Daring Dylan (The Billionaire Brotherhood Book 2) (21 page)

She didn’t
just come, she soared. She didn’t just soar, she floated among the stars.

Relaxing
her arms, she sank down against him. He wrapped an arm around her and locked
her in place. “
Now
we’re done,” he
mumbled. “I can die a happy man.”

A smile
curved his lips as he drifted into sleep.

Too stunned
to sleep, Gracie examined the moment. What in the world had she been thinking?
She had wanted him, but nothing in her past had prepared her for the gift he
had given her. Where she had wanted warmth, she got blazing passion. Where she
had wanted closeness, she got fusion. Where she had wanted a moment of
forgetfulness, she got the memory of a lifetime.

And it
wasn’t as if she’d never had an orgasm before. Of course, she had. But Dylan
had savored her like Godiva chocolate. He had lapped and nibbled, licked and
sucked. Comparing the orgasms she’d had before to the one—two!—she’d had
tonight would be like comparing the pop of a firecracker to the explosion of
dynamite.

He shifted
to his side, wrapped his arm around her middle, and pulled her close. She
turned to find him wide-awake and staring at her with a sexy, tender, almost
arrogant smile. Normally she would have slugged him for the arrogance, but
tonight he had every right to it. If he hadn’t been the one to actually invent
sex, then surely he should look into patenting his personal variations.

She would
never settle for less again. Of course, how would she know if she were settling
until too late? Men didn’t come with ratings tattooed on their foreheads, worst
luck. She doubted the social acceptability of asking them if they were as good
in bed as Dylan Bradford. Besides, they’d just lie.

His
interest in her was surely a short-lived phenomenon. A delayed reaction, a
response to a rush of adrenaline. One of those embracing life after a
death-defying experience, with a dash of that old opposites-attract concept
thrown into the mix.

He probably
looked on her as an aberration, too. She could imagine how different she was
from the other women he knew. Once he went back to New York, he’d forget all
about her and—Oh, damn! He was going back to New York tonight!

She might
never have this opportunity again.

If she
wanted to have him again, it would have to be now. Endorsing Dylan’s new rule
of never putting off until tomorrow, she reached a hand out to touch him.

Good, he
was hard already.

The
combination of doggie breath and wet tongue pulled Dylan from a sound sleep.
Turning away from MacDuff’s enthusiastic greeting, he smiled at the sight of
Gracie snuggled against his other side.

Dylan
buried his head in the crook of her shoulder and breathed deeply of her
tangy-sweet scent. As he moved to caress her silky smooth skin, he stilled,
realizing he had violated his hard-and-fast rule about never spending the night
in someone else’s bed.

Although he
used the excuse that he didn’t want to risk having some paparazzi catch him
with his pants down, the truth was he didn’t like raising false hopes about his
intentions. And so far, the only intention he’d ever had was to move on with as
much speed and with as little resentment from his partner, as possible.

So this was
new, waking up in a bed not his own with a woman beside him.
And not just a woman, but Gracie
. And
hadn’t she turned out to be more than he’d fantasized? So warm and real and
exciting.

And her
body! Soft, round, voluptuous. No sharp angles or bony limbs. Nothing
artificially enhanced, tattooed, or pierced. Even the curls between her legs
were an
au naturale
wonder in his
world where all the women were waxed, shaved, or shaped.

Personal
grooming aside, he loved the unbridled interest and energy she focused on
everything from the simplest kiss to making love all night long. What she
lacked in experience, she made up for in enthusiasm. And sweetness and
ingenuity and curiosity.

What could
be better than that?

What could
be worse?

He couldn’t
believe she had so made him lose his head that he’d forgotten to use protection.
That had never happened to him before. Never.

Grandfather,
Uncle Arthur, even his mother had preached the sermon about safe sex and
unplanned children since he was old enough to know where babies came from. No
matter how tempting or innovative the partner, he’d never gone diving without a
wetsuit before. What was it about Gracie that made him recklessly discard
responsibility?

The answer
that sprang to mind made him squirm.

His
breathing grew labored and the walls of the bedroom started closing in around
him. He’d better get out of here and back over to the B&B before he forgot
his lousy track record for making commitments.

As he slid
his arm out from under her, she turned her head and smiled drowsily. He stopped
to return her smile. A rosy blush bloomed on her cheeks, and he brushed a kiss
across one and then the other. He nibbled his way to her mouth.

Damn, he
had zero control where she was concerned.

