Wildest Dreams: Chapter 21

Can you hear this sound, Dylan? It is the sound of feminism leaving your body. Because you just witnessed Rhyland Coltridge being amazing to your child.

Fatherly, even.

But you need to reel in your desperation. You’ve already made it clear you want to screw him, and he passed on the offer. Multiple times, in fact. And considering he’s a sexual-assault survivor, it’d be nice not to treat him like a piece of meat.

“Dylan,” Rhyland hissed impatiently—for what must have been the thousandth time, judging by his tone.

We were in the elevator heading downstairs to Café Europa. I couldn’t bear to look at him. Only now, it wasn’t just because he was hot; it was also because this hotness was attached to a man my child absolutely adored.

But he was wrong. I wasn’t catching feelings. I was catching hormones.

“Hmm?” I feigned boredom.

“I just gave you a rundown of the entire plan.” He gave me a funny “what is wrong with you?” look. “Were you even listening?”

“Nope. Was too busy fantasizing about you moving out of the building. Repeat it.”

He rubbed his hands together, boyishly focused. “We’re going to beat Bruce there. He’s a punctual motherfucker, but we’re still early. So what we’ll do is we’ll kiss at the exact minute he walks in, and that way, he’ll think he’s walking in on us being lovey-dovey and shit.”

“Remind me why he couldn’t just bring the invitation to your penthouse.”

“Because you’re supposed to live there with me, and the most feminine thing I own is a life-size painting of Ursula Andress butt naked, and I don’t think that counts.”

That warranted me slapping his arm with my purse. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing. There wasn’t a floor-to-ceiling-size painting, so I had to settle.”

“Well, what if he’s a few minutes late?” I challenged.

The elevator doors slid open, and we both stepped outside. The weather was glorious, the street flooded with sunrays and the sticky, heavy scent of flowers in bloom.

“Then you’ll just have to suffer through kissing me for a little while longer.” Rhyland heaved a long-suffering sigh. His fingers clasped mine naturally as we crossed the street to the pretty French coffee shop with overflowing pink-and-yellow flowerpots and white rustic tables.

“Don’t ridicule my struggles. I might throw up. My gag reflex is super sensitive,” I huffed.

“I’d love it if we could work on that.”

Heat rushed to my cheeks, and I speared him with a look. He returned a languid expression.

“You don’t have the balls to touch me,” I taunted him.

“I’m literally about to fucking kiss you.”

“And if Row finds out?” I inquired sweetly.

“I’ll tell him the truth. That it was all for show. So we could have an audience. And that neither of us enjoyed it.”

“I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

“We should probably practice before he arrives,” Rhyland suggested.

“Practice?” My eyebrows slammed together, and he spluttered a laugh. “No, thanks. I already know how to kiss. I’m not entirely new to this, you know.”

I hated that he knew how much I wanted him. Usually, it was the other way around. And sure, I knew Rhyland found me attractive, but Rhyland cast a wide net. He found a lot of people attractive. Didn’t mean he’d give them the time of day.

“You’re entirely new to kissing me.” He waggled his brows. “It’s not the same experience as kissing all the boys who came before.”

He glanced at his watch again. So did I. It was ten minutes to.

“We don’t have time to practice,” I said.

“We won’t need more than ten minutes. Actually, five will be sufficient.”

He let go of my hand, grabbing my waist and tipping me against the wall, his own Leaning Tower of Pisa. A small gasp escaped me at his warm, possessive touch. He tilted me down, one hand on my waist, the other curling over the back of my thigh, as he brought his lips an inch from my own. He halted a breath away from my lips, and I could already taste him. Cinnamon, bonfire, clean male, and my demise.

“Famous last words before I kiss you?” he croaked.

“Man buns are ridiculous past twenty-five,” I spewed out venomously.

With a sardonic, irresistible smirk, he dove down and kissed me.