Daring Dylan (The Billionaire Brotherhood Book 2) (20 page)

“You were
amazing.” In the darkness, his voice sounded low, intimate. Exhausted.

“I’m going
to have to shower for about a week to get rid of this stench.” She rubbed her
face with her bandaged hands, ill at ease with him now that the excitement was
over.

“A shower
sounds good.”

What did he
mean by that? If he wanted something from her, he’d have to spell it out.
Reading between the lines had never been her strong suit.

“I’ll let
you get to it then.” She groped for the door handle.

He swung
open the door on his side and stepped out of the car. Dirt, smudges, rips, and
tears marred his usual perfection. Damn him, he looked more desirable than
ever.

Aware of
her dwindling self-control, she needed to get away from him before she threw
herself at him. Again. She’d been nearly naked before the fire broke out, but
what if he’d been too polite or too horny to refuse what she’d offered? In the
kitchen after the pizza, he’d had no trouble controlling his response.

And then,
she’d cried in front of him once they’d escaped the worst of the danger. She’d
seldom cried since her mother’s death. But she’d let herself fall apart like
some weak, weepy female who stood around wringing her hands and waiting to be
rescued.

With one
kind look or sympathetic word, she’d be in his arms again, and clearly, she
wasn’t up to dealing with him now. She’d prefer solitude when she suffered her
nervous breakdown.

“See you
tomorrow,” she said as if this were the end of an ordinary evening. “Call me
before you leave for New York.” She waved her hand in a little farewell, but he
moved toward her.

“Gracie,
wait.”

Wait?
She couldn’t wait. She almost desperately
wanted his warmth, the solid feel of him, and any comfort he could offer.
Retreat was the only sensible route open to her.

“Tomorrow,”
she repeated, tramping up the stairs without looking back. Her hands shook so
hard from exhaustion and reaction, she couldn’t have found the keyhole if she
still had a key to put in it. Good thing she hadn’t locked up when she left, or
she’d have had no option but to go over to the main house with Dylan. And
spending the night under separate roofs was definitely the wiser course.

Inside her
apartment, she toed off her shoes and scooped up MacDuff, soaking in the
comfort of his warm, furry body. A semi-hysterical chuckle escaped her when he
licked her face. Only he would truly appreciate the fact that she looked and
smelled like Smoky the Bear. When the dog finally wriggled to get down, all
Gracie wanted was to enjoy the luxury of a hot, soapy shower.

And then
she wanted clean, cool sheets.

And sleep.
Lots of deep, mind-numbing sleep to block out the recurring bouts of terror she
couldn’t seem to banish for intervals longer than five minutes at a time.

Of course,
in the best of all possible worlds, having Dylan in bed beside her would help—
inside
her would be even better. Her
blood hummed with the need for him that had tempted her all week and had been
aroused to gigantic proportions earlier that evening. She knew better than to
cast her thoughts in that direction. It would be stupid to give in to weakness.

When the
shower water finally ran cold, she’d scrubbed and steamed away the grit and
grime. But neither the remnants of fear nor her need for Dylan had been washed
down the drain.

Dressed in
a cotton T-shirt and flannel pajama bottoms, she wrapped her wet hair in a
towel, turban-style. In the shower, she’d noticed a jagged scrape on her arm.
The EMTs had treated her hands and the gash on her neck, but the place on her
arm required attention, too. While she pulled out her medical bag, a knock
sounded on the door. With a leap of her pulse, she knew without looking that
Dylan lurked on the other side.

“What are
you doing here?” The question came out more sharply than she intended, but did
he have to look so gorgeous? Did he have to have a five-hundred-dollar haircut
that fell perfectly, wet or dry, combed or not? Did he have to have deep,
insightful eyes that warmed her in hidden places? Did he have to have those
strong, magnificent arms she wanted to have wrapped around her? And if he had
to have all those things, now, when she was at her most vulnerable, why, oh
why, couldn’t he have had the good sense to stay away?

“Too wired
to sleep.” His gaze made a slow sweep from towel to toe and lingered over
interesting bits along the way. “When I saw your light on, I hoped you’d want
company.”

She reached
up to tuck the towel more firmly around her head. Before she could make up her
mind about his offer, he took her hand and bent her arm at the elbow. “How did
this happen?” He gestured to the scrap she’d discovered earlier.

“I don’t
know,” she admitted. “Maybe from the window. Or the tree branch.”

“Where’s
the antiseptic?” He sounded brusque, almost angry. “In the bathroom?” He didn’t
wait for confirmation but headed that way, pulling her along with him.

“It’s not
that bad. I’ll take care of it.” She squirmed at the idea of him opening her
medicine cabinet and tending to her in a personal, proprietary way in the close
quarters of the bathroom. Besides, she could take care of herself—if he weren’t
standing so close.

“One-handed?
I don’t think so.” In the bathroom, he pinned her arm firmly between them,
peering at the wound as he cleaned and disinfected it with the supplies she
handed him. “Does it need stitches?”

“No,” she
said, in a high thin voice she wouldn’t have recognized as hers.

“Okay.” His
nod of understanding that only flustered her more.

