Dylan The house is alive with people hustling about trying to get decorations up for the party tomorrow. I almost walk into some men carrying a chandelier. They didn't recognize me as one of the Correttis so I got a good word or two about how I should watch where I'm going. I just woke up so I don't have the energy to return the favor. Instead, I ignored them and just went on my way. In nothing but my pajama shorts and a thin silky robe I wandered into the kitchen. He was there, dressed impeccably in one of his many dark suits, leaning against the counter, a glass of coffee in one hand and the new paper in the other. He looks up when I enter. His dark , unreadable eyes rake over me shamelessly and my skin tingles at his attention. "Good morning," I murmured
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