Bad Boys After Dark: Dylan (Bad Billionaires After Dark Book 2)

by Melissa Foster

  He pressed his lips to her shoulder in a tender kiss. “We have complete control. And yes, part of that control is trusting the other not to be a dick.”

  She smiled. “You have all the answers, and that’s as terrifying as it is reassuring.”

  He rested his head on the pillow and gently guided her head beside his, so they were nose to nose. “So take a chance on me. Stay overnight. Take my cuddling skills for a test drive, and call them whatever you’d like. Let me hold you and show you that you’re safe with me. And if I turn into a dick, you can go back to your solo life of phone calls and text messages.”

  She sighed and whispered, “Still scary.”

  He held her tighter. “I know. You can leave, but I’m asking you to trust me.”

  “I do trust you,” she answered without hesitation, which meant more to him than spending the night together.

  “Good, babe, because you can. Close your eyes and get some rest. In the morning you can worry about being scared. Or maybe you’ll realize I’m still right here.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “HE FUMBLED! GOD! Sometimes I wonder what goes through their heads.” Tiffany slammed her pen down on the coffee table and pushed to her feet. It was Sunday afternoon and they had the football game on while Dylan refaced his cabinets and Tiffany looked over contracts.

  She paced, hands on hips, looking utterly adorable in a Jets jersey and hat, and a pair of jeans that she called her Sunday football jeans. She hadn’t woken up scared, but she had been slightly uncomfortable, and she’d scurried off within minutes of waking up. Dylan didn’t chase her. He’d already learned that she needed time to process these new emotions that had consumed them both. Baby steps. Although last night felt like a huge leap.

  He screwed in the cabinet face and chuckled, loving this side of her he hadn’t yet seen. She’d returned this morning a little after nine o’clock with her laptop, fresh bagels, and two to-go cups of coffee. He would have liked to go with her to get breakfast, but he chalked her solo trip up to her need for control, and he was just glad she was no longer fighting spending time together.

  “How is it possible that you just got even sexier?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Yeah. Ranting like a maniacal fan is so sexy.”

  “What? I’ve never met a woman who enjoys, and gets hot under the collar, about football.”

  “You’ve never met a woman who grew up with everything in her life revolving around the sport. We tossed biscuits and rated the spin over dinner.”

  “You did not.” He secured the lower hinge to the base cabinet.

  “Yes, we did. Most girls played with dolls. I learned how to punt and rush.” She sauntered into the kitchen and eyed the cabinets. “How many times have you refinished your kitchen?”

  “This is the third time in the seven years I’ve lived here.” This time he’d gone with distressed green cabinets, accented with mahogany, which blended well with his earth-toned countertops.

  “Wow.” She pushed herself up to a seat on the counter beside where he was working. “How do you choose what to do?”

  He set the screwdriver down and moved between her legs, nudging them open wider with his hips. “I go with my gut. I’m glad I have the scrapbook you made me to keep pictures of the renovations from now on. I wish I could show you what it used to look like. When I moved in, the cabinets and countertops were white, which felt sterile, so I went dark. Cherry cabinets with stainless-steel appliances. Then a couple years later that felt too dark, so I went with the counter your fine ass is sitting on.”

  He clutched her hips with both hands. “I do love your ass.”

  “You seemed to have an affinity for my ass last night.” Her cheeks pinked up, and he knew she was thinking about when he’d licked every blessed inch of her body, including her sexy bottom.

  “Oh, it didn’t end last night, sweet Summers.” He lowered his mouth to hers, taking her in a long, hot kiss. “I’m going to enjoy that ass every night of the week.”

  “Assumptive, aren’t you?” She pressed her hands to his chest, keeping his next kiss at bay. “I’m sorry I took off this morning. I should have stuck around to help you clean. That must have been a nightmare to get all that paint off the walls and floors.”

  “The nightmare was not fucking you again this morning.” He fisted his hand in her hair, tugging her head back. “Taking you so hard you were too sore to leave my bed.” He sealed his mouth over her neck, and her body electrified.

