Page 99 of His Surrender

Liana immediately quiets.

I smile to myself.

For all his confidence in the boardroom, for all the intimidating billionaire headlines that seem to follow him everywhere, this version of Dean might be my favorite.

The man who talks to his daughter like she’s the most important person in the world.

I lie in bed for another minute, staring at the ceiling.

What does last night mean?

Was it the beginning of something or two people who’d spent weeks fighting their feelings finally giving in?

I honestly don’t know, and that’s the terrifying part.

I climb out of bed and spot one of Dean’s navy T-shirts draped over the chair, where he left it after changing.

On impulse, I slip it on.

The sleeves swallow my arms, and the hem falls almost to the middle of my thighs.

I catch my reflection in the mirror and laugh quietly.

I look ridiculous. And somehow … I’ve never felt happier.

By the time I reach the kitchen, the coffee maker is already humming.

I start warming Liana’s bottle before measuring coffee into the machine.

A few minutes later, Dean walks in, carrying Liana in his arms.

“Why don’t I feed her while you get ready for work?” I tell him as he goes for the bottle.

“You don’t mind?”

I smile. “I’d like to.”

His expression softens in a way that makes my chest ache.

“Thank you.”

He disappears down the hallway, leaving me standing with Liana in the morning light pouring through the windows.

As she drinks her bottle, I find myself staring toward Dean’s bedroom, trying not to overthink.

But the truth is, I’m already completely crazy about him. I was always crazy about the Dean I idolized as a teen, but this one—the man I’ve come to know intimately—is so much better than I could have ever imagined.

The sound of footsteps pulls me from my thoughts.

I look up and promptly forget how to breathe.

Dean steps into the kitchen, wearing a charcoal suit tailored so perfectly that it looks like it was made specifically for him, a crisp white shirt visible beneath the jacket, his tie already knotted, his watch catching the morning sunlight as he adjusts his cuff.

How is it possible for the same man who smiled at me across a pillow an hour ago to now look every bit the billionaire CEO who commands boardrooms?

He catches me staring.

A slow, knowing smile curves his lips. “What?”