The Playboy's Baby (11 page)

“Janey never told me about the pregnancy.”

“I found a letter a couple of weeks ago, in her diary,” Emma added.

His mother studied him for a long moment, then pursed her lips and gave a curt nod. “You leave your father to me.”

“Where exactly is Pop?” Dillon turned his head, clearly searching.

“In the sitting room with Logan.” Mrs. James turned and moved farther into the house, taking Annie with her. “Your brother actually comes to see his mother.”

“Sorry, Ma. The club’s been busy.”

“Too busy to come and see your mother every once in a while?”

When his mother disappeared into the arched doorway to the right of the stairwell, Dillon looked at Emma. “Told you she’d take to Annie. We may never get her back.”

The glimmer in his eyes and the lilt in his voice said he teased, but she couldn’t muster a smile beneath the weight of the worry that seized her chest. “I still don’t like the thought of leaving her.”

Annie may not be her child, but Emma’s heart had long ago claimed her. Leaving her felt wrong, like she’d broken a promise to Janey.

“I won’t let anything happen to her.” Dillon turned to face her. His scent enveloped her and the warmth of his body radiated to her.

She should have taken a step back, except the soft honesty in his eyes caught and held her attention. His gentle smile wrapped itself around her heart, soothing the frazzled worry deep in the pit of her stomach.

“I promise.”

“I tell you, I’m not having it!”

Dillon’s father pounded a furious fist into the arm of the chair and Emma sighed. Dillon had been right. His mother jumped at the chance to watch her new granddaughter. His father wasn’t so easily convinced. The old man took one look at Annie and demanded a paternity test.

He then proceeded to run down a war path against what he assumed was the enemy. Dillon sat on the couch with his head in his hands, looking very much like a sixteen-year-old kid getting a scolding.

“Ethan, hush!” His mother’s tone strained with irritation.

His father’s head snapped in his wife’s direction, fury in his eyes. “I will not hush! This has happened once too often and I’m putting a stop to it this time. Janey was trouble, and she will not get away with this!”

“Pop, we’ve known Emma almost all our lives.” Logan, standing behind the sofa with his arms folded across his chest, rolled his eyes. “She’s not the enemy.”

Emma appreciated the sentiment, but it didn’t appear to do any good. Mr. James went on like he hadn’t heard a word.

“It wouldn’t surprise me in the least if that girl got herself pregnant and tried to pin it on you. She was trouble, with a capital T, and she had a well-known track record the size of this state.” Mr. James rolled his eyes. “I cannot believe you got yourself tangled up with the likes of
her
.”

Dillon’s head snapped in his father’s direction, dark eyes blazing. “Have a little respect, Pop.”

His father shook his head. “We’ve been down this road one too many times, Dillon, and I won’t allow it to happen again.”

Emma bit her lip and managed to hold her tongue, but the look of self-righteous indignation on the old man’s face irritated like the relentless drip, drip, drip of a leaky faucet. The man had never hid his dislike for her sister, never bothered to hide the fact he considered their family second-class citizens because they struggled financially. He didn’t make any attempt to hide his contempt now either.

She should never have come. To hear him talk that way about Janey niggled at the raw aching pain that still gripped her heart and every word out of his mouth only fueled the anger burning like hot coals in her gut.

His mother rose from the couch, Annie clutched to her chest. Her voice amazingly low and calm, she glared at her husband. “I’ve heard enough. This is not Emma’s fault and I refuse to allow you to talk about her sister that way. In this house, we have respect for the dead. It doesn’t matter how this baby came to be. The fact is she’s here, and you’re just going to have to deal with it.”

His father glanced at Annie, his gaze softening a bit. A breath later, he turned an icy glare on Emma, leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. “If it’s money you want, I’m afraid you’ve failed. I’m not fooled in the least by this little ploy of yours.”

That was the second time a James had said those words to her. Unable to bear it any longer, Emma surged to her feet and returned the old man’s glare. “I came back to town to tell
him
—” she jabbed a finger in Dillon’s direction “—because I thought
he
deserved to know. I could care less what you think. If you’ll excuse me, I need some air.”

