Daring Dylan (The Billionaire Brotherhood Book 2)

by Jacie Floyd

  “Hello,” he said into the receiver, motioning for Gracie to continue her task. “Yes, Uncle Arthur. I did call yesterday. I could use your help with something.”

  She should leave. The chore wasn’t noisy, and it required her to face away from him, but all that was beside the point. She knew he was there. She knew he was engaged in a private conversation. And she knew he was the next thing to naked.

  With just the right angle, she could see his buff chest and sculpted shoulders reflected in the window. The chiseled muscles sported an interesting array of cuts and bruises. She decided to stay.

  “You know Jack Benning over at Latham, Benning and Brown, don’t you? I called him yesterday about a deed they handled twenty-five years ago for some Cordial Street property in East Langden.”

  At the mention of Clay’s old address, Gracie’s ears perked up. While she pretended not to study him or listen in, she surreptitiously watched him inspect the worst of his bruises as he talked. She had to put every one of her medical instincts on hold to keep from taking the task into her own hands, but who was she kidding?

  The thought of touching those solid pecs, running her fingers through the mat of damp chest hair, and stroking the ridges of his abdomen like a banjo had nothing to do with healing and everything to do with sheer, unadulterated lust. The onslaught of desire set her fingers trembling. A wall bracket slipped through her fingers, hitting the floor with a clank.

  Shooting him an apologetic look, Gracie moved on to the center mount, determined to keep her hands and mind off of his body and under control. She could do it. If she could just keep her eyes off of him as well.

  “They claimed attorney-client privilege and wouldn’t give me any details, but all the principles are dead. You think you’d have more success getting the information?”

  With the final bracket removed, Gracie climbed off the ladder to retrieve the new ones. Of its own accord, her gaze returned to Dylan’s body. Why couldn’t he be scrawny and underdeveloped? A man with his looks and money shouldn’t be blessed with physical perfection, too. And he should never, ever be allowed to lounge on an unmade bed wearing nothing but a swatch of terry cloth.

  With a pillow propped behind his back and a leg bent at the knee, he had the look of a Greek god waiting for a flock of handmaidens to feed him grapes, slather his body in oil, and lick his toes. Or other, more interesting, parts of his body.

  After imagining herself in the role of most-favored handmaiden, Gracie realized the one-sided conversation had ended. Dylan had put down the phone and was watching her.

  Watching her watch him.

  Oops! Busted. A blush spread from her cheeks down to the soles of her feet.

  The corners of his mouth quirked into a killer smile. One that revealed his perfect white teeth, unmasked a dimple in his right cheek that was deep enough to lose a finger in, and put a dancing light into eyes that were as inviting as sin, despite being black and blue and puffy from the fight the night before.

  Her small reserve of resistance melted into a thick, viscous pool of desire. And she knew with sick dread that it must have the same effect on every woman who witnessed it. She vowed not to become his next conquest. He could go ahead and wow Tanya with it if he wanted, but Gracie was made of sterner stuff.

  “Want to kiss anything and make it better?” he asked.

  Yes! Her eyes lingered over a bruise on his washboard stomach.

  “I’ve seen road kill that looked more inviting.” She hoped she sounded disdainful and uninterested instead of drunk on unrequited passion. “And I thought you didn’t want my help.”

  Dumb. Stupid, really, to let him know how much that comment had cut her last night. To let him know that she even remembered it was foolish beyond permission.

  “I didn’t say I didn’t want your help last night, Gracie. I said I didn’t need it.” He crossed his arms over his bare chest. His biceps and forearms bulged into display. Firm, corded. Strong, capable, comforting.

  A quick hand to her mouth checked for drool. “Next time you get in a fight at McStone’s, make sure Marvin Gardens is on your side before you start swinging.”

  “Marvin Gardens?” A more genuine version of the smile appeared. More endearing than sexy, but sexy nevertheless. “Is that his real name?”

  “The name on his birth certificate is LeRoy. But during grade school, the name Marvin kind of stuck.” Gracie gathered her control and turned back to her project.

  “He is big enough to build a hotel on.” Checking Dylan’s reflection in the window again, she watched him brush damp hair off his forehead. The movement elicited a wince and rotation of his shoulder in its socket. Muscles rippled like an earthquake down his chest and bruised ribcage. He froze, mid-ripple. “He’s not the LeRoy Gardens, is he? The landscape painter that’s been getting all the rave reviews in New York?”

  “Yep. That’s our Marvin. His work is fabulous, isn’t it?”

  “Incredible.” Dylan shook his head in wonder. “I went to one of his shows. One of my best friends is married to art critic Kara Enderley. She called his work ‘raw’ and ‘elemental’. The starting price on a canvas was around fifty thousand.”

