Daring Dylan (The Billionaire Brotherhood Book 2)

by Jacie Floyd

  “I saw them around occasionally. My husband, Chester, worked for them at the mill.” Gran offered the information in her usual mild-mannered way, not mentioning that Granddad had been the mill’s master carpenter and that losing his job had been a financial catastrophe for them, or anything about the years of hardship that followed.

  “I’ve heard my uncle say what a sad day it was for the family when the business here closed.” The high-voltage smile dimmed appropriately.

  Gracie swallowed a snort of disbelief. “I’ll wager it was a sadder day for the workers.”

  After a slicing glance, he resumed ignoring her. “Gracie said there’s a hotel on the highway. May I use your phone to see if there are any vacancies? I dropped mine in a puddle earlier and it stopped working.”

  “I’m sure The Granite Inn has vacancies.” Gracie said. “Is that what happened to your phone?”

  “It won’t hurt to check.” Gran ushered Dylan down the hall to the landline in the kitchen. “Water and cell phones don’t mix. I’ve heard you should put a wet phone in a bowl of rice.”

  “I’ll give that a try.” He dialed the number Gran provided. After a brief conversation, he hung up and turned to them with a smile. “All set. Mmm, something smells good.”

  “We’re having a bite to eat,” Gran admitted. “Would you like to join us?”

  “I wouldn’t want to impose.” He hung back from the table, making a show of his reluctance.

  “You probably need to be on your way,” Gracie urged.

  “Nonsense, Gracie. It’s nothing fancy, mind you, just some chowder, but we’d be happy to have you stay.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.” He rubbed his hands together. “A bowl of chowder sounds great. My grandmother’s cook used to make this all the time.”

  While Gran ladled up another serving, Dylan took a seat, a single seat, like any normal person, but he seemed to take up more than half the space at the table. Gracie could only tap her fingers on her glass of tea and watch the clock. As important as his visit might be to Clay, she didn’t want her friend walking into an ambush tonight.

  Dylan dug in and savored the first bite. “Even better than it smells. And is this homemade bread?”

  “Yes, but not quite fresh,” Gran said. “I usually bake daily, but with Chester in the hospital, I haven’t had time.”

  “Is your husband ill? Nothing serious, I hope.”

  “Broken hip.” Gran worried her bottom lip between her teeth. “The doctor says he should be as good as new, but it will take a while. That’s why Gracie’s here to help out until he’s back on his feet.” She patted her granddaughter’s hand.

  Dylan reached for another slice. “Is Dr. Harris his physician?” he asked, as smooth as the butter he slathered on his bread. “Gracie mentioned he’s a good friend of hers.”

  “She did?” Gran’s eyes sparkled. “Why, yes, that’s true. They’ve been best friends since childhood.”

  “Classmates?”

  Gracie jumped in to prevent Gran from providing more background than necessary. “Clayton was a year ahead of me in school.” She wasn’t sure why she didn’t want Dylan to know the true nature of her relationship with Clay. But for the time being, the less he knew, the better. “Why do you care?”

  “Just trying to get the lay of the land,” he said.

  “That may take a while.”

  He shrugged and leaned back, unconcerned and relaxed, like a man with a plan and all the time in the world. “I can give it however long it takes.”

  His steel-blue gaze locked with hers. She no longer doubted Clay’s claim had brought Dylan here, but she couldn’t picture him embracing the idea of a newfound sibling or being all that eager to share the wealth.

  A rap on the back door interrupted the exchange. Her friend tromped into the mud room.

  “Gracie!” A grin split his face as he wiped his feet. “I’m so glad you’re home. East Langden is no fun without you.”

  At the table, Dylan craned his neck to see the newcomer. Clay was out of his sight, but it would be only a moment before he stepped into the kitchen. When wearing his professional persona, Gracie knew he could be as controlled as a horse in a harness. But otherwise, he could be skittish and contentious when provoked, and sometimes, he spoke without thinking. She hated for him to be in a situation where he couldn’t put his best foot forward.