She turned to Mrs. James and asked the silent question. When Mrs. James gave a small nod, Emma pivoted on her heel and stormed from the room. She trusted Dillon’s mother. She’d make sure Annie was safe until she got back. Right now, she needed air and space, and she wanted it before the tears burning behind her eyelids made their way to the surface. She would
not
give that old buzzard the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

Shaking with a mixture of nerves and pent-up anger and pain, she shoved her feet into her boots, grabbed her coat, and left the house. She marched across the lawn and down the driveway, the knot of pain and anger in her stomach carrying her forward.

“Em!”

Dillon’s voice called out when she reached the small garden at the center of the driveway, but she didn’t acknowledge him, didn’t stop. Angry tears welled and overflowed. She’d go back when she could go in there and be polite to that old stick in the mud. If she went back now, she’d declare war on that man, take Annie back, and call a lawyer. Annie and Dillon deserved better than that.

“Em, wait.” Dillon darted in front of her, forcing her to stop. He hadn’t put on a coat, hadn’t bothered to tie his boots. Concern etched his face, shone in his eyes, and the emotions she barely held back rose in her throat.

She glared at him, hands clenched into fists. If he came to stand up for his father, he had another think coming. “I don’t have to stand there and let him talk about my sister that way.”

“I know. I’m sorry I asked you to come.” He cupped her face in his warm palms, his voice gentle and annoyingly soothing to her ragged nerves. “I should have come alone. I didn’t think he’d direct his anger at you.”

“Janey is my sister. I know darn well she wasn’t perfect, but she’s my sister. She was all I had.” The quiet understanding in his eyes conspired against her, and more angry tears welled to the surface, a couple slipping before she could stop them.

His thumbs swept across her skin, wiping away the wetness. “My father’s a hard man. He has his own ideas about the world, and he’s very set in his ways. He’s a bit over protective of his family. Doesn’t mean he’s right.”

“You accused me of the exact same thing.” Emma shook off his touch, turned away from him, and folded her arms. That hurt more than she cared to admit. She’d expected him to be on Janey’s side.
Her
side. Without him, she felt entirely too alone.

“I know I did.” The snow crunched beneath his feet when Dillon took a step, his body pressing against her back, his voice a low, husky murmur in her ear. “I’m sorry. It was a knee-jerk reaction.”

She stiffened her spine, determined not to let him get to her. “I came back to town because Janey should have told you. You’re Annie’s father. You deserve to know. I don’t want nor have I ever needed your money.”

Dillon apparently had made up his mind to torment her, for his hands slid onto her upper arms, and he tugged her back against him. “I know. I’m sorry. I should never have accused you of being after money.”

The soft sentiment in his voice seeped inside and she turned to face him, needing to see his eyes before she allowed herself to trust his words. The sheer honesty in those dark orbs, the almost palpable sorrow and regret, pulled at her and the pain rose to the surface.

“I miss her so much.” Her voice shook with the emotion she couldn’t hold back anymore.

“I do too.” His arms closed around her, pulled her flush against him.

Emma gave in. She laid her head against his chest and allowed herself to accept the comfort. His heart pounded a soothing rhythm beneath her ear, his body warm against her cheek. She wanted to bury her nose in his chest and fill her lungs with his scent.

Feelings she didn’t know what to do with. How could a man she’d grown up hating make her feel so warm and safe? His touch, the look in his eyes, made everything right again. Nobody since her mother had ever made her feel so protected.

Arms wrapped around his back, she looked up into his face. He lifted a hand and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Sweet tension moved thick and palpable between them, until she became lost in the deep, liquid pools of his eyes.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, his head came down and his mouth touched hers, the briefest of kisses, merely the brush of lips, light and electrifying. She froze, standing on the precipice of something that would alter everything between them. It would force her to face the feelings she held for a man she shouldn’t want.