She looked
up in time to see a flicker of interest in his eyes, deep and inviting, as if
he intended to wrap her inside his heat and never let her go. He must have
looked at a thousand women that way, but he had never looked at
her
that way. No one ever had.

While her
head spun with the possibilities, she thought he was bending over her arm for
an up-close inspection of her wound. Instead, he nearly sent her through the
roof when he pursed his lips and blew on it.

“Don’t!”
Less worried about germs than about her skyrocketing heart rate, she jumped
back and bumped her head on the door. “Ow.”

God, why
was she so awkward and bad at this? She didn’t excel at physical relationships
at the best of times. Responding to any move by Dylan when her defenses dipped
so low would be the height of insanity.

Especially
after the devastating way her relationship with Baxter had ended. Any scraps of
sexual self-confidence that remained after her experience with him would be
destroyed by one cross-eyed look, laugh, or smirk from Dylan.

“I’m sorry
you got hurt.” His lips grazed her wrist so feather-light she couldn’t be
positive he’d kissed it. Surely he hadn’t. Had he? Did he have no understanding
of diseases transmitted through bodily fluids?

“Not your
fault.” Removing her arm from his grasp, she held it against her chest. She
tried to ease away from him, but he took another step closer, trapping her body
between his and the sink.

“It was my
cabin.”

“You didn’t
start the fire.” The fire chief’s arson theory did seem like the most
reasonable explanation.

“Someone
with a grudge against me or my family did, which still makes me responsible.”

“You don’t
think it was someone local, do you?” She wanted to take her mind off the
thoughtful way he watched her. But every time she remembered the floor
collapsing under his feet, shivers racked her. “If someone was angry about your
family closing the factory, why wait until now to get revenge? And wouldn’t the
factory building have been a more suitable target?”

“Maybe in
all my bungling around this week, I offended someone more than I realized.”

Did he
realize that his fingers stroked the inside of her arm?
      
“Wh-who?”

“If I knew,
I’d be out there ripping them a new one for putting you in danger.”

Simmering
anger surged to life in his eyes. For him to be so angry on her behalf stunned
her. He reached for her then, and every living tissue in her body shouted
yes
!

He was all
wrong for her, but he was here and he was the one she wanted. She wanted to run
her hands down his body and take his mouth with hers. She wanted to slide
against his skin, to feel him inside her, to forget about fire and destruction
and near death experiences.

“I thought
you didn’t want me,” she confessed as he closed the gap between them.

“
Not want you
?” His chuckle caressed her
cheek. “I’ve only known you for three days, but I’ve wanted you forever.”
Caressing her cheek with the backs of his fingers, he stroked down her jaw to
the hollow at the base of her neck.

Even as Gracie
drowned in his words and touch, an inner voice whispered caution. She inched
away from him. “You managed to stop earlier.”

“My
mistake.” He pulled her in close. “I wanted to wait to be with you until
everything was perfect. But when the cabin went up in flames, I thought,
you’re
perfect, Gracie. To hell with
everything else.” He kissed her chin. “When you jumped out the window, I
promised myself that if we made it out safely, the very first thing I was gonna
do afterward was make love to you.”

“Don’t I
have anything to say about it?” she asked around the lick of his tongue. What
if they made love and she disappointed him? She couldn’t live with the
humiliation or disappointment.

“You’re the
only one who does.” He cradled her head in Neosporin-scented hands. His fingers
tunneled beneath the towel and massaged their way along her scalp, sending
tingles rippling down her spine.

“You say
stop, we stop. But nothing else in this world will keep me from having you
right here. Right now. Not raccoons, fires, acts of God, nuclear bombs, or even
your grandmother at your door will be able to distract me.” His mouth flirted
with hers in a kiss so brief, so gentle she nearly screamed in frustration.
“Will they?”

Sensitized
in a way she’d never experienced and drained by the effort to hold herself in
check, she whispered her answer. “No, they won’t.”

Dylan
kissed her then. The kiss was urgent, demanding, hard, telling her with his
body, his hands, and his mouth that there would nothing tentative or polite
between them. Not tonight, anyway.

Clenching
his shirt, she drew him nearer. His hands trailed down her back and cupped her
bottom. When he slid his thigh between her legs, she pressed against him. The
pressure made her hot, wet, and hungry for more.

Stumbling
toward the bedroom, they tripped on the clothes that fell to the floor along
the way. He rolled her onto the bed, twisting to catch her weight on top of
him. His gaze moved over her, his eyes dark and excited. Appreciative.

That look
made her feel beautiful and desirable. It gave her confidence. She rubbed
against him, creating a friction between the smoothness of her skin and the
crinkly hair on his chest that made her shiver.

And then,
he moved. Moved his hands on her. His body against hers. He never stopped moving,
never stopped touching her everywhere—stomach, breast, knee, thigh. More, more,
she needed more.

She needed
to touch him as he touched her.

The corded
muscles of his shoulders and back rippled as she stroked her hands across them.
Every part of him felt like polished steel. His breath caught when she ran her
fingers across his stomach. Her tongue across his nipple brought forth her name
on a groan.

