By the time I’m outside, I realize I left my panties behind.

7

Flynn

A swath of white shimmers on the floor.

Must be one of the ribbons from her wings. Maybe it fell off, or it was ripped off, or it was manhandled during what was an absolutely unexpected but thoroughly fantastic screw against the wall. And hey, how awesome is it to meet someone who likes hot up-against-the-wall sex as much as I do? It is awesome by a factor of ten to the twenty-seventh power.

Figuring I ought to straighten this library before I leave, I bend to pick up the stray ribbon so I can toss it in the trash can.

As I touch it, a wicked grin spreads on my face. It’s not a piece of her wings. It’s her panties, and I tuck them into my pocket, laughing quietly. This is better than finding a glass slipper. Maybe she’s my dirty Cinderella. But then I’m no prince, unless Prince Charming ravaged the heroine in a library.

Hell, maybe that’s why the guy is so damn popular. Maybe that’s why men have to live up to Prince Charming—because he was secretly a dirty bastard.

I stand, patting my pocket where I’ve safely stowed the panties, as well as her number, since it’s now stored in my phone.

I head to the door when out of the corner of my eye I spot something else she forgot to grab in her mad dash. On the desk is her homemade halo with its headband, wire, and all the dollar bills wrapped around it.

I run a finger over the band, wondering if she needs this. Maybe this is her favorite headband and she’ll be glad to have that back along with the panties. Guess this gives me a double excuse to see her again.

I grab it and run a hand through my hair, hoping I don’t entirely look like I just had the best sex of my life.

Wait. Where the hell did that thought come from? Not the best sex part. Clearly, I’m well aware of how I’d rate that encounter on the How’m I Doing scale—at the pinnacle.

But the idea that I don’t want anyone to know. That’s an interesting thought, and I ruminate for a moment, roll it around in my brain until I realize where it started.

From something I saw in her expression.

Some flash of vulnerability in her eyes, even behind the mask.

I don’t know who she is, and I want to protect her. To keep her secrets. Maybe even to keep her a secret.

I straighten my shirt, tuck the halo under my arm, and head out of the library. I check my phone. It’s eleven thirty. Listening briefly to the thumping music from the ballroom, I decide my team is having a blast still, and there’s no need to return to the party. I saw everyone from Haven, chatted with my employees all night long, and endured all their mockery over my that’s-so-lame costume. Like a good leader, I bore the brunt of the outfit ridicule and gave them a chance to have some fun before we roll up our sleeves and dive into the heavy lifting of market rollout this week.