  “You’re…Oh God, that’s hot.”

  He sank his teeth into her flesh and she sucked in a sharp breath. He laved his tongue over the sting.

  “You’re not upset?”

  “Don’t leave my bed again without letting me get you off. Got it?” He didn’t give her time to respond. “You’re here now. I know you need time to wrap your head around us, and while you are…” He lifted her legs around his waist and gazed heatedly into her eyes. “Still scared?”

  In answer, she took his hand and set it over her racing heart.

  “That proves nothing,” he said, going in for another delicious neck kiss. “You’re just turned on.”

  “They go hand in hand.” She sighed and her head tipped back further. “God, Dylan. You make me melt every time you do that. I’ll never get through these contracts if you keep kissing me like that.”

  He released her hair, glancing at the cabinets he still needed to reface. “How about we schedule a halftime make-out session?”

  She hooked her finger in the collar of his T-shirt, pulling it low, and pressed a kiss there, leaving it slick from a swipe of her tongue, which drove south like lightning to his cock. “I’ll hurry with the contracts.”

  She pushed off the counter and he reached for his tools again.

  “See, you didn’t need my help at all,” she teased.

  “Got you here, didn’t it?” He gave her a quick kiss. “How’s your dad doing? You haven’t mentioned him.”

  “He’s fine. I spoke to him this morning.” She headed into the living room.

  “When are you seeing him again?”

  “I don’t know. We mostly talk on the phone. My schedule’s always crazy.”

  Dylan crouched to screw on another cabinet door. “You should go see him.”

  “With all my extra time?”

  “I don’t want you to miss out on seeing your family because of me.”

  “I won’t. When do you see Bethany again? I’m working on connecting her with Anika.”

  “Thursday, hopefully around five.”

  “Oh shit!”

  He turned as she shot to her feet, eyes locked on the television, and snagged her phone from the coffee table.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “That’s my client Gary Rickon they’re carrying off the field. Shit, shit, shit. I just got him a stellar six-year contract and a major endorsement deal. This could take him out for the season—or for his career. Everything is on the line until they figure out how bad his injuries are.”

  “So, what happens now?” he asked as she brought her phone up to her ear.

  “Now,” she said with an apologetic gaze, “my life gets even more complicated.”

  TIFFANY SPENT THE rest of the evening getting updates every twenty minutes on her injured client and fielding phone calls. Her client had a concussion and possibly a torn rotator cuff, which could mean the end of his season. Her make-out session with Dylan, and her contracts, went by the wayside, and as the hours blew by, a new fear trickled in. Fear of losing Dylan over her all-encompassing job.

  But every time she tried to talk with Dylan another phone call interrupted them. The media was going crazy, forcing Gary’s public relations team—and his coaches and sponsors—into panic mode. Tiffany didn’t panic over work. That wasn’t the way she was wired, but panic fluttered inside her over the wasted hours with Dylan.

  It was a little after ten o’clock and she’d just gotten word from the team doctor that with rest and physical t
herapy Gary could be back on the field terrorizing his opponents in four to six weeks. She breathed a little easier.

  Dylan looked up from the notebook he’d been writing in. He was sitting on the couch with his feet on the coffee table, crossed at the ankles. He looked casual and sexy—and annoyed. She couldn’t blame him. Their night was shot to hell.

  “Good news?”

  She told him what she’d learned.

  “So, you’re cool, then?” He set down the notebook with a sigh. They’d ordered in Chinese for dinner and he must have cleaned up while she was lost in work. Add another brick on the guilt pile.

  “I’m sorry our night got so messed up.” She sank down beside him on the couch. “At least my being sidetracked gave you time to finish your kitchen. It looks incredible. All it needs is a sink and dishwasher.”

  “My kitchen?” His jaw clenched. “I didn’t ask you to be here so I could finish my kitchen, babe. I’m glad your client isn’t out for good,” he said gruffly, “but don’t think for a minute that getting my work done replaces time with you. This gave me a chance to see what your job is really like, and I have to ask. Is this typical? Or when Miranda’s not on vacation, does she handle some of it?”

