His mother didn’t look convinced. She opened her mouth, but the front door slammed, interrupting her words.
“Ma?”
At the sound of Dillon’s voice, Emma’s heart jumped into her throat, an overwhelming array of emotion thrumming through her. She didn’t know if she wanted to see him yet, if only because she craved the sight of him. How in the world was she supposed to act around him now? They’d gone and complicated their relationship. They couldn’t go back from where they’d been. Things weren’t so simple anymore.
Dillon stopped short in the archway to the room. His gaze fell on her, surprise lighting in his eyes. “Em. Hey.”
For a long moment, he regarded her in silence, and Emma twisted her hands in her lap, waiting for something to tell her how to respond. Awkward tension zipped between them, the air filling with wants and needs and things better left unsaid. His eyes filled with longing, regret and need, and tugged at the place inside of her that missed him this last week.
It wasn’t her decision. It was his, and the unchecked emotion in his eyes made her chest ache all over again.
She dropped her gaze to Annie, whose little face lit up at the sight of him.
“I forgot to leave her diaper bag.” He moved into the room, his gaze on his mother. “Her bottles are in here.”
His mother sat regarding her son for a moment then pursed her lips. “You look just like Emma does. Miserable.”
Dillon shook his head and set the diaper bag on the floor beside the playpen. “Leave it alone, Ma.”
His mother’s features blanked. She rose from the couch and bent over Emma, taking Annie from her lap, and then moved toward the exit at the back of the room. “Annie and I are going to check on supper. Emma, it’s ridiculous for you to pay for a room when we have dozens of empty ones right here. You’ll stay with us.”
Emma shook her head. “I don’t want to impose.”
Halfway across the room, Camilla turned, her eyes soft. “Nonsense. You’re like family, sweetheart. After supper, you can go get your things. All right?”
When she nodded, Camilla turned and resumed her trek. She disappeared moments later, leaving her and Dillon alone.
Silence seeped over the room. Awkward tension returned, a palpable entity that rose between them like a tall, immovable mountain. Emma twisted her hands in her lap, trying to decide whether she should follow his mother and offer to help. She wanted to run and hide.
“Did you have a good week?” Dillon’s voice came low, his question entirely too conversational.
She managed a tight smile, but couldn’t bring herself to meet his gaze. “Fine, thanks. Yourself?”
“I’ve had better.”
The honesty in his voice made her look at him. The same somberness glimmered in his eyes, his gaze searching and intense, but for a long moment, neither said anything. She couldn’t stop watching him, kept waiting for him to say…something.
“You should come with me to the club tonight.”
She lowered her gaze to her lap and shook her head. “I’d like to spend the night with Annie. I’ve missed her.”
“Right.” Disappointment rang in his tone.
Looking at him, the emotion was written on his face, subdued, like he tried to hide it but there all the same.
“Maybe tomorrow?” His brows rose in anticipation. Tension radiated from him, his shoulders set a little too stiffly, hands stuffed into his pockets the way he did when he was uncomfortable.
He offered an olive branch and it tugged at the ache in her chest again. She longed to go to him, to slip her arms around him, and somehow soothe the wound between them.
Clasping her hands tighter, lest she do exactly that, she nodded, forcing a smile. “Tomorrow would be better.”
His face lit up, a smile easing across his mouth, and the tension left his body. “Good. I’ve got to jam, but I’ll call you tomorrow. Or you can just bring Annie over. I don’t have them on me, but I got the keys to your house.”
The quick change in his emotions twisted at the doubt still lingering in her mind, at the ache in her chest that wouldn’t go away. It hurt that he could so easily dismiss what happened between them while she struggled to return to “normal,” whatever that was for them anymore.
Forcing herself to focus on his words instead, she frowned. “That was fast.”
He shrugged. “Check cleared. It’ll be a while before you get the deed.” He turned to leave the room, striding for the exit. Just before he disappeared under the archway he lifted a hand in farewell. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Em.”
