That comment got to him. Anger rose in his chest before he could stop it. Dillon opened his eyes and drew his brows together, dropping a cup into the dishwasher with a little more force than intended. “The choice wasn’t hers to make. She should have told me. Contrary to popular belief, I wouldn’t have turned my back on her.”
“I’m not saying you would have.” Emma laid a gentle hand on his forearm, a gesture of reassurance that somehow soothed a frazzled nerve.
Barely managing to ignore the warmth of her palm seeping into his skin, he darted a glance at her. Finding the same gentleness in her eyes, his anger deflated. “You shouldn’t believe everything you read in the papers, you know. They’re not always right.”
She leaned back against the counter, hands gripping the edge. “Janey once told me you were determined to stay single. The papers said something similar. Were they wrong?”
There went those intrusive questions again. Dillon shrugged. “No, in that instance, they’re right. I have no desire to get emotionally involved in a relationship.”
“Why not?”
Because he had no desire to open his heart to yet another woman only to find out she considered him nothing more than a rich plaything. “I learned the hard way marriage isn’t for me.”
Yeah, okay, life could get a little lonely every once in a while. Sometimes he craved simple things, like someone to talk to at the end of the day. He learned the hard way that wouldn’t happen for him through a series of relationships that all ended the same way. Him finding out he was being used. Or cheated on. Usually both. Leila Michaels was the last straw. Better simply to stay uninvolved. He found it easier that way. If he didn’t expect anything, he wouldn’t be disappointed.
Of course, all people ever remembered was that he enjoyed being single. The papers called him a playboy. That he owned the only nightclub in town seemed to fan that particular bit of gossip. Whatever. He could care less what the general public thought of him. He knew who he was.
Emma was different. He cared what she thought. For some reason, he didn’t want her thinking the worst of him. All she seemed to remember was the irresponsible kid he’d once been. One way or another, he intended to change her view of him. Or die trying. He wanted her to know there was more to him than what everybody else saw.
“Do you know what it was like to be me growing up?” Dillon turned his head to look at Emma and rinsed the lasagna pan. “To look at the gorgeous cheerleader on my arm and know she only fawned all over me because my family had enough money to buy the entire county? I was a foot taller than damn near everyone and string bean thin, but girls threw themselves at me. I wasn’t stupid. I knew why they were there.”
“Of course, you went along with it.” Emma cocked a brow, her eyes daring him to deny it. “You couldn’t help yourself.”
He shook his head and set the rinsed pan in the second sink. “It’s not something I’m proud of. It’s just the way I was. Young and way too curious for my own good.” He darted a glance at her, unable to help the smile that spread across his mouth. “It was a hell of a lot more fun than I was having by myself and wasting my time on girls used to piss off Pop. Why mess with a good thing?”
“I guess.” Slotting the pan into the dishwasher, she shrugged.
“Except, here I am, twenty-six and still alone.” He shook his head, memories rising like acid in his stomach. “Still being chased by the gold diggers in this town. You’d think I’d be used to it by now.”
She turned to him, sympathy in her gaze. “Janey told me you were supposed to marry Leila Michaels.”
The one woman who actually made him want a family, then shot those dreams to hell in one flick of her perfectly manicured finger. “Mmm. Then I suppose you also heard it didn’t work out?”
Emma nodded. “What happened?”
He added soap to the dispenser, closed the door, and turned the machine on. Leaning back against the counter, he let out a heavy sigh. “Came home from the bar early one night and found her in bed with one of my bartenders.”
He’d never forget that day. Walking into the house to the sounds of her laughter, mingling with a male voice he instantly recognized. He followed the voices to the bedroom. They were beneath the covers, naked and wrapped around each other.
Emma laid a hand against his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
Dillon resisted the urge to take her hands and pull her closer, to lose himself in the disturbing peace he found the few times he’d gotten to hold her. Instead, he lifted a shoulder.
“Live and learn.” He’d never make that mistake again. He eyed Emma. Time to turn the tables on Little Miss Honesty. “So, do you share your sister’s sentiment on men?”
