Daring Dylan (The Billionaire Brotherhood Book 2) (14 page)

Dylan shook
his head, reminded again that he should be looking at the town with an open
mind instead of preconceived notions. What else had he overlooked because he
hadn’t checked beneath the surface? Damn, no wonder he was turning out to be
such a piss-poor detective. “It sounds like you’re in capable hands. But I’m
good at filling out forms, if that would help you out.”

“Would you
do that for me? How could that help?” The redhead leaned over, giving him an
excellent view of her ample cleavage, took one of his hands in hers, and
squeezed. Her eyes and body language said she’d devour him as eagerly as she’d
devoured his dinner, but her eyes told him she was all show and no go.

“Applying
for a government loan is a game with secret rules,” he told her. “Success can
hinge on something as illogical as word choice. I’m familiar with the buzzwords
they’re looking for and the ones to stay away from.”

Tanya
nodded, beamed, and flirted, but he was counting on the fact that she’d been
casting anxious glances at someone seated at the bar throughout their
conversation.

Gracie, on
the other hand, became less animated as the conversation wore on. He almost
signaled for another beer when he remembered he was spending her money. And
driving. She rested her chin in her hand and looked over at the bar. Dylan
followed suit. Clayton yawned and pointed to his watch.

“Getting
late?” Dylan asked.

“It is for
Clay. He has early rounds tomorrow.”

Said doctor
crossed the room, stumbled slightly, and then put his hand on Gracie’s
shoulder. “You ‘bout ready to go, darlin’?”

“Sure. What
about you, Tanya?”

“I’m
ready.” She picked up her jacket and purse, then slid Dylan a sloe-eyed look.
“Unless you’d like me to stay longer. We can go over some more of my—assets.”

He laughed,
but shook his head. “Tempting, but I can’t listen to this music another
minute.”

Without
warning, a meaty hand with a tattooed panther coiling around the wrist and up
the forearm landed on Dylan’s shoulder and jerked him backward. A monster-sized
biker loomed over him. “You sayin’ you don’t like my choice of music?”

Size alone
wouldn’t cause Dylan to back away from a fight. He’d been spoiling for one all
night, and he could see from the beer belly lapping over the waistband of this
guy’s jeans that most of his muscle had turned to fat years ago. Dylan didn’t
think he’d be the one to come out on the short end of the stick. But he’d drawn
more than enough attention for one night. He wasn’t so juvenile that he’d let
some clown lure him into a bar fight just because their taste in music
differed. Before he could answer, Gracie jumped in. Again.

“Gosh, no,
Marvin,” she said. “He loves country music. He meant he couldn’t stand to go another
minute without hearing some more Garth.
Thunder
Rolls
is his favorite, and you haven’t played that more than five or six
times.”

Marvin
unclamped his hand from Dylan’s shoulder, rolled his beer bottle between his
palms and squinted suspiciously at Dylan. “That right, pal?”

This time
Dylan had no doubt about whether it was relief or humiliation he felt toward
Gracie. Humiliation definitely prevailed. Laced with strains of annoyance.
Maybe even anger. Why did she keep interfering? Not once, not twice, but three
times in one night. That was one thing he’d straighten her out about when they
got home. He didn’t need anyone to keep him out of trouble, let alone the
aggravating little Dr. Fix-It.

And looking
at her in the dim light of the pub, all happy-faced and smiling, he realized
she didn’t have a clue she’d done anything wrong. She’d been doing what Gracie
liked to do best. Step in to fill a need, avoid trouble, and smooth things over
for a friend.

And he was
the friend. He liked the sound of that. Maybe what she’d done wasn’t so bad
after all. But he’d still talk to her about it. Later. For now, he’d go along.
Again.

“That’s
right,” he agreed, glad he wasn’t under oath. “Love that Garth.”

“Hell,
Gracie.” Marvin beamed at her with a gold tooth gleaming in the front of his
mouth. “You should have said somethin’. Stick around.
Thunder Rolls
is comin’ up next.” He tipped his beer bottle back
and drained it, belching loudly before swaggering away to rejoin his friends at
the pool table.

With the
show over, everyone else heaved sighs of relief or disappointment and returned
to his or her own business.

“I’m going
to stop in the restroom,” Gracie said, “but I’ve got the truck, so you guys
don’t have to wait.”

“I’ll go
with you.” Tanya headed for the ladies’ room.

“I’ll
wait,” Dylan and Clayton said in unison.

Arms
crossed, they glowered at one another. They tapped their toes to the song Dylan
presumed was his new favorite and glowered some more.

“You can
leave any time,” Dylan said. “I’ll follow Gracie to make sure she gets home
safely.”

“That’s
okay.” Clayton enunciated each word with exaggerated precision. “I b’lieve in
seeing my date home.”

“You’re on
a date? And a threesome, at that. Is it common here to let your dates entertain
another man while you sit at the bar and drink?”