  She rose and flung herself at him, hoping to segue the hug into a detour outside. “It’s great to see you, too.” Gripping his forearm in her hands, she pulled him toward the door. “Let’s go to the carriage house to talk.”

  “Sure, okay.” He beamed at her enthusiastic greeting but stood his ground. “First, I have a message for Nora.”

  Gracie tugged harder. “I’ll pass along any messages later.”

  “Nonsense,” Gran said. “Let him come in.”

  Reluctantly, Gracie turned back into the room. She stood foursquare in front of Clay, ready to protect him as she’d done throughout their childhood. Dylan set down his spoon, apparently sensitive to the charged atmosphere. Obviously, the two men were spitting images of one another, but as Clay moved toward the table, Dylan didn’t react to the resemblance.

  Naturally, Clay could identify Dylan as easily as Gracie had. For many of their teen years, they had kept a scrapbook with news clippings about the famous family that didn’t claim him. The grip he clamped on her shoulder relayed his tension.

  “Well.” His throat worked over words that failed to emerge. Stone still, he paused as if puzzling out this unexpected Bradford presence.

  “Come in, Clayton. Meet Dylan Bradford.” Bless Gran for her calm manner, even though she must know the significance of this first meeting.

  Dylan’s gaze flashed sharply to the new arrival’s face. Protective as ever, Gracie held her arms out at her sides, like a school crossing guard, holding Clay back. He brushed past her and held out his hand. She experienced a flash of pride at his composure.

  “Clayton Harris,” he said. “I’ve waited a long time to meet you.”

  Chapter Four

  Dylan wiped his mouth with a napkin before he stood. The upper hand would be lost if he revealed the hostility boiling inside him. Instinct urged him to regard the asshole with utter indifference, but contempt for his audacity wrestled with more rational intentions. Sheer impulse advised him to take as much satisfaction as he could from beating the holy shit out of the presumptuous jerk, there and then.

  Imposing a rigid guard over his expression, he took the proffered hand and shook it with one quick pump before dropping it like a dead fish. Similar in height, they stood eye to eye, each of them measuring, assessing.

  Dylan sneered at the hopes and expectations that leaped to life in the other man’s eyes. “Sorry I can’t say the same.”

  “Maybe not,” the man said, “but I’m glad you’re here.”

  “Why?” Dylan crossed his arms.

  “It means you’re taking my claim seriously. Your mother didn’t.”

  “Or it means I’m more serious about disproving it.”

  “That won’t be easy,” Gracie spoke up. Both Dylan and Clayton glared at her. Clearly, the down-home beauty didn’t know when to mind her own business.

  “I’ve been trying to determine my parentage for years,” Clayton said, “and the trail always leads back to Matthew Bradford.”

  Dylan jerked his chin. “Maybe that’s wishful thinking.”

  “No.” Clayton’s chin-jerk mirrored Dylan’s. “I’ve tried my damnedest to prove that I’m not the son of a crooked, womanizing politician who wouldn’t face up to inconvenient responsibilities. Now, I’m just trying to resign myself to the truth. So if you can prove otherwise, I’m on your side. But nothing short of DNA tests will keep me from getting the information and acknowledgement I deserve.”

  Dylan clenched his fists rather than take a swing at the annoying son of a bitch. His mother had taught him better. She wouldn’t want him to start a brawl in this nice Mrs.
Lattimer’s kitchen, no matter how much physical satisfaction he might gain from it. He forced his hands to relax, preparing to leave rather than stay and cause Gracie’s grandmother distress. “Well, now, that’s exactly why I’m here. To make sure you get what you deserve.”

  And that was one promise he intended to keep.

  The next morning, Dylan washed down a handful of aspirins with a swig of tap water. This headache and lack of sleep could be attributed to the asshole claiming to be his father’s other son as much as the lousy motel.

  Anyone so unwise and uninformed as to call his father a crooked politician was too stupid to be taken seriously. If only Clayton’s claim could be dismissed as easily.

  Stepping out of the shabby hotel room, he closed the metal door sharply, determined to do whatever he had to do at the cabin to avoid a return stay at the Granite Inn.

