One Secret Night, One Secret Baby

by Charlene Sands

  Dylan turned to his sister, his brows lifting and a crooked smile emerging. “My what?”

  “Your good graces,” Emma finished for her.

  Dylan slid her a knowing look. “Always the diplomat, Em. But somehow, I don’t think that’s what Brooke was going to say.” He began nodding. “Okay, I get the picture.” He glanced at Callista, who was now surrounded by a few other actors in the film. She was deep in conversation yet constantly casting him furtive glances at every opportunity, sizing him up and staking her claim.

  Brooke was right—Callista was all wrong for Dylan. How difficult it must be for him not to remember some things, not to have a grasp on his feelings. “You’re the only ones I can trust,” he said. He rubbed his brow, just under his bandage. “I can’t tell you how bizarre this feels. I see some things clearly. Other things are fuzzy at best. And then there’s a whole chunk that I don’t remember.”

  Emma plunked three ice cubes into a glass and poured him a root beer, his favorite from childhood. “Here, drink up.”

  “Thanks,” he said, “though I could use something stronger.”

  “The doctor says not yet. You’re still on pain meds.” Brooke’s internal mother came out. It really was sweet seeing how close the two had become since the move from Ohio to Los Angeles years ago.

  “One drink won’t kill me.”

  “Let’s not find out, okay? I was worried enough when you were sent to the hospital. And Mom just went home two days ago. If I have to call her again to tell her you’re back in Saint Joseph’s, she’ll have a heart attack.”

  Dylan rolled his eyes. “You see how good she is, Emma? She knows exactly how to lay on the guilt.”

  A chuckle rumbled from Emma’s throat. “I know all about Brooke’s tactics. I work with her.”

  “Hey!” Brooke said. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

  “Like I said, Emma’s a diplomat. Thanks for the drink.” He lifted his glass in mock toast and then pivoted around and walked away.

  “He’ll be okay,” Brooke said, watching him head back to his guests. “We just have to do whatever it takes to help him along.”

  Dread formed a tight knot in Emma’s stomach. She hated keeping secrets from Brooke. They usually shared everything. But how exactly could she come out and say, I begged your brother to sleep with me the night of the blackout and all I remember is his body on mine, heated breaths and sexy words whispered in my ear. She didn’t remember how she got in bed or when he left her that night. She couldn’t recall how they’d ended things. Were there parting words recognizing the big mistake? Or had he promised to call her? He had no knowledge of what they’d done, but geesh, she didn’t recall much of that night, either.

  “Oh, brother,” she mumbled.

  “What?” Brooke asked.

  “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

  * * *

  “Brooke, you did a wonderful job today,” Callista said, leaning her arms over the granite island, spilling her cleavage and smiling her billion-dollar smile. The sun was setting and all but one guest had left the memorial service. “You helped make the day easier for your brother.”

  “It wasn’t just me, Callie,” Brooke said. “Emma did her fair share of the work and we’d both do anything to help Dylan get through this day.”

  Callista’s gaze darted Emma’s way as if she’d just noticed her standing there. Hello, I’m not invisible. “Of course, you, too, Emma.” She spoke to her as if she were a child. What was it with rich powerful women that made them feel superior, just by right of wealth? Emma could probably run circles around her SAT scores. “You did a marvelous job.”

  “Dylan’s a special guy and I’m happy to help.”

  Callista gave her a cursory nod, eyeing her for just a second as if measuring the competition, and then turned away, writing her off.

  “Brooke, do you know where Dylan is? I want to say goodbye to him and tell him his eulogy was touching.”

  “Yeah, I do. He said to say goodbye to you for him. The day tired him out. He went to sleep.”

  “He’s in bed already?” Callista straightened and her gaze moved toward the hallway staircase. She knew exactly where Dylan’s bedroom was. “Maybe I should go up and wish him good-night.”

  “He, uh, needs uninterrupted rest. Doctor’s orders.” Brooke’s accomplished smile brought Emma a stream of silent chuckles. Leave it to Brooke. She was in defense mode now.