“Tanya’s
not with us. I mean I’m not with Tanya.” The idea seemed to alarm him. “Gracie
just invited her along becaush—because she felt sorry for her. The same reason
she invited you to join them.”

“Okay.”
How many beers Clayton had put away?

“I wouldn’t
go getting any ideas about Gracie if I were you.” A hiccup punctuated the
advice. “You can’t expect her to like someone who spent the night hiding behind
her skirt.”

“Haven’t
you been doing that your whole life?” Dylan asked with a smirk.

The punch
came out of nowhere and slammed into Dylan’s nose with a sickening crunch.
Seeing stars at the same time blood spurted everywhere, he returned the blow
with a stirring sense of exhilaration. Finally, someone had obliged him with a
fight. One he didn’t have to start, and one that Gracie wasn’t around to stop.
Clayton stepped in close, pounding precision blows into Dylan’s ribs. Clayton
grunted when Dylan pummeled him in return.

By the time
they broke apart, Dylan’s vision had cleared. Clayton groaned, held his right
hand gingerly and covered his eye with his left. Dylan slumped against the
table searching for something to staunch the blood flowing from his nose.

A weight
with the force of an anvil landed in the middle of his back. He crashed into
the table, flipping it over. Dishes flew in every direction, and Gracie
shrieked in the background. Before he got to his feet, she had launched herself
onto the back of his assailant, the biker named Marvin.

“Cut it
out, Marvin. Don’t hurt your hands!”

Dylan
wrapped his arms around her waist to haul her out of harm’s way. Clayton
reached for her at the same time.

“Leave her
alone.” Clayton tried to push Dylan away.

“You leave
her alone.” Dylan returned the shove.

Clayton
responded with a swing. Dylan ducked. The fist landed in Marvin’s side instead,
and he folded in half with an ooph! All hell broke loose as the other bikers
and some roughnecks from the bar joined in.

Punches
landed indiscriminately before Guidry pulled Marvin off Clayton, breaking
Clayton’s grip on Brinker, Brinker’s arm lock on Dylan, and Dylan’s chokehold
on one of the bikers. Guidry thumped heads together like melons, and the
brawlers lost interest fast.

“Get out,
all of you.” He steered Dylan and Clayton to the door with a firm hand on
Dylan’s elbow and a steadying arm around Clay’s shoulders. The bikers and
others who had jumped into the fray stumbled out the door and scattered,
hooting and hollering as they went.

“Sorry
‘bout that, Guidry,” a biker said.

“Didn’t
know you packed such a wallop, Clay,” one of the fishermen called out.

“Helluva
good fight,” Marvin muttered, slapping Dylan on his back as he passed by.

“You sure
your hands are all right, Marvin?” Gracie asked.

“They’re
fine.” He waved away her concern.

The roar of
Harleys and pickup trucks faded into the night. Guidry started in on Clayton,
who required a steadying hand to keep him upright. Gracie and Tanya eyed
Clayton and Dylan with reproach, but remained silent.

“Doc, you
know better than this. I thought you were here with Gracie. You should’ve quit
drinking about three beers ago if you intended to drive home.” The bartender
fished in Clayton’s jacket pocket and extracted his keys. “You either find
yourself a ride, or I’ll call the police chief to come see the damage you and
your buddy caused.”

“Not my
buddy,” he mumbled through swollen lips. “I’ll walk home.”

“I’ll take
him.” Tanya’s offer surprised everyone. Especially Clayton, if his slack-jawed
expression was any indication. “Looks like he’ll need some tending when he gets
there, and since I have a three-year-old, I’m pretty handy with a Band-Aid.”

“Gracie can
patch me up.” Clayton tried to stand without Guidry’s support and failed.

“She’s
going to have her hands full with Dylan.” Tanya accepted the brunt of Clayton’s
weight from the bartender. “And he’s going her way. You’ll just have to put up
with some TLC from plain little ol’ me instead of the love of your life.”

“I can take
care of myself.” He failed to evade the grasp of a dynamo half his size.

“I’ll just
push you out of the car when we get to your driveway.”

Their
bickering carried through the night air until two car doors slammed, one after
the other.

“And as for
you...” Guidry turned to Dylan.

He raised
his hands to ward off a lecture. “I can drive. I only had two beers.”

“Then
what’s your excuse for trashing my bar?” The man could have squashed him on the
sidewalk like a bug, and he looked like he might be thinking about doing it,
too.

“No
excuse.” Dylan pushed his hair off his forehead and winced. He couldn’t tell
which hurt worse—his nose, ribs, or hand. “I didn’t know how drunk he was or
that he has such a short fuse, but it shouldn’t have happened. I’m sorry.”

Guidry
crossed his immense arms and looked even more threatening. “Who’s going to pay
for the damage?”

“Surely you
have insurance,” Gracie said, stepping between them. “You shouldn’t expect—”

Dylan’s
tolerance for her interference snapped. “Stay out of this, Gracie. I don’t need
your help.”

Damn, the
pain in her eyes dulled their sparkle. He hated knowing he’d caused that.