  After arriving at his newest property, he discovered even worse decay than he’d spotted the night before. The decrepit old place needed more than a thorough cleaning to make it livable.

  Still, he wouldn’t mind roughing it if he could get some of the necessities in working order. He climbed back into the Navigator and went into town in search of three things. A phone to replace the one he’d dropped into a puddle the night before, workers to help with the cabin, and some kind of food that would pass for breakfast.

  Several hours later, he pulled up Liberty House’s circular driveway for the third time in less than eighteen hours. Never in his life had he returned so often to a place where he felt so unwelcome.

  But he was ready to beg if he had to. With his stomach growling in protest to the only food he’d had that day—strong coffee and stale donuts from a Stop’n’Shop on the edge of town—Dylan studied the beautiful old house and grounds.

  Liberty House exuded the serenity of an English country manor. Sweet-smelling flowers bloomed along the walk and in window boxes. Crocks of bright geraniums decorated the front porch along with sturdy benches and bentwood rockers. The house stood high on a headland with the relentless sound of the nearby ocean crashing against the granite shore.

  The well-maintained establishment was obviously someone’s pride and joy. He bet that if he complimented Mrs. Lattimer on the beauty of her home and livelihood, she’d be eating out of his hand in no time. The older woman had definitely been a softer touch than the younger one. With any luck, Granny would answer the door, and Gracie would be out of sight. If not, he’d be looking for another place to spend the night. Again.

  Gracie’s refusal to rent him a room baffled him. Women usually gave him anything he wanted before he even asked. After a mini-pep talk, he hauled himself out of the car and onto the porch. When Gracie answered the doorbell, he somehow didn’t feel as unlucky as he’d expected.

  The night before, the fiery brilliance of her wholesome beauty would have appealed to him more if she hadn’t been so infuriatingly disagreeable. This afternoon, as the sun streamed across the threshold, she glowed with a healthy vitality he seldom encountered in the city.

  Her vibrant hair was pulled into a casual topknot. Curling wisps escaped here and there, softening the dramatic lines of her cheek and jaw while emphasizing flashing brown eyes. Her delicate nose stopped just short of an upward tilt, and a scatter of freckles dotted otherwise flawless skin. A smudge of blue paint replaced last night’s streak of grease. The plump bow-shaped mouth curved downward in counterpoint to the determined lift of her chin.

  A green surgical shirt and matching cut-off pants covered her gorgeous flesh. No medical professional of his acquaintance filled out a pair of scrubs so well. He took all of it in with a glance, but his body—jaded to the gaunt figures of fashion models and society debs—responded with swift, unexpected pleasure to Gracie’s lush, womanly curves.

  Granted, he’d been too preoccupied to take any of his regular partners to bed in the last few weeks, but that was out of choice, not necessity. With his sudden interest bordering on the obnoxious, he turned away and stared across the sweep of lawn while he reined in his untimely erection. Down, boy.

  “Well, if you didn’t want to see me, you shouldn’t have knocked on my door,” Gracie said from behind him.

  The husky quality of her voice lured him further into the quicksand of desire, but her words grated like sandpaper. Now he remembered what he disliked about her.

  Everything… Except her luscious body.

  He dared a brief look at her over his shoulder. “I came to see your grandmother.”

  “Too bad.” What secret did she hide behind that impudent grin? And why did it make her mouth so tempting? So kissable? “Gran’s not home. Why do you want to see her?”

  Leaning against the porch rail, he faced her and concentrated on Gracie’s flawed personality rather than her perfect form. “I want to talk to her about renting a room.”

  “Admit it.” Gracie crossed her arms under generous breasts that lifted and swelled. If she kept on flaunting herself like that, he’d be forced to turn away from her again. “You thought she’d be easier to talk into giving you a room than I would.”

  He’d be damned before he’d admit anything of the kind. “I need somewhere to set up my laptop until I can get the water and electricity turned on at the cabin.” Both utility companies had told him it would be a week before he could expect service. But he had no intention of divulging those details to Gracie.

  “So you don’t want to sleep here?”

  “No, I want that, too.”

