Or was it?
Prologue
Dylan Hyatt was nearly perfect, with his flawlessly sculpted body, sexy smile, and most attractive of all, the love he had for his daughter. But he was wrong about me. The reason I was still a virgin at twenty-three had nothing to do with waiting for Mr. Right, although if I was, he would be Dylan Hyatt. I wasn’t a prude nor a believer in fairy tales of saving myself for marriage, although I’d admit I enjoyed fantasizing about true love where Dylan was concerned. It was probably why, for some reason, I’d just confessed that I was a card-carrying virgin.
“I’m not waiting for my life mate,” I said, digging my thumbs into his shoulder blades as I massaged away the tension. I wondered if I could release more than his tension and make him forget his ex-wife.
“Then what are you waiting for?” he asked with a groan and sigh as I felt his muscles begin to relax.
“Opportunity and desire.”
He turned, shifting to sit looking at me. We were close, and I bit my lower lip to stop a groan as I got a front row seat to his magnificently full mouth.
“I find it hard to believe you haven’t had both already.”
The way his eyes shifted down to my lips made my mouth water to taste him. I was one misstep from embarrassing myself by launching into his arms. “Opportunity, yes; desire, not so much.”
“You don’t feel desire?”
My entire body tingled with it.
“I can’t imagine there aren’t plenty of good-looking guys on campus,” he finished.
I shrugged. “Desire isn’t just about looks.” Not for me anyway. For someone like Dylan, maybe looks were important. After all, his ex-wife was a model. I wasn’t ugly, but I wasn’t in her league.
“So what gets your engine going, Tessa?”
He was teasing me, which made me feel even more like a dumb school girl for the fact that I was ready to rip his shirt off and run my tongue over every hard plain of his chest.
Even feeling silly, my libido decided to test the waters. “Sculpted pecs.”
He smiled playfully, but shifted as if he was uncomfortable. “You should come to the gym. We’ve got lots of those.”
“Kind. Smart. Funny.” I took a breath as I prepared to say something that would either lead to losing my V-card once and for all, or humiliating myself. “Someone like you.”
His gaze, which had been lingering on my lips, jerked up to mine. He stilled, and I immediately prepared myself to run out of his home feeling like an idiot.
“Me?”
I nodded, or at least I tried to. I was paralyzed.
“I’m too old for you.” His voice lowered, not in volume but in pitch. At least he didn’t seem revolted.
“Six years isn’t that big of a difference.”
“In life experience it is.” He looked down. “I’m a divorced single father.”
“So?”
He lifted his head, and I saw a resolve to send me off. “So, you’re a young woman with her life ahead of her.”
I rolled my eyes. “You make it sound like you don’t have anything to look forward in your life.”
“I have baggage. A lot of it.”
“Maisie isn’t baggage.” I spoke softly, feeling like he was withdrawing from me.
“She’s the best thing in my life. My life is hers now. Totally and completely. I have nothing to offer a woman. You deserve to have a man who does, especially the first time.”
I frowned. “So you’ve given up on ever finding love again?” I could accept that I wasn’t the woman for Dylan even if I wanted to be, but I couldn’t believe that someday there wouldn’t be a woman that would make him and Maisie happy. I’d hate that woman even as I would be happy that he’d found love again.
“I’ve had step parents.” His eyes darkened in a way I hadn’t seen before. Clearly, something happened to him as a child. “I won’t put Maisie through that. And I certainly don’t want my heart stomped on again.”
As I stared into his dark eyes, my heart went out to him. I hated the people in his life that had hurt him and made him fearful of love.
“How come men are able to have sex because it’s enjoyable, but for a woman it needs to be some sort of fairy tale?” I asked.
“It doesn’t. But a woman who has waited as long as you usually does so for a reason.”
“You’ve had experience in this, have you?” I should have just shut up and gone home. Pushing him wasn’t going to change things, and in the end, I’d be more embarrassed than I already was.
He smiled sheepishly. “Actually, no. But having gotten to know you over the last year, I can see you’re not an impulsive woman. Everything you do is with a plan. Men, on the other hand, tend to be a slave to urges. It’s like an itch.”
“You don’t think women have urges?” I did. My entire body hummed with need for him to touch me.
“Yes. But they’re also able to control them. As you clearly do.”
I was finding it hard not to lean forward through the foot-wide chasm between us and plant my lips on his. What kept me from following that urge was that his statement suggested that, as a man, he wouldn’t be able to control a sexual urge. I was practically throwing myself at him, so if he was a slave to his urge, he’d have taken me up on my clear offer. That meant he didn’t feel an urge with me. Of course, he didn’t. He saw me as a college kid, not a sensual woman.
Realizing I’d started leaning toward him, I shifted back, swallowing the burn of embarrassment.
“I’ve hurt your feelings,” he said, his voice soft and concerned. His empathy was another thing I loved about him. Why couldn’t he be a jerk?
I shook my head. “It’s not your fault that you don’t find me attractive.”
His brows narrowed. “I never said that.”
I pursed