  Here it comes. The beginning of the end.

  “There’s no typical in my business, but if there’s an injury, it can cause a storm of trouble, depending on what deal we’ve hammered out. And no, I don’t have Miranda handle these types of issues. She could say the wrong thing.”

  He pushed to his feet, tension billowing off of him. “So this could happen at any time, right? Not just football season?”

  “I rep football, baseball, and basketball.”

  He didn’t say anything, just ground his teeth together, making her stomach twist and burn.

  “I know this sucks, Dylan, and I’m sorry. I wish I could tell you that this was a rare occurrence, but I have no control over it. It might not happen to any of my clients over a season, or it could happen to the majority of them. And if it’s not this, there are other things that can go haywire, like deals falling through or an athlete getting called out for steroid use. They’re people, like you and me. They mess up. They get hurt. They do stupid things. And it’s even worse than that. I’m not looking for any hot new clients right now, but when I am, I am at their beck and call. And to be honest, if a game-changer athlete called tomorrow and said they wanted me to rep them, I’d be crazy not to, regardless of my workload. Those chances only come once in a lifetime, and that’s if I’m lucky. And if any of my clients call and want me in Chicago or L.A. or Boston, or anywhere, for that matter, at three o’clock the next day to discuss terms, I’m there. I have to be. I wasn’t kidding when I said it’s a twenty-four-seven job. I’m trying to make it less so, but…”

  He ran a hand through his hair and blew out a breath. “I get it. I really do. But I’m not going to lie. At times like this, it does suck.”

  “I know,” she said apologetically.

  “I mean, you’re really on call twenty-four-seven.” He crossed his arms, creating a barrier she felt like a brick wall.

  “I tried to tell you.” She rose to her feet as he closed the distance between them.

  “I’m sorry,” she said at the same time as he said, “But we’ll figure it out.”

  “What?” She couldn’t have heard him right.

  “It’s your job, babe. You made a choice to be a sports agent. You’re good because you do whatever it takes for your clients. I get it, and I support your career and all that comes with it, but that doesn’t mean there won’t be times when I want to rip the fucking phone from your hands and throw it into the river.”

  He put his arms around her and she tried to remember how to breathe.

  “Look, all jobs have their bullshit. I’ve basically been on vacation this past week, but tomorrow I get back to running the bar and planning the annual fundraiser to benefit the Ronald McDonald House. And I’ll have to work late and deal with staff that doesn’t show up and missed deliveries and the rest of the things that go along with running a bar. You’ll have a list of things you hate about my job. That’s life.” He shrugged.

  “So…you’re not breaking up with me?”

  He shook his head and a small smile lifted his lips. “Over a few lost hours? You’re going to have to do better than that. Pick up another dude if you want to get rid of me. Or treat my friends like shit. Then I’ll kick you to the curb. But you’re not going to get rid of me by working. You’ll just piss me off occasionally.”

  Unable to process the whiplash-fast change between what she’d expected and what had happened, she lowered herself to the couch. Dylan crouched beside her.

  “You okay?”

  She nodded. “I thought I’d lost you.”

  “Other than what you’ve shared with me, I don’t know what your dickhead boyfriends have been like, but that’s ridiculous. I’ve had more time alone with you in the past two days than not. But I’m greedy when it comes to you, and I wanted more before I go back to real life tomorrow.” He shrugged.

  “So you work a lot of late nights, too?”

  He nodded. “Crazy shit happens in bars.”

  “That makes me feel better, because crazy shit happens in my life all the time.”

  “Stay over tonight? I have to get up at five thirty to meet Carson for a run, but you can sleep later. I won’t wake you.”

  “You run with your brother?”