The following evening Emma sat on a barstool at the club. Dillon stood in the exact same spot he always was, arms folded across his chest. So far, his usual throng of groupies had yet to appear. The music surged, bodies packed in around them all gyrating to the pulsing beat. He brought her in early, before the club opened at eight, showed her around the place, and introduced her to the employees. He wanted her to follow him for the night.
In truth, she was at odds with the place. She didn’t normally come to places like this. They weren’t her style, and being there made her feel a bit too much like the odd duck. It didn’t help matters any that she had no idea how to relate to Dillon. So far, he acted cool and detached. He went right back to treating her like his best friend’s older sister, like they hadn’t shared anything at all. The way Janey might have.
Except for his eyes. Dillon never could hide his emotions. Every time he looked at her, yearning shined back at her. He still touched her a little too much, still held her gaze a little too long. It confused her; left her caught in a tug of war she didn’t know what to do with.
Forcing her mind back to the task at hand, learning about his club, she leaned toward Dillon, to be heard over the din. “Why is it you’re always right here?”
Without a word, he spun her stool around then leaned down beside her ear. “What do you see?”
Ignoring the tingles of awareness shooting down her spine, she turned her head, taking in the whole place bit by bit. “Actually, I can see the entire club from here.”
“Exactly. I like to keep my eyes open. Trouble happens fast.”
A small, giggling foursome of girls barely old enough to drink sidled up to the bar then. One of them turned her head, giving Dillon a saucy smile, and leaned on the countertop.
“Ladies.” He greeted them with a smile.
The girl giggled and nudged her friend, who turned to look him over. The entire exchange made Emma wish the ground would open up beneath her. What on earth did she think she was doing here?
When the girls wandered away a few minutes later, drinks in hand, Emma turned to Dillon. “I’m cramping your style, aren’t I?”
He frowned. “Why would you think that?”
Her cheeks heating, she turned her gaze out in front of her, idly watching one of the waitresses carry a tray loaded with drinks to a table on the far side of the room. “Every time I come in here, I find you surrounded by a throng of adoring fans. Tonight, so far, you’re not. You could just give me the password to your computer, you know.”
“You’re here because I want you to get a feel for the place. I want you to see it like I see it. Maybe you’ll notice something I’ve missed. I told you, I think you could be really good for this place.” He turned his gaze out in front of him and lowered his voice. “I do that on purpose, you know.”
“Do what?”
He turned and looked her square in the eye. “Flirt.”
She shook her head. “You don’t owe me any explanations.” She didn’t want to hear them either.
Dillon ignored her statement and leaned close, his gaze reaching and intense. “Happy customers stay longer and spend more money.” He straightened and held out a hand. “Dance with me.”
She took in the quick, gyrating beat of the music and vehemently shook her head. “I can’t dance.”
She couldn’t find a groove if someone handed it to her. She certainly wouldn’t be doing it in public, not to mention being any closer to him would be tempting fate.
Not taking no for an answer, Dillon grabbed her hands and pulled her off the stool. “You need to relax a little. Learn to enjoy the atmosphere. Come on.”
He tugged her behind him to the edge of the already crowded dance floor. The bodies surged around her, bumping and grinding.
Meeting his gaze, she shook her head, her heart in her throat. She really did have two left feet. Already, she felt out of place. She didn’t want to make a fool out of herself in public, let alone in front of him.
Moving to stand behind her, Dillon leaned his head down beside her ear. “Close your eyes. Let the beat take you.”
Doing what he instructed, Emma closed her eyes. At first, he placed his hands on her hips and guided her steps. Eventually, her feet moved of their own accord, and she found a comfortable rhythm. Dillon released her and she opened her eyes. He moved around in front of her, grinning. He took her hands, twirling with her. They were silly moves that made her feel goofy, but they relaxed her all the same. It wasn’t long until she fell with ease into the beat of the music. She actually enjoyed herself.
Okay, so maybe she could see what he and Janey saw in these places.
When the song ended and another began, the quick upbeat rhythm changed to something slower, softer, and the memory flooded her mind of the last time they danced. Of being in his arms, her head pressed against his chest, his body swaying against her to the sensual rhythm. The need that flowed between them.
