Law #2: Don't Play with a Player: A Sweet Office Romance Story (Laws of Love) by Agnes Canestri (web ebook reader .txt) 📕

My eyes travel to his wide-shouldered figure. He squats on the grey stone frame of the giant sandbox and waves the twins to approach, while Sandy and Mila trot further away like small, disobedient cubs.

A smile jumps to my face as I observe Devon’s concerned expression.

Mila, after a squeaking, “Da-da-da,” plops down and gets busy digging a hole.

I pause to watch Devon’s reaction.

The only rule I set for him was to keep the girls out of any burrowing activity before we eat because I couldn’t find any wet wipes in the diaper bag Alicia left me. How will he make the two daredevils respect my instruction?

Devon’s face contracts into a grimace of frustration as he observes Mila fumbling with the sand. Then he jumps up and rushes to her. He lifts the little troublemaker into the air and, before Mila’s mouth can curl down, he begins to wave her body right and left while puffing loudly like a helicopter.

Mila’s happy guffaws reach my ear.

Sandy watches with amazed eyes, then reaches her arms toward the sky, screeching loudly for her turn.

Devon chuckles, and without lowering Mila to the ground, he picks up her sister too. He secures both of them on his shoulders, engulfing their torsos as if they were two tiny sacks of potatoes and carefully twirls them around.

I can’t suppress a chuckle.

I know I shouldn’t be surprised by how well Devon is handling my nieces. As a creative person, he must still be in touch with his inner child.

However, what astonishes me is the almost unconditional admiration Sandy and Mila show toward Devon after only an hour together. It’s as if Devon’s appeal and extraordinary magnetism on women can be felt at any age—even in toddlerhood.

I can just take our stroll to the doughnut stand as an example. Usually, Sandy and Mila can’t get enough of me and love to be cuddled by their aunt. But this time, both of them wanted to be carried by Devon, and Devon only.

When I tried to peel one of them away from him, they began to howl. In the end, Devon wound up toting both kids—one in each arm.

I can’t say I blame my nieces.

If it were up to me, I’d love to nestle into those strong, muscular arms and press my head against Devon’s chest to inhale his scent.

That would definitely unfreeze my belly and spark a potent fire in it.

I redirect my attention to reality before my brain can embark on a journey to fantasyland.

“Hey there, guys! I’m back, and look at what I’ve got.” I raise my tray to the girls’ eye level.

“You see, kiddos, I told you your auntie would return, packed with goodies.” He slowly releases the girls to the ground and pats their heads. “What do you say if we climb out of this sand before you become any dirtier, and I get scolded?” He winks and flashes a boyish I-did-what-I-could smile at me.

As if I could ever reprimand him for being adorable with my nieces…

I point at the nearest bench, right below one of the trees. “We could sit there.”

The twins, persuaded by the sight and smell of sugary rings, toddle out of the sandbox and follow me like two tiny ducklings.

Devon lingers behind them with his hands stuck into his white shorts’ pockets.

I settle on the bench, placing the tray on the wooden surface. I forbid my glance to wander to Devon’s brawny thighs, sculpted calves, or the chest muscles that are nicely visible in his tighter-than-usual navy workout T-shirt.

Instead, I watch Sandy and Mila. They reach past and go straight for the adult-sized doughnuts.

“No, no, you two little mischiefs.” I lift the treats I bought for Devon and myself. “Those two smaller ones are yours.”

Mila and Sandy seem slightly disappointed that their sweets don’t have toppings and are only one-third the size of ours, but after a moment of pouting, they pick up their doughnuts and bite into them.

Devon hops down beside me, and I push the tray back to give him more space. Despite my best effort of shoving the platter to the bench’s extremity, his body lands so close to mine our hips touch. His bare knees graze my own.

Devon doesn’t seem bothered that we’re squeezed into such proximity. He smiles and asks, “Can I have mine?”

I hand him his vanilla cream delight.

He attacks it with a hungry appetite. “Mhmm, this is delicious. I was famished,” he murmurs.

“Didn’t you have lunch?” I ask.

“Nope,” he answers between chomps. “Not even breakfast.”

“What?” I turn to him, which makes my entire thigh press against his warm legs. “Didn’t you eat before I woke up? I thought you said…”

His eyes fill with a flustered glint. “I might have told a small fib there. I forgot to refill my fridge, so I only had enough ingredients to prepare one meal. And I wanted you to eat, so…”

Devon preferred to nourish me instead of himself?

That’s just…ahhh…

My heart stutters long enough for me to notice. “Thank you, but that wasn’t necessary.”

Devon shakes his head. “Of course it was. I’m not a drinker, but I’ve been tipsy enough times to know what it entails. If we hadn’t gotten your stomach filled, you would’ve had a massive headache the whole day. By the way”—he lifts a hand and traces two fingers from my temple toward my ear—“how is that throbbing doing?”

The effect of his gesture is devastating.

My stomach fills with butterflies—the giant, tropical kind with a wingspan that stretches almost a foot across—and the buzz sends ripples through all my cells.

“It’s much better, I think,” I mumble, grateful that any sound makes its way out of my parched throat.

“Ta-taa-ta.” Sandy intervenes in our conversation by leaning on Devon’s knees and attempting to capture the last bite of his doughnut.

“No, Sandy,” I say and break off a piece from my untouched sweet. “Eat this instead.”

My niece is apparently happy about the trade I offer—not only larger, but also covered with thick chocolate—because she immediately comes over to me and snatches my gift.

“La-la