Homecoming: The Billionaire Brothers (4 page)

Dylan crouched to pluck a wrench out of the plastic sack of tools at his feet. “I don’t have any plans at all. Thanks for the invite.”

The way he said it, head ducked and eyes hidden, set off Penny’s radar. “Did the Harringtons arrange for a place for you to stay?” she asked slowly.

A dull red flush suffused the back of his neck. “Not exactly.”

Righteous indignation turned her voice sharp. “I can’t believe they sent you to do a job without making sure you were taken care of! The lack of consideration—”

“It’s fine,” he interrupted hastily. “There must be a hotel around here where I can get a room.”

“On an island this size? Bless your heart. No. You’d have to take the ferry over to Winter Harbor, which would be a pointless waste of time. You’ll stay with us. We have more than enough space here—I’ll make up one of the guest rooms.”

When Dylan looked up and met her eye, a distinct twinkle had taken over for whatever embarrassment he’d felt. “People don’t say ‘no’ to you very often, do they?”

Penny shrugged. “I’m a mom. And I deal with the lunch rush at the Firefly Café every day. The only way to get through it in one piece is to maintain total, unflappable confidence at all times.”

“It’s a good trick,” Dylan told her. “And … that was a ‘yes,’ in case I wasn’t clear. A ‘yes’ and a ‘thank you.’ I really appreciate it.”

For some silly reason, the way he looked at her gave Penny a shiver of delicious heat all down her spine. Trying not to flutter, she said, “You’re very welcome. Now get that kitchen sink finished up so I can fix dinner.”

She turned to beat a hasty retreat before the warm shine of his eyes made her visibly flush, but his voice stopped her.

“Penny. I realize I don’t know you very well, but do you want an outsider’s take on what your son can learn from you?”

The flutters got worse, moving up from her belly to squeeze at her lungs. Her voice was embarrassingly breathless when she whispered, “Sure.”

Dylan held her gaze, the force of his ocean-blue stare drawing Penny closer. “In a single day in this house, I’ve seen a woman who doesn’t back down, who takes charge of her life and works hard to make it the best life possible, for herself and her kid. I see a woman who could let the toughness of that life get her down, but who chooses to smile instead. I see graciousness and hospitality—enough to welcome a stranger into your home, and to make him feel like … well. You make me feel like we’ve known each other longer and better than should be possible when we’ve only just met. It’s actually freaking me out a little.”

Penny had to laugh. It was that, or cry—the emotion struggling up from her chest had to come out somehow. And given the choice, Penny would always pick laughter over tears.

So she laughed, and held out her hand, and let herself enjoy the tremor of feminine awareness when his strong, callused fingers enfolded hers. “Considering the way Matty and I forcibly dragged you into our issues, I’d say you’re no stranger. So welcome to the family, Dylan—” She cut herself off, and this time the laugh was less shaky. “You know what? I don’t even know your last name!”

His fingers tightened on hers for a brief, convulsive moment. He stared down at their joined hands, silent. The pause lasted one heartbeat, two—then Dylan looked her directly in the eye and said, “Workman. Dylan Workman.”

Chapter Five

“Dylan Workman,” Penny echoed, smiling. “How appropriate, for a man in your line of business.”

Dylan dug deep for a carefree expression, even though, inside, he felt a little sick. What the hell was he doing, lying to this pretty woman about who he was? He knew it was wrong—and just then, he’d come so close to blurting out the truth that his heart was still pounding.

Whether it was with relief or regret that he’d kept the deception going, he wasn’t sure.

“I’d better finish up here so I can get out of your way,” he said, reluctantly letting go of her hand. Shorter and more curvaceous than the glamazon models Dylan usually dated, Penny Little had small hands, roughened in places by hard work. He found he liked the realness of her skin, the way her glow came from within rather than from a battery of expensive beauty products full of crushed diamonds and gold dust, or whatever.

He liked Penny Little, period.

Which was the problem, of course. He liked her, as a person—and he wanted her to like him back in exactly the same way. No preconceived notions based on his bank account, no weird inequality because she was technically his family’s employee, and definitely no chance that Penny might look at him and remember everything she’d heard about the Bad Boy Billionaire.