Amid the
rest of the apartment’s swirling colors, her bed linens were pure white.
Gracie’s vivid coloring stood out in the unrelieved starkness like a painter’s
palette next to a blank canvas. Pink cheeks, flashing brown eyes, creamy
complexion. Copper highlights shot through dark tresses that spiraled wildly
across her pristine pillow.

“Gracie.” Her
virginal sheet dipped, and his gaze wandered to her breasts. He ordered his
twitching cock to back off while he said his piece. The sooner he got this over
with, the less she’d be hurt. “Babe, I’ve got to go.”

“I know.”
Gracie nodded, bright-eyed and cheerful as ever. “You’ve got plenty to do today
before you leave.”

“Right.” He
studied her with a wary eye. “I’ll need to go by the cabin and speak to the
fire marshal, call the insurance company, and let Uncle Arthur know what
happened, too.” He checked the time while he recited his schedule. “The game
starts at eight. If I want to be in New York in time to see Natalie and Josh,
and then take care of a few things before the tip-off, I need to head out.”

“Sure,” she
agreed as he swung his legs over the side of the bed.

Relief
washed through him. She would be Gracie to the end, practical and well
organized, with none of the clinging or scheming he’d experienced with other
women. Why that thought didn’t make him ecstatic, he didn’t know.

Wouldn’t
she be even a little sorry to see him go?

With the
term reverse psychology running through his head, the last thing he wanted to
do was make his usual quick getaway.

“Gracie...”
He looked around for his clothes.

“Yes?” She
got up, and he admired the view while she pulled on some sweat pants and a
T-shirt. Haloed in sunlight, she handed him his jeans.

He couldn’t
leave like this, feeling as if things were unfinished between them. “Maybe we
can go to dinner when I get back from New York.”

A
challenging smile bounced his way before she answered. “Maybe we can.”

“You
mentioned something about a former fiancé.” He’d given more than a few uneasy
thoughts to the man she’d been engaged to. “Is the relationship over or just on
hold?”

“Over.”

“Good.
After last night, I mean...” The words dwindled away. He normally steered clear
of married women, but he wasn’t the guardian of anyone’s morality. If someone
committed to another relationship was willing to sleep with him, it was on her
conscience, not his.

Why was he
so pleased to confirm that Gracie’s conscience would be clear? He cleared his
throat and wished he could clear his head as easily. “Good.”

Her fingers
toyed with the heart-shaped charm nestling between her breasts. “What about
you? Any entanglements or significant others waiting in New York?”

“Nothing
serious.” The hazy image of Linc’s cousin waiting somewhere on his horizon
vanished like the mist. He’d tell Natalie that the plan was a no-go. He took an
unplanned step toward Gracie. Before he gathered her in his arms, a knock on
the front door called her away.

“There’s an
extra toothbrush on the sink,” she said over her shoulder as he headed for the
bathroom.

“Police
chief’s here.” She tapped on the door a few minutes later, her voice laced with
concern. “He wants to see you.”

He rinsed
toothpaste from his mouth. “Be right there.”

“I saw your
car down at Turley’s,” Dylan overheard the sheriff saying after she’d returned
to the other room. “He mentioned you’re looking for some reliable
transportation.”

“You have
something in mind?” Gracie rattled around in the kitchen, making coffee while
they chatted.

“Did Nora
tell you we’re selling the Blazer?”

“No. That’s
just what I need, if the price is right. Tell Brenda I’ll stop by and take a
look.”

Dylan
stepped into the living room, almost stumbling over the large police chief’s
feet. Ron Fleming crouched with his hat and a padded envelope in one hand,
scratching MacDuff’s neck with the other. The dark uniform covering his
enormous frame was rumpled, torn, and dirty from the long night’s work.

“’Morning.”
Dylan offered the chief his hand.

“Sorry to
intrude.” Pumping Dylan’s hand with a firm grip, Fleming cast the flicker of an
apology in Gracie’s direction. She blushed on command. He had the weathered
complexion and sharp-eyed look of a man who preferred sailing to deskwork.
“Nora told me I might find you here.”

“Were you
at the cabin all night?” Dylan asked.

“Yeah.”
Rubbing a knuckle into a red-rimmed eye, the exhausted man stifled a yawn. “We ran
into a couple surprises after you left.”

“Have a
seat while I get the coffee,” Gracie said. “How do you take it?”

“The
blacker the better.” He dropped into an overstuffed chair in the corner and
dwarfed it with his super-size.

The aroma
of fresh coffee filled the room as she poured out three mugs. Gracie handed one
to Fleming, then sat the other two mugs on a trunk-turned-coffee table where
the he had placed his hat and package. She dumped a mound of throw pillows off
the couch before taking the spot beside Dylan. MacDuff wiggled into place
between them.

