The Playboy's Baby (19 page)

He’d been wrong before. At one point, he was positive Leila wouldn’t ever hurt him like that either.

“Do what?”

At the sound of her voice, he turned. Emma’s eyes widened with confusion, searching his. Her chest rose and fell at an increasing pace.

“Us.” He forced the words to leave his mouth. “I’m sorry, but it has to stop.” He shook his head, willing her to understand. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I told you. I can’t do a relationship right now, and with Annie, my hands are going to be full. I simply don’t have time for this. I think it’s better if we just…end this now.”

It was a bold-faced lie, but it had the desired effect—it severed all ties with one simple, neat slice. Emma’s face went pale. Her mouth dropped open like she had something to say, but no sound came out. For a long moment, she stared at him, and his gut twisted. Some part of him longed to go to her, to soothe the hurt in her eyes, but he couldn’t. It wouldn’t change anything.

Emma deserved better than him. She deserved the white knight he couldn’t be. It was better this way, better for her in the long run if he ended it now. Before she became too attached. Before he had to break her heart more than he already was.

He didn’t know what reaction he expected from her. Before his eyes, her expression changed. Like someone drew a curtain around her, the walls came up.

She closed her mouth and ratcheted her chin up a notch, fire igniting her eyes. “Fine with me.” The cold, hard edge in her voice made him cringe. “It was just sex, Dillon.”

Then she turned and moved back into the dining room, where she wiped Annie’s face with a towel before extracting the baby from the high chair and moving into the living room.

She settled down with Annie on the couch, her stony expression twisting at the pain in his gut. The tension returned. The hard edge that had been between them for most of their lives. He had a feeling hell would freeze over before her face opened to him again.

* * *

While moving her clothing out of the dresser in the guest bedroom and into her small tan suitcase, Emma could only shake her head. How she managed to not see this one coming, she didn’t know. Dillon had said he didn’t want a relationship, and she bragged, told him she was a modern woman, could make her own decisions. She knew now she allowed herself to hope, to believe in the intimacy between them.

She felt like a fool, but she had nobody to blame except herself. She let her emotions rule, positive she could handle the relationship, that she wanted this.

Yet she still ended up in the exact place she spent her life trying to avoid. No matter how hard she tried to convince herself otherwise, it hurt. God, she couldn’t believe how much it hurt. The whole thing left her feeling empty. She should have known better. After all, she couldn’t pull this off the way her sister had.

Sometimes desire catches you and sweeps you away
. Janey had told her that once. Now she knew Janey was right. She envied her sister. Janey had a passion Emma couldn’t match. She flew by the seat of her pants, dove headfirst into everything, relationships included, and when they ended, she moved on to the next one. Emma wondered what secret Janey had known that she didn’t.

To make matters worse, she had to work with Dillon. That thought left her tied in knots. Had she made the right decision? She looked forward to the job, to the upbeat atmosphere. It would be different, and her life could use a bit of different.

She had no idea how she’d handle working so closely with Dillon. How she’d manage seeing him day in and day out. Or how it would feel if and when he started dating someone else.

At least she’d have a week to prepare herself. This next week would give her time to shore up her defenses against him, to prepare herself for having to see him again. She only wished Janey were here. Her sister would be able to tell her how to mend a broken heart.

Catching her last thought, she furrowed her brow in determination. No. It had to be the hormones, the softening of her emotions from having shared physical intimacy with him. She didn’t exactly do this all the time. He was her first, for crying out loud. She was
not
falling in love with Dillon.

“You’re leaving?”

At the sound of his quiet voice, she turned. He stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, leaning a shoulder against the frame, like he’d been there for a while.

“I’d like to be back before dark.” She turned back to her suitcase, didn’t want to have to look into his face, and couldn’t bear to see the truth dawn in his eyes.

“You’re still coming to the club next week, right?”