He wanted her to get to know the real him. Just Dylan, no bells and whistles. And maybe he’d discover that wasn’t enough for her, but he needed to find out if a woman like Penny could want him for himself alone. He’d never have a better opportunity.

Dylan listened for her light footsteps on the stairs as he ducked back under the kitchen sink to confront the leaky pipe. He removed and patched the problematic section of pipe with half his brain; the other half was focused on the woman upstairs.

The woman whose brilliant smile in the face of a dark, murky past lit up the entire house, and whose no-nonsense attitude made her a force of nature.

The woman who was currently unbuttoning that sea-foam-green waitress uniform and pushing the fabric off her creamy shoulders and down to her lush, rounded hips …

A drip of cold water from the pipe splashed down on Dylan’s cheek, and he shook it—and the vibrant images in his mind’s eye—off with a gasp.

Wiping his damp cheek on his T-shirt-covered shoulder, Dylan forced himself to concentrate on the plumbing. Luckily, it turned out to be fairly straightforward, and in ten minutes, he was tightening the segment of repaired pipe back into place. Shimmying out from under the cabinet, Dylan leaned over the sink to turn on the faucet and test the repair.

“Looking good,” Penny said from behind him.

Dylan jolted, suddenly hyper aware of how low his jeans were riding on his hips after crawling around on the floor and wriggling into the tight space under the counter. “Tell me I don’t have plumber’s crack.”

“Not that I’d be uncouth enough to mention it if you did,” Penny said, laughter sparkling in her voice. “But I meant the pipe.”

“Sure you did,” Dylan teased. He couldn’t stop thinking about the way she reacted every time he flirted with her. Even the gentlest flattery, the most G-rated, Disney-approved joke, brought a pretty pink flush to her cheeks.

He liked seeing it, wanted to see more of it. He wanted to see more of her, in general.

In just about every way, she was the polar opposite of … Dylan cut off the thought before the image of his ex-fiancée could form in his mind.

Monique Gallo had been quick to respond to Dylan’s charms, too—but every giggle, every sigh, every moan had been a deliberate move in a game Dylan hadn’t known they were playing until it was almost too late.

Penny’s responses were so unstudied, no artifice or fakery to them at all. And when she looked at him the way she was looking at him now, hazel eyes lit up with happiness and Cupid’s bow mouth quirked into a secret, feminine smile, Dylan knew she meant it.

The knowledge went to Dylan’s head like a shot of smoky sweet bourbon. It brought out conflicting urges in him—made him reckless and hungry with the need to push for more, but it also gave him the less familiar urge to protect her, to move slowly and carefully to keep from bruising this tender thing between them.

Caught between desire and restraint, Dylan stood paralyzed as Penny blushed and self-consciously gathered her dark brown hair into a messy knot on top of her head. Pushing up her sleeves, she snagged a plain blue apron from a hook by the stove.

She whipped it over her head and cinched the tie around her trim waist as she moved toward the cabinet to the right of the fridge, her movements quick and a little jittery, as if Dylan’s presence sparked her nerves.

That was fair, he considered, since she sparked plenty of strange new reactions in him, too.

The loud clatter as Penny removed the pot she wanted from the bottom of a pile of heavy cast iron and aluminum cookware startled Dylan into realizing he’d been standing like a lump, staring at her silently for the past minute. No wonder she was nervous—he was acting like a looming, lurking weirdo.

Shaking his head at himself, he knelt to pack his new tools back into their super fancy carrying case, a plastic shopping bag with a yellow smiley face and
H
AVE A
G
OOD
D
AY
printed on it.

“Oh!”

Penny’s sudden exclamation made Dylan look up just in time to see her tripping on the hammer he’d left lying on the floor. She pitched forward and he stood up in a rush to try and catch her, but all he managed was to get his arms around her and turn so that when they hit the ground, he took the brunt of the fall on his back with a solid “Oof.”

“Sorry,” they both said at the exact same time. Dylan broke off sheepishly, kicking one booted foot at the offending hammer, but Penny laughed. Her soft chuckles vibrated through his chest where they were pressed together, moving her lithe, wriggling warmth just enough to remind him that, hello, a beautiful woman was lying on top of him.