  “What about the Granite Inn?” Amusement softened the challenge in her voice. “Didn’t it meet the high Bradford standards?”

  The Granite Inn barely met the standards of a wild boar. He scratched his chin through the new goatee he’d mistakenly started growing as a disguise. Everywhere he’d been this morning, people had recognized him. Not that his identity had earned him any preferential treatment. Just the opposite, in fact. He’d gotten a cold shoulder more often than not. “Liberty House is more convenient for overseeing renovations at the cabin.”

  At the word “renovations,” she tilted her head to the side and more tendrils escaped her topknot. “You really intend to fix up the place?”

  “That’s the plan.”

  As she opened her mouth to respond, a crash and a woof interrupted them. Gracie turned and made a dash for the stairs. “MacDuff!”

  Dylan followed the flash of legs as she disappeared up the steps. After crossing the spacious entry and climbing the wide stairway, he took a left at the split landing, trailing her voice to a door at the end of the hall.

  Canvas drop cloths covered most of the room. Sky-blue paw tracks decorated most of the drop cloths. Gracie scooped the dog out of the paint pan, petting and scolding him.

  Meanwhile, Dylan checked out her legs.

  For years, he’d maintained a mental list of World-Class Legs. The criterion for inclusion was brief with length-of-leg being the primary factor. After his first glance at Gracie’s, he’d have to revise the list and the criteria on her behalf. Length became secondary. Shape became all-important.

  Even her slender bare feet, arched provocatively on the rough canvas, conjured toe-sucking fantasies. Well-turned ankles glided upward into luscious calves. Normally, no matter how great the legs, points were deducted for knees. Gracie gained points for hers. Smooth and rounded, dimpled skin rose to a playground of sinewy thigh that awakened dark, erotic thoughts.

  And while her skin looked as soft and supple as satin, the muscles underneath flexed with the definition of a practiced equestrienne. The mental image of those thighs gripping the flanks of a spirited mount made his stomach clench with desire all over again. Damn.

  “You are such a bad boy,” Gracie rebuked.

  Chapter Five

  Dylan’s head jerked upward before he realized she was chastising the dog, not him. The Scottie looked up at Gracie with adoring eyes. She encouraged his non-repentance with a friendly ear scratching as she cuddled him to her chest. “Now look what you’ve done.
”

  “You shouldn’t have left him in here alone.” Dylan envied the dog and his position between Gracie’s breasts.

  “Go away,” she huffed. “I’m busy.”

  He crossed his arms and lounged against the doorframe. “I think I’ll wait to talk to your grandmother.”

  “She won’t be home until later. You’re welcome to come back and try to persuade her to let you stay, but I don’t have time for this.”

  As she brushed past him, he stopped her with a hand on her arm. The innocent touch shot a jolt of fire to the same stomach muscles that had barely had time to unclench. Didn’t she feel the heat that sparked between them? If so, she managed to ignore her reaction to it.

  “It’ll be easier if you just agree now.”

  “For you, maybe, but not for me or Gran. Just look.” A sweeping gesture of her arm indicated the state of the room. “This isn’t the only one of Granddad’s chores left unfinished. I’ll have my hands full getting the rest of them done before we open this weekend. Visiting at the hospital has Gran behind schedule, too. If you move in, that will add to her regular work and she’ll feel obliged to prepare meals. It’s too much for her right now.”

  Surely those weren’t insurmountable obstacles. She was halfway down the stairs before he stopped her with the magic words. “I’ll pay anything you want.”

  “Anything?” She looked him up and down from a few steps below. Calculating… Assessing… judging him.

  He stood taller. Confidently. Few had ever found him or his wallet lacking.

  An unholy gleam in her eyes forecast the devil of a challenge, but Grandfather had always said, “A Bradford never refused a dare. Or lost one.”

  He squared his shoulders. “Anything.”

  “Okay,” she said with relish. “Triple the usual rate, no meals included, and you have to finish the painting.”

  “Done.” He reached out to shake her small but capable blue-spattered hand and seal the bargain. “I’ll arrange for someone to come out and finish the painting right away.”