  “Yes, of course, you’re right.” She nibbled on her lip, shooting another longing glance at the staircase. Then her expression changed. “He does need to rest up so he can be back on set as soon as possible.”

  The SEAL movie had been shut down for a month already and it was costing the studio big bucks, so Dylan’s return to the set was essential. Even Callista recognized that fact. “Tell him I’ll call him.”

  “Will do, Callie. I’ll walk you out.”

  “Oh, that’s not necessary,” Callista said.

  “I don’t mind.”

  After the two left, Emma couldn’t contain her laughter. She knew for certain Callista Lee Allen hated to be called Callie, yet she let Brooke get away with it because she was Dylan’s sister.

  What a day it had been. Selfishly, Emma was glad it was over. She didn’t like walking around with a cloud of guilt over her head. She hoped “out of sight, out of mind” would work on her. As soon as she left Dylan’s house, maybe her head would clear and she’d be free of this grating bug gnawing at her to tell Dylan what happened between them.

  Finished with her duties, the house clean and back to normal, thanks to Maisey and her efforts, Emma took a seat on one of the many white leather sofas in the living room. A pastel pop of color fading on the horizon grabbed her attention as she looked out the window. The sunset was beautiful on Moonlight Beach. She leaned back, closed her eyes and listened to the sound of the waves breaking on the shore.

  “Mission accomplished,” Brooke said, clapping her hands. “She’s gone.”

  Emma snapped to attention as Brooke sat down beside her. “You’re a regular Mama Bear. Who knew?”

  “Normally, Dylan can take care of himself, but right now, he needs a little help. What else are meddling little sisters for anyway?”

  “To keep conniving women away from him?”

  “I try my best.” Brooke propped her feet on a cocktail table and sighed. “I’m getting excited about the celebrity golf tournament coming up. This is one of the biggest events we’ve ever booked. And we got it all on our own. No intervention from Dylan. They don’t even know he’s my brother. Dylan doesn’t play golf.”

  “I don’t?” Dylan walked into the room looking adorably rumpled. It was the five-o’clock shadow, the mussed-to-perfection hair and those deep blue bedroom eyes that did Emma in. He wore a pair of black sweats and a white T-shirt.

  “No, you don’t,” Brooke said, eyeing him carefully.

  He grinned. “Just joking. I know I don’t play golf. At least I have memories of tanking every shot. Never did get the hang of it.”

  “Brat. What are you doing up?”

  On a long sigh, he ran a hand down his face. “I can’t sleep. I’m going for a walk. I’ll see you guys later. Thanks again for everything.”

  Brooke’s mouth opened, but he was out the back door before she could stop him. “Darn it. He’s still having dizzy spells. Will you go with him, Emma? Tell him you’re in the mood for a walk, too. He already thinks I baby him enough.”

  Emma balked. She was three minutes away from escaping to go home. “I, uh...”

  “Please?” Brooke begged. “If you’re with him, he won’t get it into his head to start jogging. I know he misses it. He’s been complaining about not doing his daily runs. It’s almost dark on the beach. He could collapse and no one would know.”

  It wa
s true. The doctor said he shouldn’t overdo any physical activity. How could she deny Brooke the peace of mind? She’d been worried sick about her brother lately. “Okay, I’ll go.”

  “That’s why I love you.” Brooke sounded relieved.

  Emma bent to remove her heels and rose from the sofa. “You better,” she said. “I don’t chase handsome A-list movie stars for just anyone.” With that, she walked out the back entrance of Dylan’s mansion, climbed down the stairs, searched for signs of him and took off at a jog when she’d seen how far he’d already traveled.

  “Dylan,” she called, her toes squishing into wet sand as she trudged rapidly after him. “Wait up.”

  He turned around and slowed his pace.

  “Would you like company?” Her breathing ragged, she fibbed, “I feel like a walk, too.”

  “Let me guess. Brooke sent you.”

  She shrugged. “Maybe I just felt like taking a walk?”