He took her
nipple in his mouth and pulled urgently. Sensation shot through her like
wildfire. The need to be completely naked or spontaneously combust expanded
inside her. She shoved off her panties, and he slipped his finger against her
heat. Stoking the fire. Finding her moistness. Slick, slippery. Ready. She
groaned and pressed against his hand, eager and breathless.

He stood to
shuck off his jeans then returned to her gloriously naked, his erection
standing proud. She wanted to look at him, to memorize him—the most beautiful,
perfect man she’d ever seen, long limbed and muscular. He dropped down beside
her and immediately licked down her stomach. Then lower.

“Finally.”
He breathed against her, heating her up before separating her folds with his
tongue. He nibbled, he sucked—
oh, God
—sensation
rippled through her as he brought her to the brink.

Not yet
, she wanted to protest,
don’t let it be over
, but she couldn’t create coherent words. She
could only moan his name.

He didn’t
let up, building the waves of pleasure, pulling her toward climax, demanding
her trust. Taking her as far as she could go. Farther than she’d ever been
before. His mouth stayed on her to the last ripple, to the final incredible
convulsion.

Every tense
muscle in her body relaxed. She’d never felt so shattered, so fulfilled, so...
restless and aroused. Long and thick and hard, he pressed against her leg. She
wanted him inside her. Now.

Gripping
his hair in her fists, she pulled him up. “We’re not done.

“We’re not
even halfway there yet.”

Moving over
her, he began the slide into her, inch by heavenly inch. Smooth and hard, he
pushed inside, delving impossibly deep, to her very center. The center of her
body and soul.

“Wait,” she
ordered. “Wait.” She savored the moment, reveled in the triumph.

He rocked
against her.

“Mmmm.” She
lifted her hips and tilted upward. “I love the feel of skin against skin.” She
hugged her legs around his hips to hold him close, pulling him deeper inside.

“Me, too.”
His breath tickled the ear he nibbled. He lifted his head, smiling his
pleasure.

Their eyes
met, and she read first the soul-deep satisfaction and then the blaze of alarm.
They stiffened at the same moment. He stopped mid-stroke.

“Skin
against skin?” he ground out between clenched teeth. “Christ, I’m sorry, I
forgot.”

“We have to
stop!” She prayed for an alternative. Hmmm. He was already in place. They’d
moved past the moment of no return for safety’s sake, both pregnancy-wise and
health-wise. Maybe if he pulled out before…

He dropped
his forehead against hers. With what seemed like superhuman effort, he levered
his shoulders upward. She noticed his hips didn’t follow. “Maybe if I...”

“No!” She
couldn’t let them think that way even if every hormone in her body screamed for
her to lock her ankles together, tighten the muscles that sheathed him, and
thrust against him, again and again.

He was a
man of vast experience. No telling what he’d been exposed to. She taught sex
education classes, for God’s sake. They were currently in violation of rule
number one. She knew the risks, she knew better than to take chances, for any
reason, even if this one time seemed worth it. Even if the damage had already
been done.

“I’m
healthy,” he said, kissing the side of her neck.

“Me, too,
but we have to stop.” She removed her hands from his shoulders and clenched
them into fists at her sides to keep from securing him in place.

“You’re
right.” The torturous withdrawal began. He eased himself out of her with
prolonged agony. Her every heartbeat, every breath raised its own protest until
the final whoosh of separation left her bereft. Empty. Cheated. Frustrated.

Her
thoughts raced. How close was the nearest convenience store? Five miles? Seven?
Would it be open now? What else could they use? Plastic wrap? The finger of a
latex glove?

He hovered
over her a second longer, pressing a kiss on her mouth that tasted like regret.
“Damn.” Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he reached for his jeans.
“I’m sorry.”

Oh, no! Is he leaving?
A disappointed groan
escaped her.

“I know
what you mean.” Dylan stroked her nest of curls before pulling a small packet
from his pocket. “Hang on a second. I’ll be right back.”

“You’ll be
right back?” she asked, ready to kick up her heels and dance around the room.

“I didn’t
say I wasn’t prepared. I said I forgot.”

Hurray! He
had a condom! “Hurry!”

He palmed
his erect cock and wasted no time in suiting up. When he lay on his back and
she climbed on board, Gracie experienced the overwhelming sense of coming home.

“Aahhh.” He
pushed all the way inside. “Just as good as before.”

She didn’t
understand it. That layer of latex normally lessened the pleasure dramatically.
For some reason, this time it didn’t.

He steadied
her hips against his, holding her firmly as she tested his control, withdrawing
a little and thrusting again. His gaze darkened with intensity. His
concentration focused as he moved to caress her breasts and graze her nipples
with her thumbs.

“Go for
it,” he said. “I’ll stay with you as long as I can.”

She rode
him long and hard, setting a demanding pace, hard and fast, pushing deep,
rocking against him. He matched her rhythm as the tension built and built.

His face
became taut and his chest slick with sweat before he bucked with the intensity
of his release. With the eruption of his desire, he threw back his head and
gritted out her name. “Now, Gracie, now.”