  “Yeah, we’re all really proud of him.” Gracie loved a good success story. “He was one of my mom’s art students way back when, but he had his own unique style and technique from the very beginning. Gran has a couple of his early paintings in the dining room. You should check them out.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  She risked a glance over her shoulder, then turned quickly away. He was entirely too comfortable with his state of undress to suit Gracie. “Were you soaking your wounds in the tub? How do you feel? Do you think you should have some look at you?”

  “Someone’s looking at me now.” He made a clicking sound with his tongue. “You just can’t stand it, can you? You see someone who might be in pain and you have to play doctor.”

  “I don’t play doctor, I am a doctor, just not the kind you need. If you don’t want my attention focused on you, get dressed. I’ll somehow manage to overcome the disappointment.”

  “You can focus your attention on me anytime you want.” His voice deepened into a flirtatious rumble.

  Somehow, while her back was turned, he’d come up behind her. His reflection appeared beside hers in the window, and she felt the heat of his body just inches away. Almost desperately she wanted to turn into him and share his warmth. She refused even to look at him, rather than give in to the need.

  “I’m sorry about last night,” she said, warding off temptation. “I do tend to butt into situations that aren’t my business. But you’re an outsider here, and it doesn’t benefit you to alienate the people you intend to question.”

  “Since you’re on Clayton’s side, I’d think you’d be pleased by the lack of cooperation I’ve received.”

  She climbed off the ladder and turned to face him. “Why? The more you learn, the better his chances of being recognized as a Bradford.”

  “There’s that. But what if, by some miracle, I discover what you and he contend is true, and I choose never to recognize him?”

  “Why wouldn’t you?”

  He scratched his chin. “What’s in it for me?”

  “The truth.”

  “Some truths are harder to swallow than others.” To his credit, he seemed troubled by the possibility.

  “But you won’t be able to ignore it if it’s shoved down your throat, will you?”

  His chest expanded and contracted on a sigh. She wished he wouldn’t do that.

  “No.” His reluctance was almost palpable. “I’m committed to getting to the bottom of this, however low that might be.”

  “And you don’t believe there’s any way that you and Clay have the same father?”

  He hesitated a second too long for certainty. “No, but I might not be the most perceptive observer. I’ve been thinking about bringing in a private investigator.”

  “Another outsider?” She hooked her elbo
ws on the ladder behind her and leaned back. “How would that help?”

  “It couldn’t hurt. He’d be more experienced and objective than I am. Wouldn’t have a personal grudge against Clayton.”

  “But the people here would think you’re just spreading your money around, trying to buy answers. They’d freeze a private investigator right out.”

  The towel slipped down a notch on his hips. She almost stopped breathing while he adjusted it. “Do you have any other ideas?”

  Plenty, but she squashed the most obvious one. “About the investigation? Well, we could join forces.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t we be working at cross purposes?”

  “We may want to find out for different reasons, and we may disagree about the probable outcome, but we both want to uncover the truth. We can concentrate on that and see what happens.” Gracie suspected she was babbling, but with Testosterone Mountain acting like a brain-cell magnet, she couldn’t stop.

  “You don’t know anything more about investigating than I do.” His lips moved and sounds emerged, but his reasonable words faded beneath his very distracting body language. His physical presence challenged her to acknowledge him. His eyes dared her to come closer. And the stroke of his finger slowly traveling up her jaw toward her ear issued a clear invitation for her to touch him in return.

  She reached up one hand and traced the chain attached to a religious medal that nestled against his chest. Crinkly chest hair tickled her fingers. She swallowed. “No, but the people here will talk to me.”

  “You may be the only one who could talk the next person on my list into meeting with me.” He caressed the sensitive spot beneath her ear with a fingertip, circling it, teasing it.

  Her fingers drifted down the chain links to the medal itself. She pretended to study it. “Why is that?”

  “Because the last time I saw him, he tried to punch my lights out.”

  She lifted her eyes to meet his. The impact nearly knocked her backward. His gaze hit her in the solar plexus like a force field. But his attention pulled her closer, enveloped her. Confused her. “You want to talk to Clay?”

  “Mmhmm,” Dylan confirmed, apparently more concerned with the texture of her earlobe between his thumb and forefinger than with the conversation.

  “Oh, boy, you really do need my help, don’t you?”

  He leaned into her personal space, much, much closer than necessary. His breath teased her ear. His chuckle washed over her like a warm, sensual bath. “Do I have to admit that?”

  She shivered and braced herself, making one last stab at detachment. “That’s the price for my assistance.”

  “I’ll admit it. I need you, Gracie. I really, really need you. More than I would’ve ever thought possible.”

  His hands settled on her shoulders. Time stood still as he pulled her closer. An inch… two inches. She became more aware than ever that only one person in the room had clothes on, and that one person wasn’t Dylan. Her breasts, primly covered in a T-shirt and bra, felt his heat through both layers.