Emma folded her arms and met his challenge head-on. “Depends on the man.”
“You obviously don’t trust me.”
She laughed. “With all the trouble you and Janey got into over the years, can you blame me?” She darted a glance at him, eyes glittering with amusement. “You’re a spoiled brat, Dillon. Always were.”
He couldn’t help the laugh that escaped. She had him there. “
Was
, Em. Was. I’ve grown up a little since the last time you saw me.”
“You sure have.” Frozen in front of him, Emma stared up at him like a deer caught in the headlights—wide-eyed and just this side of stunned. She searched his face, something moving in the depth of her eyes. So subtle Dillon wasn’t entirely sure he saw it. Like the beginnings of a spark, an ember that flared to life and made him wonder what ran through her mind. If that weren’t enough torment, her tongue flicked out and slid over her bottom lip.
Dillon couldn’t stop himself from following the movement. How many times growing up had he thought about tasting that mouth? Of running his tongue along that very same lip? Looking up and meeting her gaze again, he saw it. A subtle shift, an awareness that sparked between them. Subtle, but there all the same. Everything inside of him tightened in response. Every single one of those boyhood fantasies flooded his mind like a tidal wave.
Firmly reminding himself Emma was Janey’s big sister and he had no business touching her, Dillon stuffed his hands into his pockets and forced his mind to focus on something else. “So, fair’s fair. What’s your story? Janey said you don’t date.”
Emma froze beside him. Before his eyes, a wall went up between them. Her easy smile melted and her back stiffened, her hands clenching. Just when he thought she wouldn’t answer, she averted her gaze to the floor and folded her arms across her chest. “I do date. Just not much.”
“Why not?”
Emma might be a bit uptight, but she was gorgeous. He wouldn’t expect she had much trouble in the dating department.
“I’m not Janey. It’s been my experience most men only want one thing. That was okay with her, but I’m nobody’s good time.” Despite the venom in the statement and the stiff way she held herself, a lost, vulnerable look took over her features. Emma stared out in front of her, eyes shifting, like a memory played through her mind.
Her statement screamed of a bad experience. Dillon had the sudden urge to wrap his arms around her, to soothe whatever wound lay beneath that armor.
A heartbeat later, Emma shut it all off. She drew up straight and pushed away from the counter, crossing the kitchen to where Annie lay sound asleep in her car seat. “We should go get my things now. I need to put her to bed.”
Chapter Four
They made it back to the house in an hour. Emma stood beside Dillon in the darkened guest bedroom, both staring down into the portable crib. Annie had fallen asleep minutes ago, but so far, neither of them spoke or moved. She tried to summon the courage to tell him what she needed to, what couldn’t be put off any longer.
An awkward awareness of him developed on the drive over. Dillon helping her pack and move her belongings felt oddly intimate. It left her overly aware of the change between them. Overly aware that she was a woman and he was a man. Something she hadn’t thought about in eight years, she was sure she’d firmly set aside. Yet there it was, rising all over again. She watched the way his muscles bunched and tightened when he moved, helping her pack the portable crib and carry it all out to his car. All the while the memory of those muscles against her when he held her in his arms at the club ripened in her mind. Her cheek pressed to the solid wall of his chest…
So much that making decent conversation on the drive back to his house became near impossible. The ride was too silent, the air inside his SUV practically sizzling with tension.
She didn’t appear to be alone in that feeling either. When she and Dillon set up the portable crib in the guest bedroom, they moved with an awkward awareness of each other. He held himself stiff, those dark eyes forever darting to her, somber and wary, telling her without words he felt the tension too. Given their history, it wasn’t only odd for her to be spending the night in his house, but unusual for the two of them to be behaving like parents. Together.
She didn’t quite know what to say to him, how to form the words. Her heart beat like it wanted to escape her chest, and a permanent knot rooted in the pit of her stomach. Somehow, over the years, Janey’s obnoxious best friend had become a man. Damned if her body wasn’t responding full force to him. No matter how much she shouldn’t be noticing.
“We can go get a full-sized crib tomorrow.” Dillon’s voice drifted through the darkness barely above a whisper.
