through the penthouse.
Liana—followed by Sydney laughing.
Curious, I throw on a pair of shorts under the oversize T-shirt I slept in and wander into the hallway.
The smell of bacon and coffee meets me before I even reach the family room.
Liana is lying on the floor as Sydney leans over her, making funny faces.
“I think she thinks I’m weird,” Sydney says as I walk in.
“Good morning.” I laugh.
Liana answers with an excited shriek.
“There she is,” Sydney says. “I’ve been trying to get her to laugh for ten minutes.”
I bend down and scoop Liana into my arms, kissing her soft little cheek.
“Who’s been giving Sydney a hard time?”
I’m rewarded with an immediate smile. Only then do I look up.
Dean is standing at the stove.
He’s wearing nothing but a pair of black sweatpants that hang low on his hips, one hand stirring scrambled eggs while the other flips bacon in a skillet like this is something he does every Saturday.
Morning light pours through the windows behind him, outlining his broad shoulders in a soft golden glow.
For one ridiculous second, I forget how to breathe.
It’s exactly the same feeling that hit me when I was fifteen and walked into my parents’ kitchen to find him there, talking to my dad.
Back then, he barely noticed me.
I stood frozen in the doorway, convinced no one had ever looked more handsome.
Fifteen-year-old Aubrey went upstairs afterward and spent an embarrassing amount of time imagining what it would be like if Dean Ledger ever looked at her the way girls in romance novels got looked at.
The difference now is that he does.
Almost as if he can feel me staring, he turns.
Our eyes meet, and his mouth slowly curves into a smile. Not the polite smile he’s been giving me all week.
This one is warm. It feels private, like we’re sharing a secret no one else in the room knows.
Then he winks. He actually winks.
Heat rushes straight to my cheeks.
“Oh my God,” I mumble under my breath.
“What?” Sydney asks.
“Hmm?”
“You just turned the exact color of your T-shirt.”
“I did not.”
Dean bites back what looks suspiciously like a grin before turning his attention back to the stove. “I made breakfast.”
Sydney looks between the two of us. Her eyebrow lift is almost undetectable.
“I hope everyone likes pancakes,” Dean says casually. “I found a recipe online.”
“You cooked?” I ask.
“I figured I’d give it a shot.”
I smile. “I’m impressed.”
His eyes flick toward mine again. “I had good motivation.”
The words are innocent enough. No one else would think twice about them. But I know exactly what he means.
And judging by the amused expression spreading across Sydney’s face … so does she.
By late morning, Sydney and I are walking through Central Park with hot coffees warming our hands.
The city somehow feels brighter today. Or maybe … I am.
“You’ve smiled at least twenty times in the last ten minutes,” Sydney points out before she takes a sip of her coffee.
“I have not.”
She chuckles. “You just did it again.”
“I was thinking.”
“Mmhmm.” She bumps my shoulder. “And your thoughts are apparently adorable.”
I laugh, trying—and failing—to hide my grin behind my coffee cup. We walk another few steps in comfortable silence before she speaks again.
“So …”
I know that tone.
“So …” I reply.
She stops walking and turns to face me. “What happened?”
My stomach flips when I think about it. It’s almost too much to put into words.
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, please.” She waves a hand dismissively. “Yesterday morning, the two of you could barely make eye contact without looking like someone had died.”
I laugh. “And this morning?”
“This morning, he looked at you like he couldn’t get enough. And don’t even get me started on whatever that weird ‘I had good motivation’ comment was.”
I bite my lip, trying not to smile. “It wasn’t weird.”
“It was if you’re supposedly just employer and employee.”
I sigh. “We’re … not.”
Sydney folds her arms. “I knew it.”
“No,” I say quickly. “Not like that.”
She waits for me, knowing I’ll cave.
I stare down into my coffee. “I couldn’t sleep.”
Her foot begins to tap on the ground as her patience seems to wear down. “Mmhmm.”
“I went to get water.”
“Okay,” she says, seeming unimpressed.
“He was already in the kitchen. We talked.”
Her eyebrows rise in suspicion. “What kind of talk?”
“The honest kind,” I reply with a shrug of my shoulders.
She smiles knowingly. “And?”
I feel my face warming all over again.
“And …” I laugh softly, unable to stop smiling. “He kissed me.”
Sydney lets out a squeal loud enough that a couple walking their dog glances in our direction.
“I knew it!” She grabs my free hand. “I absolutely knew something had happened. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone look happier than he looked this morning.”
I shake my head, still smiling. “I’ve had a crush on that man since I was fifteen.”
Sydney laughs. “And now?”
I think about the kiss, about the smile he gave me over the stove.
I can’t stop smiling.
“Now,” I say quietly, “I think he finally sees me.”