Page 96 of Mr. Wilde

I giggle nervously, clutching my small purse. “Nah, it’s just dinner. Nothing more.”

Bella looks at me deadpan. “Please. Do you think I was born yesterday? You look like you’re getting ready for prom. This man means something special to you. And by the nervous expression on his face downstairs, I’d say he feels the same about you.”

My eyes suddenly well with tears. I immediately chastise myself. Don’t go getting your hopes up. You have too much on your plate to get hurt again.

“Cass, don’t cry,” Bella reassures gently.

I lift my chin, blinking back the moisture. “I’m fine.”

“Look, I’m only saying, give him a chance. I recognize that look. Wanting someone you know is probably all kinds of bad for you. Someone you’ve let hurt you enough already.”

My eyes hold hers in the mirror. “Bas?”

She nods with a bittersweet smile. “I could’ve killed him for what he put me and Austin through. And almost did. But in the end, we both would’ve suffered if I didn’t give him another chance.” She places her hand on my arm, the other resting on the beautiful, swollen curve of her belly. “We’re all human, Cass. Each day gives us a chance at becoming a better version of ourselves. Life isn’t always kind. People make mistakes.” Hurt people, hurt people. “Especially the billionaire types who think they’ve got the whole world figured out, but can’t admit they don’t understand women.”

Bella lets out a small, conspiratorial laugh. “How difficult is it to understand we want a man who’s honest, loving, and makes us a priority?”

“Exactly.”

“Well, and hot in the sack. But if this man’s ego is a tenth of what Sebastian’s is, I wouldn’t admit if he has that qualification.”

A laugh escapes at her accurate assessment.

“Go,” she says, nudging me toward the stairs. “Enjoy your evening. Give him a chance. But make him work for it. You deserve that much.”

I pull her in for a tight hug. This woman is like the mother I always wished I’d had.

Taking one last deep breath, I square my shoulders and head down to meet Max. As I reach the top of the stairs, the world seems to tilt. The grand foyer of Sebastian’s house, usually so warm and welcoming, feels like a stage I’m not sure I’m ready to walk onto. My heart is beating out of control.

I see him before he sees me. He’s standing by the heavy mahogany door, his back partially to me as he adjusts the cuff of his suit jacket. He takes my breath away. Max Wilde is the kind of man who commands the air around him just by breathing it.

Suddenly, Max turns. And freezes. His hands drop to his sides. The calculating, brilliant CEO, who can dismantle a firewall in seconds, looks like he’s forgotten how to speak. His piercing, electric blue eyes sweep over me, and I can feel the heat of his gaze like a physical caress.

I start my descent, my hand white-knuckled on the railing. Every step feels like a mile. 5-4-3, I tell myself.

Five things you can see: The way the light catches the shimmer of his tie, the shadow of stubble on his jaw, the way he’s chewing on the inside of his cheek—the same nervous habit I have. There’s tension in his shoulders that makes the fabric of his suit pull tight, and the fact he hasn’t blinked once since I appeared.

I reach the final step, and we’re on the same level. His eyes on mine are so intense. My fingers ache with the need to touch him. The yearning is a magnetic pull so strong I’m surprised the floorboards aren’t groaning under the pressure.

“Cassidy,” he breathes. It’s only my name. But he exhales it as if it’s a prayer. The sound makes my knees go weak.

“Max.” I’m barely able to keep my voice from cracking. I’m hyperaware of everything. His cologne reminds me of sandalwood and rain. His pupils are dark. And there’s a slight tremble in my hands that I hope is hidden by my clutch.

Max takes a half-step forward, then stops, as if he’s afraid to get too close. The self-assured, dominant pose from earlier is long gone. “I didn’t think…” He stops, clears his throat, and tries again. “I didn’t think you could get more beautiful.” He shakes his head, a small, pained smile touching his lips. “It’s intimidating.”

“Intimidating? Me?” I whisper, finally letting my eyes hold his. “You’re the billionaire, Max. I’m just an ordinary girl.”

“No,” he interjects, his voice dropping to that low, intimate rumble that always makes my skin prickle. “There’s nothing ordinary about you.”

He holds out his hand in invitation. I look at it, then back at his face. Why am I so dang nervous? This night feels important, but I’m not certain why. Is it because it’s our first date out? Is this even a date?

I take a breath, let it out slowly, and place my hand in his. Max’s hand is warm, his grip firm but slightly unsteady. The rare tremor tells me more than his silence ever could. He doesn’t pull me toward him. He merely holds me there for a heartbeat, his thumb brushing against my knuckles in a slow, reverent motion.

“Ready?” his voice is low and raspy.

“Ready,” I whisper, though every nerve in my body is screaming that I’m anything but.

The walk to his SUV is a blur of stolen glances. He opens the door for me, his hand hovering near my lower back. He’s close enough I can feel the heat radiating through his suit jacket. As he climbs into the driver’s side and the heavy door thuds shut, the outside world, the safety of Sebastian’s house, the crickets, and the evening Hanover air are instantly cut off.