“Oh. Well.
Excuse me.” Physically, she turned her back on him. Emotionally, she moved a
million miles away.

He doubted
if slashing her with a knife would have wounded her more. “Gracie...”

Dropping
her chin, she dug around inside her purse. With Guidry waiting for a reckoning,
Dylan postponed his apology to Gracie until later.

“I’ll have
my assistant call you about the bill in the morning,” he told Guidry.

A grunt was
all the appreciation the offer received. “Stay out of my bar until I get the
money.”

“‘Night,
Guidry,” Gracie said.

“You gonna
be around next Saturday for Marley’s wedding?” he asked as she turned to leave.

“Are you
kidding? I wouldn’t miss your kid sister’s wedding for anything. I still can’t
believe the little squirt’s getting married.”

“Tell me
about it. She’s twenty-two now, with a degree in marine biology.”

 
“Amazing. And to think I used to babysit her.”
Gracie shook her head. “Tell Aunt Betty I’m available if they need help at the
church or the reception hall next week.”

“Will do.”
The bartender disappeared through the door, leaving Gracie and Dylan alone on
the sidewalk.

Her
features sharpened with disdain. “Can you drive?” She’d withdrawn into someone
cold and aloof. Someone very unlike the real Gracie.

“Sure.” He
made a heroic effort not to whimper.

She waited
beside him as he hauled himself into the Navigator. His ribs protested the
effort. Under the streetlight, he noticed the wet spot on the front of her
blouse. If it wouldn’t hurt his face to do it, he’d grin. “Somebody spill a
drink on you?”

She looked
down and wrinkled her nose as she sniffed. “Smells like beer.”

He turned
on the motor and leaned out to close the door. Pain shot through his side,
taking his breath away. He hugged his rib cage, closed his eyes, and waited for
the ache to subside.

When his
breath returned to his lungs, he opened his eyes. Gracie lingered beside him.
Although she kept her hands clasped, he could see them twitching with the
instinct to offer assistance. One moment of silence stretched into two.

Gracie
moved to close the car door. “See you later, then.”

A tough as
nails stance was all well and good, but what was the point if it meant going
home alone? She remained by the Navigator waiting for him to drive away, but he
couldn’t do it. None of his extremities would do as they were told. Well, hell,
if she wanted to help, he’d let her.

He powered
down the window. “All right, you win,” he said as if she’d been haranguing him
for hours. “You can drive me home if you really want to. My car or yours?”

“Yours.”
She tried to hide her smug smile, but he spotted it.

His ribs
seriously protested the effort required in switching seats. Pulling shallow
breaths into his lungs, he closed his eyes and reclined the passenger seat
while Gracie slid behind the wheel.

“That was a
pretty stupid display,” she said after a few miles of silence.

“I know.”
He winced as she plowed through a three-foot-wide pothole instead of going
around it.

“You were
spoiling for a fight when you got to McStone’s, weren’t you?”

“Yep.”
Monosyllables were about all his split lip could handle. He inventoried his
teeth with his tongue.

His ribs
protested when she turned off the paved highway onto the rutted road leading to
Liberty House. He could have sworn the Navigator had better shocks than this.

After a few
excruciating minutes, she pulled to a stop. He considered getting out of the
vehicle, but wasn’t sure he could. He lifted one eyelid to see what mischief
Gracie was up to. She didn’t normally remain quiet for long.

She peered
at him from mere inches away, assessing the damage to his face. She bit her
lower lip and let one gentle finger tug at his split and swollen one, then
tilted his head toward the light. “It’s probably not as bad as it looks.”

He removed
his chin from her grasp. He wanted her to touch him with passion, not clinical
detachment.

She invaded
his space once again to unhook his seat belt. The fall of her silky hair
brushed his shoulder. The scent of coconut shampoo wafted toward him. He
inhaled deeply, groaning when pain knifed through him.

Gracie’s
hand joined his on his rib cage. Her look of concern indicated she intended to
poke and prod and ask him if it hurt when she pressed against him
there
.

“I’m not a
patient.” He swooped in to stop her protest with a kiss.

At the same
moment, she lifted her head and bumped his lip.
Ouch!
He ignored the pain and angled for better position. Just a
brush of lips at first, then he sent out his tongue to lick her. He pulled her
more closely to him, opening his mouth over hers.

Oddly, she
tasted metallic, almost coppery. Like blood.

Shit, no.
That was him. “Damn.”

Gracie
tried to duck behind medical neutrality, but her voice quavered as she spoke.
“You should have that looked at.”

Dylan
fished a napkin out of the glove box. “Tomorrow,” he said, promising himself
that’s when he’d pick up where they’d left off.

He yanked
on the door handle and got out with careful execution.

She came up
beside him. “You might have a broken rib or two.”

“I can
manage.” He waved her off and evaded the hand she tried to hook through his
arm.

It took him
about ten minutes to get from the car to his room. It took him most of the
night to vanquish his inappropriate thoughts of Gracie.