  His mouth lifted in a dubious smile. “And maybe the moon is green.”

  “Everyone knows the moon is made of cheese, therefore it’s yellow.”

  He shook his head, seeming to relinquish his skepticism. “Okay, let’s walk. Actually, I would like your company.”

  He took her hand, his fingers lacing with hers.

  How...unexpected. Her breath froze in her chest.

  “It was a nice memorial, wasn’t it?” he asked as he resumed walking.

  There was a slight tug on her hand that woke her from her stupor and she fell in step with him. “It was heartwarming. You honored Roy with a wonderful tribute to his life.”

  “I’m the only family he had, aside from his crew. He was a great guy and it’s just a ridiculous shame. Roy was obsessed with his stunts. He spent his whole life perfecting them. He was the most cautious man I’ve ever known. It just doesn’t make sense.”

  “They’re saying it was a freakish accident.”

  Dylan took a sharp breath. “That’s what they say when they don’t know what happened. It’s the standard answer.”

  They walked on in silence for a while, the heat from where he held her hand warming her entire body. It was actually a perfect evening for a stroll on the beach. Breezes blew at the twist of hair at the back of her head. She reached up and pulled it out of its band, freeing the long waves that touched the middle of her back.

  “So tell me what’s going on in your life, Emma.”

  Her brows gathered at the oddity of the request. Dylan knew just about everything about her. She was Brooke’s friend and business partner. She lived in a tiny apartment twenty minutes away from Moonlight Beach. She loved her work and didn’t go out much.

  Oh, no! Did he remember something? Blood drained from her face as her mind worked overtime for signs that he’d remembered that blackout night. But as she dared to gaze at his profile, his eyes didn’t probe her but stayed straight ahead, his neutral expression unchanged. She let out a relieved sigh. Maybe he needed to break the silence. Maybe he was just making conversation. And maybe her guilty conscience was wringing her dry.

  “The same old, same old,” she answered. “Work, work, work.”

  “Still hoping to make your first million before thirty?”

  Her laugh came out a little too high-pitched. Brooke must’ve told him of her long-term goal. How embarrassing. Ever since she was a child, money had been scarce. Her foster parents didn’t have much and were stingy in sharing. She didn’t know that until she’d grown into a teen, of course, and witnessed how they’d splurge what they did have on each other. Never her. She grew up mostly wearing thrift store clothes. From the age of thirteen, Emma knew she’d have to find her own way in the world. She’d worked her ass off, achieving a full scholarship to college, and vowed she’d become financially independent one day. The promise she made herself was that by the age of thirty, she would make her first million. She had several years to go, but her hopes were high of expanding Parties-To-Go into a million-dollar franchise.

  “Your sister, my best friend, needs to button her mouth.”

  “Don’t blame Brooke,” he said softly. “I think it’s commendable to have goals.”

  “Lofty goals.”

  “Attainable goals and you work hard, Emma.”

  “Without your investment, we wouldn’t even have a business.”

  “I just helped you get started, and in the two years since you’ve been working at it, you’ve come a long way.”

  “We owe you, Dylan. You’ve been amazing. We want to make you proud.”

  Dylan stopped, his Nikes digging into the sand, and when she turned to him, a genuine smile graced his handsome face. Gone was the sadness from before. A glint of appreciation twinkled in his eyes. “You don’t owe me anything. And I am proud. You’re a hard worker, and you’re paying me back faster than I expected or wanted. But, Em, I have to tell you, as much as you believe Brooke has helped you through the growing-up years, you’ve helped her, too. She came to California hoping to become an actress. God, it’s a tough business. I’ve been lucky...more fortunate than I could’ve hoped, but it’s not the same for Brooke. She’s much happier now, being in business with her best friend and earning a legitimate living doing what she loves. I owe that to you. So thank you for being...you.”

  Dylan leaned in, his face coming within inches of hers. Her heart rate escalated as she stared at his mouth. She understood now why his female fans swooned. He was breathtaking and yummy. There was no other way to describe it. “You’re the amazing one, Emma,” he whispered.

