Page 140 of His Surrender

“Great. So, I’ll be the first.”

I push his chest, and he smiles.

He’s trying to joke, but I see this is something that is really bothering him. It’s sweet how much he cares what my dad thinks of him.

“I’ll call them tonight. About the event …” I pause, feeling slightly awkward, bringing this up. “What am I supposed to wear?”

A slow, seductive smile spreads across his face. “You mean, what will I be stripping off your body that evening?”

My stomach flips. Will my body ever stop reacting to him in such a powerful way?

I smile back at him. “However you want to put it … I’m not sure I own anything nice enough to attend an event with a bunch of rich people.”

He grabs my hand. “First of all, I’d proudly stand by your side in just about anything you have in your closet. But I want you to feel comfortable.”

Out of nowhere, he drops my hand and stands up. “Come on. Let’s go.”

I look up at him. “Where are we going?”

“Well,” he says as a corner of his mouth lifts, “my girlfriend needs a dress.”

Dean insists on carrying Liana in one of those ridiculously expensive baby carriers he ordered online after spending an entire evening reading reviews because, according to him, “If I’m going to wear my daughter around Manhattan, she’s going to be comfortable.”

Watching a billionaire CEO spend twenty minutes adjusting straps in the middle of our entryway shouldn’t be nearly as entertaining as it is.

“I think it’s crooked,” I say as I try not to laugh at him.

He looks down at it. “It isn’t.”

“It definitely is.” I step closer, reaching around his waist to tighten one buckle. “There.”

He glances down. “You fixed that awfully fast. Have you just been letting me struggle?”

“I was letting you build confidence.”

He laughs. “I’m dating a menace.”

“I’ve been trying to tell you that.”

Liana lets out a happy squeal from her little front-row seat against his chest, kicking both feet as Dean adjusts the tiny knit hat over her ears.

“There.” He kisses the top of her head. “My girls are ready.”

My girls—the words settle warmly in my chest.

He says them so naturally now, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

The sidewalks along Fifth Avenue buzz with the kind of energy only New York has during the holidays.

Every storefront is dressed for Christmas. Twinkling lights, wrapped around trees, line the sidewalks. People hurry past, carrying glossy shopping bags.

Dean reaches for my hand without thinking. His fingers slide between mine as naturally as breathing.

For the first few steps, I catch myself looking around from weeks of making sure no one saw us together.

Dean notices.

His thumb brushes gently across the back of my hand. “You don’t have to do that anymore.”