She turned to look at him. Moonlight streamed in through the window in bright streaks against his back, illuminating the room behind him, casting his face in shadows. “If you like.”
“I would.” Dillon looked over at her. “Are you tired? Should I leave you to sleep?”
Emma shook her head. She was too nervous to sleep. The entire house screamed of Dillon. From the pictures of his family that covered his walls, to the clean, masculine lines of the furniture—expensive-looking pieces, done in lush fabrics and richly textured, highly polished wood. A subtle hint of the cologne he wore, warm and spicy, permeated the air, so every time she inhaled, her lungs filled with the scent of him. A scent so familiar, yet its effect so different. The scent of a man.
All things some part of her insisted she shouldn’t notice about him, but suddenly she couldn’t seem to help herself. Dillon
was
a man. So far the only one who made her feel safe when his arms closed around her. She kept expecting to find that irresponsible kid she grew up with, the one who happily got into trouble with her little sister. Now, he proved beyond a doubt he wasn’t that boy anymore. The more of that man she saw, the more Emma had no idea what to do with any of the emotions he inspired within her.
Time to distract herself. “You’re not tired?”
Dillon shook his head. “No. I’m usually up pretty late on Sunday nights. Occupational hazard. I’m at the club until around four most nights.”
“Four
a.m.
?” Annie got up at six most mornings. Emma couldn’t imagine staying up that late.
He turned his head to look at her again. “If you’re not tired, I rented a couple movies. We could watch one if you’d like.”
The anticipation in his tone, ripe with an awkward tension, hinted at his true meaning. He wanted to spend time with
her
. She wished she could see his eyes.
She twisted her hands together and forced her mind to focus. “I’d like that, but there’s one more thing I want to discuss with you first.”
Dillon studied her for a moment then jerked his head in the direction of the doorway. “Come on.”
That awkward awareness moved with them down the hallway, once again making Emma too aware of him. The masculine feel of him when they made their way into the living room made her tremble with a quiet need to feel his arms close around her again. Filled her mind with the heated fantasy of his mouth closing over hers, an image she’d conjured too often since coming back to town.
Once they reached the couch, Dillon turned to her, brows raised. “So?”
Swallowing hard, she tipped her head back to look up at him and motioned to the sofa. “Sit. Please.”
The way he towered over her made her nervous and Emma was edgy enough already. Maybe if they sat eye to eye, she might be able to get this out without her tongue tying itself into a knot.
He pulled his hands from his pockets and sank to the tan leather sofa, then turned expectantly to her. “I’m all yours.”
Emma ignored the tingle his comment sent shivering down her spine and took the seat beside him, tucking one leg beneath her, drawing the other up against her belly. She drew in a deep breath, sucking up her courage. She didn’t want much, right? Dillon shouldn’t have a problem with it…
Yet, her stomach tightened in apprehension. Two days ago she was sure he didn’t want marriage or kids. She hoped but hadn’t really expected him to take responsibility for Annie. Who knew how he’d react to this one.
“I’d like you to consider something.” She turned to look at him.
He nodded. “Okay.”
“I’d like you to consider joint custody.” Emma sighed and lowered her gaze to the sofa between them. The pain slipped up to wrap around her heart even before the words formed on her tongue, tears burning behind her eyelids. “With Janey gone, she’s the only family I have left.”
She hated admitting her vulnerability, hated knowing Dillon now held the power to take it all away. Not since her near rape in high school had she ever given a man this much power over her. She was never able to do it, not even when she dated. Doing so meant running the risk of getting hurt.
This was different. This was about Annie’s future. Which meant she needed to trust him. Unfortunately, she didn’t know how to do that, simply because she’d never done it before. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust
him
. Emma flat out didn’t trust men. Period. The thought of being vulnerable with one made her nauseous.
“I don’t have a problem with that.” Dillon cupped her chin in his palm and tipped her face to meet his. His voice vibrated with quiet understanding. “Family’s important.”
Relief flooded her. Emma smiled, her tense muscles relaxing a fraction. “I’m glad to hear you say that. I didn’t expect it.”