Page 37 of At First Flight (Coral Bell Cove #1)

Somehow, my pull to him is stronger than the voice in my head telling me to keep my distance.

Since we met on the plane all those weeks ago, the voice seems to have always been there, quiet but insistent.

Don’t make the same mistake. Don’t lose yourself in a relationship again. Don’t believe that he can’t hurt you.

Dean makes it hard to listen. With each passing day, the voice grows fainter until it becomes barely a whisper.

I park my car in the garage and make my way into the house, hoping to find Dean in his usual spot on the couch in the sunroom, enjoying the cool night. When I don’t see him there, I scurry up to the second floor to check on the kids.

Shucking off my sweat-covered clothes in my own room, I pull on a pair of leggings and an oversized T-shirt. I glance out the window while tossing my hair back into a ponytail and notice a dim light flickering off in the distance, right at the edge of the dock.

With a racing heart, I make my way down the stairs, slipping on a pair of sandals I left by the mudroom door before I go outside.

By the time I creep through the fence and reach the dock, I’m not sure if it’s my hurry to see him or the speed at which I nearly jumped down the flight of stairs that causes my breath to come out in quick puffs of air.

But Dean remains unmoving until the wood creaks underneath my feet.

“You came,” he says quietly as he turns to look over his shoulder.

I nod. “I wanted to come home.”

“Did your night of dancing and blind dates not lead up to the hype?” he asks as I sit on the edge of the wood beside him.

“No. It was fine. Just not the night I wanted.”

His eyes search mine, only the reflection of the back deck lights glistening in their depths. He cocks his head like he’s trying to be sure and not reading into something more.

“What are you doing out here tonight?” I ask, breaking the contact that was becoming too much to bear because I know Dean can see things I’m not ready to divulge.

“Fishing,” he replies, holding up the rod gripped in his other hand. “Something Talon and I used to do at the lake near our boarding school.”

“Oh. I didn’t know billionaires knew how to fish. I thought you’d just have someone do the dirty work for you while you sit atop your luxury yacht.”

Dean chuckles and rotates the handle of the reel one turn. “We do that, too. Want to join me?”

“That’s okay. I’d rather just watch.”

He dips his chin as if he understands my only reason for being out here is to be closer to him.

The earlier chill in the air is replaced by the warmth of being close to Dean.

“You make it hard to keep my walls up, you know.”

“I’m not trying to,” he begins, then pauses and settles the fishing rod in the PVC holder at the edge of the dock.

“I don’t want to play a part with you, Lila.

I’ve done that enough in my life. I want something real.

I want this with you to be real. I know you have your rules, and I respect them, but I can’t deny wanting it all. ”

I’m not sure how to answer. How do I vocalize all the things I’m feeling? The inward battle of right and wrong is suddenly nothing more than a mess of smoke and mirrors.

I scoot closer to him an inch, and then an inch more until our thighs are touching.

I lean in and rest my head against his shoulder and let myself exhale.

His arm comes around me like an impulse.

Like he’s been waiting for me to give him an inch.

I feel him kiss the top of my head—gentle, unhurried, careful.

“I’m sorry if tonight was difficult after everything,” he mumbles.

“It was just the wrong place. I didn’t want to be there. I wanted to be here.”

“You can stay, you know. You don’t have to find a new job and leave.”

Dean’s voice is quiet, but it vibrates against me, low and warm where his chest meets my shoulder. The words settle over me like a thick blanket, heavy and too tempting to ignore.

“How can I make a difference in the world if I don’t?” I whisper. The lump forming in my throat almost chokes the words as they come out. I hate how small my voice sounds. How uncertain I feel. Like maybe I’m afraid of staying because I want to.

Dean doesn’t move for a long beat, and I wonder if I’ve said too much, been too vulnerable. But then his voice returns, deeper this time, like a soft vow.

“You already have. You’ve made a difference in mine and those kids’ world, Lila.”

My heart stumbles over itself at his words. I press my lips together, trying to hold in the wave of emotion swelling in my chest.

“What if that’s not enough?” I murmur, my biggest fear unfurling in the quiet like a secret I didn’t mean to say aloud.

His response is immediate, quiet but fierce. “What if it is?”