“I’m such a klutz,” she groaned, still smiling even though her cheeks were an almost feverish red. “First the iced tea, now this! You’re going to be eligible for combat pay
and
hazard pay.”

“It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have made such a mess while I was working.”

“Hmm. At least I can get a look at the job you did from down here.” She craned her neck slightly, making a show of seriously examining the sink’s undercarriage. “Yep, dry as a bone. You do good work, Mr. Workman.”

The fake name he’d given her hit him like a slap to the back of the head. Her eyes widened at the pained noise that escaped his throat before he could choke it back.

“Oh my gosh, I must be crushing you! Let me just…”

She squirmed deliciously, trying to find her balance, and every muscle in Dylan’s body went taut and throbbing with expectation. When Penny got her knees under her, straddling his waist, and moved to prop herself up on her hands, Dylan’s arms tightened around her automatically, holding her in place.

“What?” she breathed, staring down at him all pink cheeks and tousled hair. Her mouth was so pink, the bottom lip so delectably plump, it looked as if he’d already kissed her.

Unable to bear it another moment, Dylan reared up to capture that tempting lip between his. He breathed Penny’s gasp into his mouth, and Dylan’s shocked brain finally caught up to his body. He was still for a frozen moment, the hardness of the linoleum at his back and the soft weight of Penny’s body all that kept him tethered in place.

Then she kissed him back. Hesitant, at first, as if she wasn’t sure she ought to be doing this, but when he released that succulent lip and opened his mouth to the tentative sweep of her tongue, Penny caught fire.

Clasping his head between her hands, her fingers tightened so that he felt all ten points of pressure, tilting his face to the best possible angle. He groaned deep in his chest at the clean, freshwater taste of her, with a hint of spearmint, as if she’d brushed her teeth before coming back downstairs.

Dylan shifted his hips to cradle her body between his legs, the resultant squeeze and friction good enough to make his eyes cross. The little breaths Penny hitched against his chest dazzled him. He was pretty sure no one had ever breathed so perfectly, with so much unconscious seduction, in the whole history of the world before.

A door closed somewhere in the house, jarring them apart. Penny stared down at Dylan for a long heartbeat, and the way she looked at him cut him off at the knees.

Eyes wide, cheeks flushed, chest heaving—Penny looked stunned, as if she couldn’t believe this was happening.

Dylan swallowed, throat clicking loudly in the heated silence between them, and she pushed up off his chest. For a guy who didn’t believe in guilt or regret, Dylan found himself taking a dive right into it.

What was he doing, making out with this woman in her kitchen, with her kid right upstairs, and this huge lie between them? This was not a woman to be toyed with and cast aside, Dylan knew.

“Penny,” he said hoarsely, “there’s something I have to tell you.”

The sound of a throat being cleared had them leaping to their feet instead, untangling their arms and legs in a disheveled flurry. Matthew stood in the doorway, angular face dark with anger.

“I knew it,” he said, pointing an accusing finger at Dylan, who could only be grateful that the close shave with spilling the truth about his identity had killed his erection.

“Mom, what are you doing with this guy? Tell him to get lost!”

Shooting Dylan an apologetic glance, Penny hurried forward. “Now, honey. I know this is probably weird for you, but Dylan and I … it was only a kiss. Not anything for you to worry about.”

Matt twitched away from her, sidestepping so he could keep his glare focused on Dylan, who stood there feeling helpless and crappy. “I never meant to cause any trouble here.”

“Well, you are, so why don’t you fuck off!” Matt shouted.

“Matthew!” Penny looked as if she ached to grab the kid by the scruff of the neck and shake him. “There’s no call for that kind of language! Apologize to Mr. Workman, right this minute.”

“I’m not apologizing,” Matt sneered, though his lips trembled. “And if he’s staying, I’m leaving.”

He turned to go, and a note of iron entered his mother’s voice. “If you walk out of this kitchen right now, you’re grounded for the next month. End of discussion. No second chances, Matthew.”

Dylan winced, reading Matt’s answer to that in the defiant set of his rigid shoulders.

“So what,” the kid snarled, eyes unnaturally bright with unshed tears of anger. “You think I care about being grounded? I don’t have any friends on this stupid island, anyway. I hate it here. I wish we’d never moved away from Charlottesville. I wish I could go back and live with Dad instead!”