Zoya Hart has been eluding her gold-digging stepmother for the last few years. Knowing that this woman will do anything to gain control of her and her late father's company, Zoya finds herself hiding out on a farm. Now, with a PI on her trail, Zoya'...
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Homer sat up straight and perked his ears, which caused Zoya to do the same. She didn't hear anything, but the dog must have. She closed her sketch pad and scooted closer to the window. She wished it would be Roman coming to find her. Such a stupid idea. Why did she keep torturing herself with these ridiculous fantasies?
Homer whined and Zoya squinted into the afternoon light. Finally, a figure came into view. Too light skinned to be Roman, but who? In all the years she'd been coming here, other than Tommy or Mariana's dad, she'd never seen another guy at the treehouse.
When the stranger got to the thick pines blocking out the sun, she recognized him. Flynn. Her heart hammered. Maybe he wouldn't climb the ladder. Just stand below and check it out. She slid on her butt to the rear wall, pulled Homer onto her lap, and gently closed her hand around his muzzle.
With only one door, she had nowhere to go. She held her breath as she heard Flynn take the first rung. Then the second. Third. When his face appeared in the opening, she spoke. "Hello."
"Holy shit! You scared me."
Homer growled, but Zoya held him tight. She didn't know if he'd bite or not. "I'm sorry."
"That's okay. I wasn't expecting to see anyone. You must be Zoya. I'm Flynn. Roman's..."
"I know who you are. I've seen pictures."
He leaned inside. "May I come in?"
Zoya gave it some thought. This could be her chance to help Mariana. Find out about Flynn's bride. "Okay."
With his hands, he pushed until his hips were even with the floor, then maneuvered inside. "What are you doing up here?"
She nodded toward her tablet. "Drawing."
"I saw the mural. You're really good. Which reminds me. We don't need your room. Roman said you're staying with a friend while Ophelia and I are here. That isn't necessary. We'll stay out of your way. We were hoping you'd come with us to the festival."
"Why?"
"Because you're Roman's friend and we want to include you. There's a street dance tonight. Why don't you come? That way, we'd have a partner."
Flynn wasn't anything like Roman. No bad attitude. No rough voice. He was polite—and kind. She saw it in his eyes. "I don't dance."
"Then it'd be a good time to learn. The crowd will be so big no one would notice. I've been taking lessons because of my upcoming wedding, so I could teach you a few steps."
"What's your bride like?"
"Oh. She's... a spitfire, I guess. From a good family. Does a lot of volunteer work."
"What's her name?"
"Céline Banks. She's going to hyphenate her name because she thinks Céline Flynn sounds weird."