He doesn’t look at me, just lets the question linger in the space between us, as potent and full as the scent of bay water and sea grass hanging in the warm air. His arm tightens around me just a little more, like he knows I need to be grounded before I float too far into my own doubts.

The sound of the water gently lapping at the shore fills the silence. A bird calls out softly somewhere in the distance, the night wrapping around us like we’ve stepped into a dream. And maybe we have because this moment feels too fragile, too perfect to be real.

I yawn again, my tenth at least, but my body feels anything but tired.

My limbs may ache from the long day, and my eyes may sting with the promise of sleep, but every nerve in my body is wide awake.

Lit up. Buzzing. Because I’m sitting this close to Dean and his warmth pressed along my shoulder, his hand resting on my hip like it belongs there.

And all I can think about is the pull I feel toward him.

The way his nearness makes it hard to think straight.

I sit up, slowly, the absence of his touch like stepping out of a hot shower into cold air. My skin tightens, every inch of me aware of how close we still are, even though his arm has dropped away.

When I turn to look at him, my breath catches.

He’s silhouetted by the faint moonlight now, the silver outline tracing the sharp angles of his jaw, the strong slope of his shoulders, the dark waves of his tousled hair.

He’s always been handsome, painfully so in that sun-drenched, all-American kind of way.

But like this, beneath the crescent moon, his expression unreadable and his eyes full of something deep and quiet, he looks like something ancient and powerful.

Like he stepped out of a myth. A dark god forged from fire and earth, who knows how to hold a woman like she matters.

And I want him.

God help me, I want him more than I want to be safe, more than I want to be rational. I want to trace that sculpted chest with my fingers, feel his breath against my neck, let his lips wipe away every single one of my fears.

But I also know myself. I know what lines can’t be crossed until I’m ready. And I’m not there yet.

“I wish you’d ask me to kiss you.”

Dean’s voice is rough silk, laced with something deeper.

Something that clutches at the base of my spine and doesn’t let go.

His gaze roams my face, not with amusement or that teasing smirk I’ve come to know, but with a reverence that steals my breath.

There’s weight in the air now. A slow-burning intensity that simmers between us, quiet but undeniable.

Like he’s a man on the edge, gripping the frayed rope of his own restraint, holding back just for me.

It’s heady, this sense that I have the power to undo him. That I could tilt the world on its axis with just one word. I’ve never felt so seen, so desired… so in control.

But then he looks away, his throat working as he swallows. “Not tonight.”

The cool air suddenly feels colder against my cheeks, which flush with heat that’s got nothing to do with the temperature.

I turn my head, pretending to look out at the darkness so he doesn’t see the sting behind my quiet, “Oh.”

I don’t mean for the word to sound so small, but I can’t help it. It’s hard not to take his rejection personally, even when I know better. Even when everything about the way he’s touching me says it’s not rejection at all.

“Lila, look at me.” His voice is softer now, but commanding. His hand lifts, warm and careful, fingers brushing beneath my chin as he coaxes my gaze back to his. “I want to kiss you more than I want to take my next breath.”

The raw truth in his eyes nearly unravels me.

“But with you,” he continues, his thumb grazing along my jaw, “I’m learning the beauty of restraint.

I don’t want you to wonder if I want you.

I want you to know . I don’t want to steal a kiss in the shadows and leave you questioning it in the morning.

When we cross that line, it’s going to be because you ask me to.

Because you want to. And when you do, Lila…

” He leans in slightly, his voice dropping into something intimate and full of promise, “I’ll be ready. I’ll be yours.”

I don’t know how to respond. How could I? My heart is pounding like it’s trying to leap into his hands. I want to memorize every word. To fold them up and tuck them into the deepest, most wounded parts of me, the parts that have never been given this kind of patience. This kind of care.

God, who is this man?

I lean in on instinct, pressing my lips softly to his cheek. Right near the corner of his mouth. It’s not a kiss—not really. But it’s something. A promise of more.

His eyes fall closed at the contact, just for a second. And when they open again, I see it. That same devotion, that same longing still burning like a slow fire behind them.

“Good night, Dean,” I whisper.

“Sleep well, Lila,” he murmurs, the words brushing against my skin like a vow.

And as I turn and walk away, I can feel the weight of his gaze following me. Not possessive. Not demanding. Just…waiting.