The Firefly Cafe (Billionaire Brothers, #1)(8)

“It’s a good trick,” Dylan told her. “And … that was a ‘yes,’ in case I wasn’t clear. A ‘yes’ and a ‘thank you.’ I really appreciate it.”

For some silly reason, the way he looked at her gave Penny a shiver of delicious heat all down her spine. Trying not to flutter, she said, “You’re very welcome. Now get that kitchen sink finished up so I can fix dinner.”

She turned to beat a hasty retreat before the warm shine of his eyes made her visibly flush, but his voice stopped her.

“Penny. I realize I don’t know you very well, but do you want an outsider’s take on what your son can learn from you?”

The flutters got worse, moving up from her belly to squeeze at her lungs. Her voice was embarrassingly breathless when she whispered, “Sure.”

Dylan held her gaze, the force of his ocean-blue stare drawing Penny closer. “In a single day in this house, I’ve seen a woman who doesn’t back down, who takes charge of her life and works hard to make it the best life possible, for herself and her kid. I see a woman who could let the toughness of that life get her down, but who chooses to smile instead. I see graciousness and hospitality—enough to welcome a stranger into your home, and to make him feel like … well. You make me feel like we’ve known each other longer and better than should be possible when we’ve only just met. It’s actually freaking me out a little.”

Penny had to laugh. It was that, or cry—the emotion struggling up from her chest had to come out somehow. And given the choice, Penny would always pick laughter over tears.

So she laughed, and held out her hand, and let herself enjoy the tremor of feminine awareness when his strong, callused fingers enfolded hers. “Considering the way Matty and I forcibly dragged you into our issues, I’d say you’re no stranger. So welcome to the family, Dylan—” She cut herself off, and this time the laugh was less shaky. “You know what? I don’t even know your last name!”

His fingers tightened on hers for a brief, convulsive moment. He stared down at their joined hands, silent. The pause lasted one heartbeat, two—then Dylan looked her directly in the eye and said, “Workman. Dylan Workman.”





Chapter 5



“Dylan Workman,” Penny echoed, smiling. “How appropriate, for a man in your line of business.”

Dylan dug deep for a carefree expression, even though, inside, he felt a little sick. What the hell was he doing, lying to this pretty woman about who he was? He knew it was wrong—and just then, he’d come so close to blurting out the truth that his heart was still pounding.

Whether it was with relief or regret that he’d kept the deception going, he wasn’t sure.

“I’d better finish up here so I can get out of your way,” he said, reluctantly letting go of her hand. Shorter and more curvaceous than the glamazon models Dylan usually dated, Penny Little had small hands, roughened in places by hard work. He found he liked the realness of her skin, the way her glow came from within rather than from a battery of expensive beauty products full of crushed diamonds and gold dust, or whatever.

He liked Penny Little, period.

Which was the problem, of course. He liked her, as a person—and he wanted her to like him back in exactly the same way. No preconceived notions based on his bank account, no weird inequality because she was technically his family’s employee, and definitely no chance that Penny might look at him and remember everything she’d heard about the Bad Boy Billionaire.

He wanted her to get to know the real him. Just Dylan, no bells and whistles. And maybe he’d discover that wasn’t enough for her, but he needed to find out if a woman like Penny could want him for himself alone. He’d never have a better opportunity.

Dylan listened for her light footsteps on the stairs as he ducked back under the kitchen sink to confront the leaky pipe. He removed and patched the problematic section of pipe with half his brain; the other half was focused on the woman upstairs.

The woman whose brilliant smile in the face of a dark, murky past lit up the entire house, and whose no-nonsense attitude made her a force of nature.

The woman who was currently unbuttoning that sea-foam-green waitress uniform and pushing the fabric off her creamy shoulders and down to her lush, rounded hips …

A drip of cold water from the pipe splashed down on Dylan’s cheek, and he shook it—and the vibrant images in his mind’s eye—off with a gasp.

Wiping his damp cheek on his T-shirt-covered shoulder, Dylan forced himself to concentrate on the plumbing. Luckily, it turned out to be fairly straightforward, and in ten minutes, he was tightening the segment of repaired pipe back into place. Shimmying out from under the cabinet, Dylan leaned over the sink to turn on the faucet and test the repair.

“Looking good,” Penny said from behind him.

Dylan jolted, suddenly hyper aware of how low his jeans were riding on his hips after crawling around on the floor and wriggling into the tight space under the counter. “Tell me I don’t have plumber’s crack.”

“Not that I’d be uncouth enough to mention it if you did,” Penny said, laughter sparkling in her voice. “But I meant the pipe.”

“Sure you did,” Dylan teased. He couldn’t stop thinking about the way she reacted every time he flirted with her. Even the gentlest flattery, the most G-rated, Disney-approved joke, brought a pretty pink flush to her cheeks.