Instead of
turning to business, the sheriff stared at his coffee and swirled it around in
the cup. Otherwise, he remained so still Dylan expected to hear him snore. If
he had more questions about the fire, he’d better get to the point. Dylan
stroked the dog’s ears and tapped an erratic beat against the brassbound trunk
with his foot. “You said you needed to see me?”

Slowly,
Fleming set the cup down and raised his eyes. “Until you showed up earlier this
week, how long had it been since you were at the cabin?”

“Since
before my father died… at least twenty-five years.”

“Who else
from your family has been there during that time?”

“I don’t
know.” Grandfather always said, “One thing that Bradfords learned early in life
was how to predict bad news.” Right now, he could smell it in the air. He kept
his expression blank, but MacDuff picked up on his internal tension. The animal
transferred his chin from Gracie’s leg to Dylan’s. “Why?”

“The arson
team uncovered human remains in the cabin’s cellar.”

Dylan’s
stomach lurched.

Gracie let
out a gasp. “Remains? How could anyone else have died? We were the only ones
there.” Her hand crept forward and closed around Dylan’s, a comforting gesture
that surprised him almost as much as the chief’s announcement.

“We won’t
have a positive ID until we check dental records.” Fleming cleared his throat.
“There isn’t much to work with.”

“Charred?”
Gracie asked in a thin voice.

The chief
shook his head grimly. “Bones.” His tired but perceptive blue eyes focused on
Dylan. “Been there awhile.”

“Wouldn’t
they have reduced to ash in the fire?” Dylan asked.

“It takes
intense, concentrated heat to incinerate a skeleton,” Gracie told him.

“Yeah, and
this one was shielded in an air pocket and protected behind some vent work. Not
much down there, but the cellar was destroyed by water and smoke, not flame.”

“Was there
anything left to speed identification?”

“A bit.”

Damned
closed-mouth Down Easterners. “Anything you can tell us about?”

“I can show
you.” He opened the lumpy envelope he’d carried in and emptied three clear
plastic evidence bags onto the trunk.

One
contained a tarnished silver charm bracelet. Another contained a gold cuff
link. The remaining one held some kind of carpentry tool. The hair on the back
of Dylan’s neck stood up as his gaze flicked over all three items before
returning to the sickeningly familiar cuff link.

“The
bracelet would have belonged to a woman,” Gracie mused. “I guess the cuff link
could have, too, but a chisel?” Lifting the bag containing the bracelet, she
fingered the charms through the plastic. Her face drained white before voicing
the name Dylan dreaded hearing. She reached for his hand, and her grip cut off
the circulation in his fingers. “This is Lana Harris’s bracelet, isn’t it?”

“It’s
shaping up that way.”

“Oh, my
God.” She pressed a hand to her heart. “Has anyone told Clay?”

“The M.E.
will as soon as the remains are removed from the scene.”

“I’ve got
to go to him.” She jumped up as if ready to leave at that very moment. “He’ll
be devastated.”

Relieved to
have her attention focused elsewhere, Dylan tore his gaze away from the
evidence and forced himself to look at Gracie. He didn’t want to upset her with
his problems until he was sure what they were. For all he knew, his suspicions
were way off base. “You’re right. You should find Clayton.”

Fleming
held up a hand up. “Not so fast. Is there anything else either one of you
recognizes here?”

Dylan moved
his gaze across the bags again, but Gracie reseated herself and leaned forward.

“The cuff
link is engraved with the letter B,” Fleming pointed out.

Dylan’s
heart contracted in his chest. “Is it?”

“Does it
belong to someone in your family? Would you know if your dad or uncle had a set
like this?”

“My dad, my
uncles, my cousin. We all do. My grandmother gave them to all the Bradford
males—hell, maybe to everyone she knew—when they graduated from prep school.”

“Does
everyone in your family have both of theirs?”

“How would
I know?” Dylan asked more belligerently than he meant to.

He took the
police chief’s gruff “See if you can find out,” as an order rather than a
suggestion.

Gracie
picked up the bag with the rusty chisel. Initials were carved into the handle.

“
CRL
.” Through the plastic, she traced
the letters with a little choking sound. Indignantly she sat up straighter and
glared at the chief. “Is this Granddad’s?”

“I haven’t
confirmed that.” Fleming scratched his ear as if the items before them
presented nothing more than an intricate riddle rather than clues from a
probable murder scene. Dylan couldn’t imagine that a similar crime had ever
happened in East Langden before. “Nora said Chester gets out of the hospital
today. I’ll stop by and ask him about it.”