“I made a promise and I don’t go back on my promises. I don’t know how long I’ll stay. Working with you is going to be awkward, but right now, I need the money and you need the help.” Stuffing in the last shirt with less finesse than normal, she closed her suitcase and zipped it, desperate to be out of this house. His house. “I won’t be staying here when I come back to town.”

He let out a long, heavy breath. “You’re mad.”

She stopped, drew in a deep breath, and let out it on a sigh then shook her head. “Not at you.”

She wanted to be angry with him. It would be easier if he really had been the playboy the papers made him out to be, if he’d openly used her, the way her boyfriend in high school had tried to use her in the past. How could she? She couldn’t fault him for this. She’d gotten herself into this one.

“Where will you stay?” Concern tinged his voice.

“Likely with Mrs. Emerson.” She turned to take one last look at Annie, who lay napping in her crib. For a moment, she stared down at her sweet face. She’d miss that face this week.

Annie was the one constant in all of this. She hadn’t realized it until he’d said the words, but it didn’t matter to her either whether or not Annie was technically Dillon’s child. He was a good father, and Annie adored him. Emma might be hurt and angry, but she didn’t have it in her to take that away from either of them.

“You don’t have to do that, you know.”

She shook her head and grabbed her suitcase off the bed. “All things considered, I don’t think me staying here is a very good idea.”

She couldn’t stay one more night in this house with him. At one point, she’d been sure they’d never get over the wall between them, but they had. They left that wall so far behind she forgot it existed, and she couldn’t bear to feel it again now. She’d rather not have to see him at all. At least until she had to. It would be easier to work with him if she stayed somewhere else. At least at the end of the night, she could go home where she could relax and unwind. No way would she be able to do that now if she stayed here.

She turned to head out of the room, but came up short.

Dillon’s tall, broad form filled the exit. For a long moment, he didn’t move, merely stared at her, a million emotions erupting in the depths of his eyes. Confusion and indecision. Regret and need.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you. I hope you know that.”

His words, the kind, caring tone of his voice, only seemed to mock the pain that gripped her chest. It made her long to throw herself into his arms, for the safety that enveloped her there. The feeling only served to remind her that
he
didn’t want
her
. He never really had.

It made her feel like that awkward teenager all over again, the wallflower who watched the world pass her by, wishing she could be anybody else.

She stiffened her spine and forced herself to meet Dillon’s gaze. “You didn’t. I can’t fault you for being honest. I’m fine. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get going.”

He didn’t look convinced, but stepped aside anyway. Her arm lightly brushed his body when she passed, his scent drifting to her, teasing her senses. She didn’t dare look back, and he didn’t argue with her. He let her walk out of his life without trying to stop her or convince her to stay.

The car door closed with a resounding click, and silence slid around her. Lonely tears welled to the surface. She looked forward to this week even less than the first week she had to live without Annie. She’d gotten used to Dillon being there, used to having someone to lean on, to share things with. Now she had to stand on her own two feet again. No big deal. She could do it with her eyes closed, didn’t know how to be otherwise, but loneliness wasn’t a place she was used to anymore, and she didn’t look forward to going back.

Chapter Twelve

Dillon lay in the darkness of his bedroom, staring at the glowing face of his cell phone, where it sat on the nightstand beside him. Its dark shape taunted him, dared him to pick it up and dial Emma’s number.

Four days had passed since she left. She’d done it before. This made the third time she’d gone to the city. Never mind the twenty-six years of sleeping without her before that.

Yet, every night so far this week he’d done the same thing—lain in bed after a long night at the club, staring at that blasted phone. The idea originally was he’d talk
her
to sleep. Except, now
he
couldn’t sleep without hearing
her
voice.

God, if he closed his eyes, he could almost hear her, her quiet, husky voice whispering to him.

He rolled onto his back and glared at the ceiling. He’d ended it. So, why was he so miserable?

He sighed.

Because he missed her. He missed every damn thing about her. The soft scent of her perfume floating through his house, all floral and feminine. The warmth of her body against him while he slept. Her being in the kitchen when he got up in the afternoon. The sound of her voice over the phone asking how his night went and, more importantly, knowing when he told her, she listened.