  Her mind going fuzzy, she whispered back, “I am?”

  As he inched closer, taking her into his arms, angling for her cheek, her entire body relaxed. Of course, he’d give her a sisterly kiss on the cheek. She closed her eyes.

  His warm lips came down softly.

  On her mouth.

  Oh, she’d died and gone to heaven. His lips were warm and giving and soothing. She wrapped her arms around his neck and brazenly returned the kiss. Wow. It was all so new. And exciting. Dylan McKay was kissing her on Moonlight Beach at sunset and she was fully in the moment this time. There were no gaps of memory from a fuzzy brain. There wasn’t anything but right now, this speck of time, and she relished the taste of him, the amazing texture of his firm lips caressing hers, the strength and power of his body close to hers.

  But something still seemed slightly off with his kiss. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Was it just that she was fully aware, fully attuned to him right now?

  Dylan broke off the kiss first, and instead of backing away, he grasped Emma to his chest tightly like a little boy needing the comfort of his favorite stuffed toy. Elmo or Teddy or Winnie the Pooh.

  She stood in his embrace for long moments. He sighed and continued to hold her. Then his mouth touched her right earlobe and he whispered, “Thank you. I needed your company tonight, Emma.”

  What could she say? Was she foolish enough to think he remembered their night of passion and wanted more? No, that wasn’t it. Dylan needed comforting. Maybe what she considered to be a heart-melting kiss, only counted as a friendly measure of comfort for a man whose life was full of adoration. At least, she could give him that.

  Her secret was safe.

  “You’re welcome, Dylan.”

  Glad to be of service.

  Two

  Dylan wasn’t himself. That had to explain why he’d kissed Emma as though he meant it. Actually, he had meant it in that instant. She was familiar to him. He knew the score with her, his sister Brooke’s best friend. Someone he could trust. Someone he could rely on. The meds he was taking lessened his headaches and he was recovering, feeling better every day. But having a chunk of his memory gone affected his decision making and confidence, made him vulnerable and uncertain.

  But one thing he was certain about:
kissing Emma had made him feel better. It was the best kiss he’d had in a long time. It packed a wallop. He knew that without question. Those big green eyes that sparkled like emeralds wouldn’t steer him wrong. He’d needed the connection to feel whole again. To feel like himself.

  Had he gotten all that from one mildly passionate kiss? Yeah. Because it was with Emma and he knew his limitations with her. She was untouchable and sweet with a side of sassy. So he’d kissed her and let the sugar in her fill him up and take away the pain in his heart.

  “You’re quiet,” he said to her as they walked back toward his house. “Was the kiss out of line?”

  “No. Not at all. You needed someone.”

  He covered her hand with his again and squeezed gently. “Not just anyone, Emma. I needed someone I could trust. You. Sorry if I came on too strong.”

  “You...didn’t.”

  But she didn’t sound so sure.

  “It was just a kiss, Dylan. It’s not as if you haven’t kissed me before.”

  “Birthday kisses don’t count.”

  She was quiet for a second. “I didn’t have a lot of affection when I was younger. Those birthday kisses meant a lot to me.”

  He gave her another quick squeeze of the hand. “I know. Hey, remember the face-plant kiss?”

  “Oh, God. Don’t bring that up, Dylan. I’m still mortified. Your parents went to a lot of trouble to make that cake for me.”

  He chuckled at the image popping into his head. “Damn, that was funny.”

  “It was your fault!”

  Dylan’s smirk stayed plastered on his face. He couldn’t wipe it clean. At least his long-term memory was intact. “How was it my fault?”

  “Rusty was your dog, wasn’t he? He tangled under my feet and in that moment I figured it was better to fall into the cake than snuff out your dog. I would’ve crushed that little Chihuahua if my full weight landed on him.”

  “What were you, twelve at the time?”

  “Yes! It said so on the birthday cake I demolished.”

  Dylan snorted a laugh. “At least you got to taste it. It was all over your face. The rest of us just got to watch. But it was worth it.”