Page 70 of Resist

It’s his turn to chuckle. “Considering that hasn’t happened, I think my blackmail techniques need some brushing up on.” He leans in, and when I turn to see what he’s doing, his lips are closer than expected. The gold in his eyes glints in the sunshine, and the scent of his shampoo fills my nose. “I’m glad I got to see you again, Vaughn. I’ve had a busy week, and I was trying to keep this professional between you and me. A contracted negotiation. That’s why I haven’t called . . . but damn . . . that doesn’t mean I wasn’t thinking about you.” His voice softens to match the expression on his face. “It’s good to see you.”

Every part of my body aches from his words, from his proximity . . . from wanting him to lean forward so I can taste his lips.

“Auntie Vaughn?”

We jolt apart, hormones buzzing, hearts pounding, and look at her. “Yes, Luce, what’s up? You done?” I feel like a teenager whose parents have caught her necking with her boyfriend.

She eyes us with curiosity and a knowing smile. “Were you going to kiss her, Mr. Ryker?”

“Ah, um, uh—”

“Do you want Auntie Vaughn to turn you into a prince?” she asks Ryker.

We both stifle a laugh, and God, I love Lucy and her unfiltered mouth. “She’s referring to her beloved fairy tales.”

“A prince?” he asks through a laugh as he smiles at Lucy. “Do I look like I need to be saved by a princess?”

“Well . . .” She draws the word out and subconsciously drops her hand to the side of her hip and forms the “hang loose” sign—fingers tucked against her palm, thumb and pinkie pointed out.

The symbol makes me smile. Our little signal that she’s telling a little white lie and knows it. Our teaching way to acknowledge that lying isn’t good but that she’s really joking more than anything and isn’t trying to purposely hurt anyone’s feelings. Her eyes meet mine to make sure I see the sign.

“Well, what?” Ryker plays along with a fake pout and a cross of his arms across his chest that has me taking notice of his physique.

Who am I kidding? I already took notice.

“You probably look better with your shirt on.” She crosses her arms over her chest to mimic Ryker, unicorn helmet askew, and just lifts her eyebrows. “Princes always have fancy shirts on.”

“I’ll remember that next time I want to feel like a prince.” The way they look at each other melts my heart in ways I don’t want to acknowledge. Defiance and amusement and challenge and adoration.

“It’s important,” she says. “All girls want princes.”

“Really?” we both say in unison as my mind bucks the notion.

“Really.” Matter of fact. Resolute. “Every happy ending has one in it.”

I stare at Lucy, developmentally delayed in some ways and so far advanced in others, such as this. “She loves her Disney princesses,” I explain to Ryker.

“So do I,” he says with so much believability it takes a closer look at him to see he’s putting me on but at the same time relating to Lucy.

“Who’s your favorite?” Lucy asks.

And this time she’s got him. His expression falls for the briefest of seconds before I interject. “I think he’s a Moana type. Don’t you, Luce?”

Her eyes narrow before her smile widens and she nods. “Me too.”

“Moana?” he mouths to me with a bewildered look on his face when she glances over her shoulder to check her bike, and I laugh.

“Do you have tattoos like Maui?” she asks, referring to the hero of the Disney story, now placing her hands on her hips.

“No tattoos.” He part frowns, part shrugs. “But I know how to save the day.”

“Princesses don’t need saving, silly,” she says. “They just need someone to take the trash out.”

And this time Ryker can’t hold it back. His hand goes to his stomach as he laughs loudly, Lucy angling her head to the side and following suit. “You’re something else, Ms. Lucy.”

“I know,” she says, and my cheeks hurt from smiling.

“Well, now that I’ve been schooled, dare I ask you ladies what your plans are for the day?” he asks, and immediately I tense up. Of course, he notices and just gives me a look—brow furrowed, eyes questioning—and other than telling me to relax, I’m not sure what it means. He can’t possibly be hurt because I don’t want to share my personal life with him.