The house felt too quiet without her. Too empty. During the day, he had Annie to keep him busy. He was grateful for that. She was a beautiful distraction. The nights were long. It felt wrong for Emma to walk out that door, and every damn night spent without her he cursed his stupid decision.

Which begged him to wonder. Had he done the right thing? If he truly wanted things this way, why the hell did the very thought of going back to his life—without her—leave his chest hollow and empty?

* * *

“How was your week, dear?”

Seated in a leather wing back chair in the sitting room of Dillon’s parents’ estate, Annie burbling happily in her lap, Emma bit her lip. She struggled with what to tell his mother. Across from her on the matching sofa, the older woman sat with her hands folded neatly in her lap.

Truth be told, it had been a long week. One spent mostly trying to convince herself she didn’t miss Dillon. She didn’t suffer from a broken heart, because she wasn’t in love with him. It was loneliness that made her chest ache.

She might have succeeded too, if she hadn’t lain in bed every night staring at her cell phone, willing the darn thing to ring. What she missed the most this week were those late night conversations.

All notions, of course, that made her feel like a stupid, silly schoolgirl. She hadn’t been that naïve girl in a long time and it irked her to no end that Dillon of all people rendered her so defenseless.

Finally, deciding on a version of the truth, she shrugged. “Slow and very low-key. Being my last week, they transferred most of my clients to the other accountants. It was mostly spent tidying up loose ends.”

Mrs. James pursed her lips, a look of soft sympathy coming over her features. “Must be lonely in that house all by yourself now.”

She sighed. His mother was a smart woman.

“A little.” She turned her gaze to the top of Annie’s soft, fuzzy head. She’d spent the week going through the rest of her sister’s belongings. Which made her miss Janey even more. Made her angry that Janey had done something so completely reckless and selfish it cost her life.

Which put Emma back to square one, where she started seven weeks ago—alone, struggling to deal with her sister’s death, with the fact she’d become a single mother and her entire family was simply gone.

“Well, now you can move back to town, be closer to us. Then you won’t feel so alone.”

Tears welled unbidden in her eyes at the kindness in the older woman’s voice, at the simple, honest emotion in the dark eyes. Eyes so very much like her son’s. “You’re a very wise woman, Mrs. James.”

His mother offered a gentle smile. “I told you, it’s Camilla.”

“Camilla.” She returned the smile.

“You and your sister always were like family. Don’t ever forget that.”

Emma shook her head. “Forgive me for saying so, but I’m afraid your husband doesn’t agree.”

“Ethan will get over it.” Mrs. James leaned in, her voice low, a conspiratorial twinkle in her eye. “He’s more bark than bite. I promise.”

Emma kissed the side of Annie’s head and stopped to inhale her sweet, clean baby scent. “I missed her terribly this week. Was she much trouble?”

“Never.” Camilla shook her head, her gaze on Annie. “I swear she has to be the most easygoing baby I’ve ever seen. She’s such a pleasure.” Camilla lifted her gaze, the question in her eyes even before the words left her mouth. “Are you still staying with Dillon? He’ll be gone all night. Why don’t you stay for supper? Give us time to catch up.”

Emma lowered her gaze to the floor and shook her head. “I’m staying with Mrs. Emerson at the bed and breakfast.”

Camilla’s brows knit together, confusion in the older woman’s eyes. “You aren’t staying with Dillon?”

Emma opened her mouth to answer, longed to spill the truth, simply for another woman to talk to; it had been so long since she allowed herself to confide in a female. The sound wouldn’t leave her mouth. She couldn’t share intimate details with Dillon’s
mother
.

She closed her mouth and gave a slow, sad shake of her head, all the response she could muster.

Camilla pursed her lips, sadness filling her eyes. “Something happened.”

Emma sighed and straightened in her seat. “I don’t feel it would be appropriate for me to stay in his house anymore.”