The kiss that followed.
Emma froze. The cheerful feeling of the moment faded. The pain slipped up to wrap around her chest. She couldn’t stop remembering his words when he ended their relationship, if she could even call it that. Couldn’t stop seeing the look on his face that day. The regret and longing in his eyes now didn’t help matters any.
Without a word, she turned and pushed through the crowd, not stopping until she reached the office. Only once the door slid closed behind her and the silence wrapped around her did she realize he hadn’t followed.
Moving to stand at the window, gazing out at the club below, she discovered why. She easily spotted his tall, broad form from this distance, in his usual spot by the bar. He had a companion now. A tall blonde she recognized. Leila Michaels. His ex. The waitresses, Rhonda and Amy, had told her Leila had been in the club every night this week, fawning over him.
Seeing the two of them brought all those childhood insecurities rising to the surface. She’d been the ugly duckling all her life. No man ever wanted her for herself. Leila was everything she wasn’t. Tall. Blonde. Beautiful. Not to mention they shared a past. He loved her once, wanted to marry her. For all Emma knew, he still did. Maybe that was the real reason he didn’t want to get involved with her. She wasn’t Leila.
Standing there, she couldn’t seem to tear her gaze away. Before her eyes, Leila pressed her body along his length, leaned up on her tiptoes, snaked her hand around the back of his head, and pulled his mouth down to hers.
When Leila slanted her mouth over Dillon’s, Emma twisted away from the window. Tears welled in her eyes. She moved on numb legs to the desk and sank into the leather chair. She knew this day would come, when he’d move on and begin to see other people. She just hadn’t expected him to be so blatant about it. That hurt more than actually seeing the two of them together, that he would do it seemingly without concern for
her
. She’d come to expect more from him, thought him to be different. Apparently, she’d only seen what she wanted.
Well, that answered that. Now she
knew
she was in love with him. She couldn’t bear the thought of him with someone else. Her heart said he was hers.
She’d gotten herself into this mess, hadn’t she?
Chapter Thirteen
“You know, there’s a rumor going around he’s asked her out,” Amy said from behind him.
Standing at the back of the club, staring through the crowd at the bar across the room, Dillon could only grunt in acknowledgment. He’d heard that one, from damn near every one of his employees. The rumor mill flew with it. It didn’t help matters any that, for a good half hour every night, Emma took a break at the bar, keeping Ronnie company.
Exactly where she was tonight. Across the room, Ronnie leaned on the counter in front of Emma. Judging by the grin on his face and the way she tipped her head back and laughed, he flirted with her.
The sight irked the hell out of him.
She’d worked for him for a week now. His assessment of her had been correct. She was good for his club. She kept meticulous books, the employees all liked and respected her, and she’d already hired four people for the positions he needed filled. Emma was also a good judge of character, the people she hired did excessively well, which made
his
job easier.
The only problem was the tension between them. She barely spoke to him. If it wasn’t about business or Annie, she ignored him. The look in her eyes when she regarded him got to him, a mixture of sadness and anger. The look told him better than words could he’d upset her. Something had happened, that much he’d figured out. Not only had she rebuilt the wall between them, she went back to giving him those scornful looks he remembered only too well growing up.
Watching her with Ronnie made his chest ache. Night after night, she sat with him, flirted with him, and the entire idea had a hard knot of anger sitting permanently in Dillon’s stomach. It didn’t matter he was the one to end their relationship. It didn’t matter either, that he actually liked Ronnie, trusted him. Ronnie was a good guy.
Something deep inside insisted that Emma was
his
girl and the thought of her with someone else made him want to put a dent in something. Having to watch her actually respond to the obvious flirting made him sick to his stomach. He couldn’t do a damn thing about it. He’d asked for this.
“Oh, it’s not a rumor,” came a second voice behind him.
A glance back confirmed the voice belonged to Rhonda, another one of his waitresses. She and Amy stood behind him, both of them watching the scene unfolding before them. He turned back to the bar.