Heart pounding against her ribcage, she closed her eyes. She needed to push him away. It was the right thing to do. His mouth touched hers again, sipped and tasted, and she lost the battle. A tiny, shuddering exhalation of defeat slipped from her lips. She pressed into him and shamelessly offered herself up to him. God help her, she couldn’t deny her attraction to him, couldn’t deny the need that fluttered hot and tangible in her belly, or the sweet pleasure rocketing up her spine.

A quiet groan rumbled out of him. A sound of surrender, of needs too long denied. His other hand slid into the hair at the base of her skull, and he deepened the kiss. His mouth moved over hers with a gentle insistence that weakened her knees.

She shuddered, whimpered, and curled her fingers against the solid muscle beneath her palms, caught between holding on for dear life and pulling herself closer. She’d kissed a few men in her life, but none of them ever made her feel like this. His kiss was better than she could have imagined, his lips far softer, his mouth headier, like a fine wine that went to her head in a dizzying rush.

With infinite control and patience, Dillon pulled back and stared at her with dark eyes so full of raw hunger she trembled beneath their power. His right hand cupped her cheek and his thumb stroked her chin, grazing her bottom lip. His gaze followed for a moment before he looked at her again.

“I suppose that was bound to happen sooner or later.” Breathless, his mouth curled into that heart-stopping grin, the one that made her weak in the knees. “I had the biggest crush on you in high school. I thought I’d gotten over that, but seeing you again…”

Her heart skipped a beat and her mouth dropped open. He had a crush? On
her
? Her mind rejected the idea.

She shook her head. “I’m not the kind of person boys fantasize about, Dillon.”

“If you think that, you have a very warped view of yourself.” Almost hesitantly, his hand moved, stroking her cheek with a tenderness that stole the breath from her lungs. “I happen to think you’re beautiful.”

His words, the honesty in his soft voice, pulled her gaze to his. If she doubted what his eyes clearly told her, the proof lay beneath her palms. His heartbeat hammered, matching the quick, fierce rhythm of hers.

Panic rushed up. Wants and needs and fears rose to the surface before she could stop them. She wanted the passion his eyes promised. Dillon made her want it, and his confession only made her ache for it, but her body trembled, memories rising over her. That long ago night, the darkened car. The cruel words. She knew where things like this led.

Part of her wanted to scream. She was thirty years old for crying out loud. It was past time to learn what passion felt like, past time to give herself permission, but the very thought scared her to death.

On top of it, Dillon was off limits. She would
not
entertain those thoughts. He was her niece’s father, her sister’s lover. If she gave in, she’d be what that cruel boy accused her of that night so long ago.

Emma shook her head. “That can’t happen again.”

“Agreed.”

The shock of his words hit her stomach like a wayward arrow. Disappointment surged through her system.

It must have shown on her face, for he stroked his fingers over her chin. “I’m not relationship material.” Regret tinged his tone. “Annie’s all I can handle right now.”

She nodded, understood, and firmly agreed with him, but couldn’t stop the feeling from eating up her stomach nonetheless. She lowered her gaze to the ground, unable to form a coherent thought or make sense out of the confusing tumble of emotions. What on earth did she say to him now? In the seconds that ticked by, Dillon’s body began to tremble.

“You must be cold.” Thankful for the saving grace, she released him and took a step back. A shiver raked the length of her spine at the loss of his warmth and solidness. Her knees wobbled, making her overly aware of the hold he had on her. Aware of how easily he could get to her and how very much her body craved his touch.

And how much she shouldn’t want it.

Dillon nodded and ran his hands up and down his bare arms. “Freezing, actually. What do you say we get Annie and get out of here?”

She nodded, following behind him when he made his way back to the house. It was a good thing she was going home tonight. The time apart would do them a world of good. She could take the time to shore up her defenses against him.

Chapter Seven

He shouldn’t have touched her.

The knowledge reverberated in Dillon’s head an hour later. Across the room, Emma stood in the kitchen, head bent over her task. She was writing down Annie’s schedule for him. She feigned indifference, but her shoulders were set a little too stiffly. Her amber eyes held an unmistakable wary edge whenever she glanced at him. Dread sat heavy in his chest. There was a distinct distance and tension between them since they left his parents’ place.