  “You are avoiding my invitation, but yes. A few times each week if we both can make it. Which reminds me, my brothers help plan the fundraiser. We’re getting together for dinner next Friday night after Mick and Amanda get back from their honeymoon. I’d really like you to join us. You don’t have to help plan the event, but I’d like you to be with me and get to know my brothers.”

  “That seems like a very big deal. Are you sure?”

  “A bigger deal than spending the night or cuddling?”

  “On par with both. Wait, it’s a bigger deal because Brett saw me naked, remember? And he knew I was coming up for a booty call. Oh God, Dylan.”

  He laughed. “I can’t change that, but I’m sure he just thinks I’m a lucky guy.”

  “And Mick? He’s my colleague. Does he know?”

  “I haven’t spoken to him, but you’re colleagues, not ex-lovers. I want you there, and I want you to spend the night tonight.”

  She knew she had to get over this hurdle, no matter how embarrassing it was. “Only if you promise me something.”

  “Now who’s greedy?”

  “I’m serious.” She squeezed her hands together to keep from chickening out. “I need this honesty. I need to know you’ll blow up or talk it out when my job takes over, which it will.”

  “Do you think I’m going to keep my mouth shut?” He took her hands in his. “How will you react the first time you come into the bar and see a woman hitting on me?”

  “I guess it wouldn’t be acceptable for me to deck her, would it?” She was only half kidding. “I’ve never been a jealous person, but just hearing you say that makes my stomach hurt.”

  “It happens a lot, but you’ll have to trust that I know where to draw the line.”

  “How is this at all relevant to what I asked of you?”

  He kissed the back of her hand and said, “Because you have to trust that I’ll be honest in all aspects of our relationship, not just this one. And I have to trust that you’ll figure out where to draw the line with your work and that you’ll be honest when something pisses you off.”

  “Blurry lines,” she said softly.

  He smiled. “A kaleidoscope of colors, blurry lines. Nothing’s black or white, except trust. I think that’s pretty definitive. You can either trust that I’ll be honest or not.”

  As he pulled her up to her feet, she said, “I do.”

  He nuzzled her neck and reached for the button on her jeans. “Good, because I honestly want to get you out of those tight jeans right now.”

  C
hapter Twenty

  THE WEEK FLEW by at breakneck speed. Monday Tiffany and Miranda used Skype to catch up to speed on clients, and together they picked out office furniture. Even though they had spoken and exchanged texts often while Miranda was gone, it was nice to actually see her. She’d finally heard back from her friend Shea about snowboarder Anika Bouchert and was able to schedule a surprise visit for Bethany. She hadn’t even told Dylan yet. She was excited to do something for him after he’d done so much for her and been so patient and understanding about her work. He’d been working a slew of hours at the bar, and they’d been alternating between staying at her apartment and staying at his. She preferred to stay at his place, which had surprised her, but it was easier to turn her brain off at his apartment than at hers since she’d been using hers as an office for the past two months. Dylan’s sink and dishwasher had been delivered Tuesday, and she’d helped him install them last night. Well, she hadn’t exactly helped. More like distracted. He’d worn that sexy tool belt again. She’d tried to behave, but…

  She pushed the button on the elevator in her new office building Thursday morning, excited to finally be moving in and working in the same office with Miranda after so many years of connecting via telephones and computers. She’d picked up the keys and walked through the space with Phoebe earlier in the week and she couldn’t wait to show it to Miranda. A few weeks ago she might have been so focused on work, she wouldn’t have considered that working in the same office with Miranda would allow them to get closer on a personal level. Now the thought made her happy. She felt herself changing in so many ways, and she knew it was because of Dylan. He made her want to slow down, and the more she did, the more she recognized what she was missing.

  “There you are,” Miranda said as Tiffany stepped off the elevator. Her brown hair was swept up in a high, efficient ponytail. She was tall and thin and sporting a gorgeous new tan that hadn’t come across quite as beautifully via Skype. “The delivery truck is around the corner. I was worried you got stuck in traffic or decided you didn’t want me to invade your personal space and were moving back to L.A.” She arched a brow with the tease. She knew Tiffany so well.