  He aligned his hips with hers. Her body had never fit so precisely with anyone’s before, and they were still standing. How much better would their pieces fit if they were horizontal? The four-poster bed behind them seemed to be calling her name.

  He pressed his mouth to hers in a potent kiss that was more playful than romantic, more teasing than erotic, but Gracie felt the buzz of it all the way to her toes. His lips grazed hers, and she wanted more. She wanted those firm, sensual lips to settle on hers and tempt and taste and tantalize her.

  She lifted her hands to the back of his head, eager to encourage and escalate the sensations rippling through her from the light touch of his kiss. Metal clunked against bone.

  “Ow.” Clutching his skull at the nape of his neck, he pulled away. “What was that?”

  “A bracket. Sorry, I forgot I had it in my hand.” She tossed the hardware aside and probed beneath his thick, blond hair for lumps. “Are you all right?”

  “You don’t need to examine me.” He pulled away from her inspection. “After last night, what’s one more bump?”

  “Oh, well, in that case...” Talk about a mood breaker. She was in a class by herself. Hadn’t Baxter always said so? Her shoulder’s slumped with disappointment. “I should finish this.” She climbed up the ladder.

  “Why are you hanging curtains?” Sinking into a chair, he leaned his head back. “Don’t you have a decorator for that?”

  “Of course, we do. She’s over at the church, supervising ice cream production for the festival tomorrow.”

  “Your grandmother made these?” He lifted up a corner and rubbed the material between two fingers. “Nice.”

  “Yep, and in a little while, I’m going to meet her at the hospital, and hopefully, bring Granddad home.”

  “Can you get in touch with Clayton and see if he’ll join us for lunch? I wasn’t kidding about trying to talk to him.”

  “Are you buying? You owe me for last night, remember?”

  “I won’t forget my wallet, I promise.”

  “Okay, but first, fill me in on what you’ve found out. From the conversation I overheard a few minutes ago, you know something about the house on Cordial Street.”

  She thought he’d balk at confiding in her. He hesitated and then shrugged. “All right, you finish what you’re working on while I get dressed, and then we’ll talk.”

  Darn, why did everything good in life demand a trade-off?

  Chapter Fifteen

  Just before noon, Dylan met Gracie in the hospital lobby. A shot of sheer pleasure at the sight of her hit him with a one-two punch square between his eyes and groin. Those legs… flashing eyes… lush mouth… all swamped him with a staggering rush of desire.

  Thoughts about her had tantalized him all morning. No matter how often he’d tried to steer clear of her and keep his feelings in line, she reappeared and pushed her busy nose and luscious body into his life.

  He’d been within licking distance of kissing her the last three times they’d been together. The first time had been a spur-of-the-moment temptation. The second—he convinced himself—lay squarely on rampaging adrenaline after the fight. But this morning, pure physical attraction was the culprit. Mixed with something as heady as brandy and as complicated as quantum physics.

  He wasn’t ready to explore anything but the physical aspect, but he was determined to follow through with a kiss soon or die trying. Which—with the way things were going whenever he got too close to Gracie—seemed like a definite possibility.

  “Did you just get here?” A warm and welcoming smile drew his attention to her mouth. “I was afraid I was late.”

  Just to have an excuse to touch her, he cupped her elbow when she got within reach and turned her in the opposite direction. “Right on time. How’s your grandfather?”

  She grimaced. “Clay delayed Grandad’s release until tomorrow, and he’s in a bit of a temper.”

  “Do you need more time with him?” God, Dylan hoped not. His rising anticipation of completing the unfinished business between them made another postponement unacceptable.

  “No, thanks. Gran’s really the only one he’ll listen to. Would you like to meet him? He knew your father pretty well through Old Maine Furniture. We can check back with them after we talk to Clay.”

  “I’d be happy to meet your grandfather, but...” He dreaded meeting with his supposed half-brother, but he had to do it. “First, there’s something we need to get straight.”

  Adorable little lines crinkled between her eyebrows. “You mean about working together?”

  He smoothed the furrows with a fingertip. “No.”

  Dylan had the neck-prickling sensation of eyes watching him and turned to notice their audience. The volunteer at the reception desk, a custodian changing a light bulb, and an octogenarian creeping through the lobby with a cane all watched with undisguised curiosity. Gracie smiled and waved to them.

  He opened a door
to a stairwell on the left and pulled her inside. The steps were narrow and the landing was small. Smelling of disinfectant, it didn’t lend itself to romance in any way but privacy.

  “Let’s not take any chances.” With exaggerated caution, he picked up her hands and examined them. His thumbs circled her palms. “You’re not holding anything, right?”

  “My purse.” She indicated the strap lodged on her shoulder.

  He removed it, set it down, and then looked overhead. “Nothing’s likely to fall on us.” He bounced up and down on the balls of his feet. “The floor probably won’t collapse.”

  “Dylan, what is it?” Her gaze darted around the confined space. “You’re making me nervous.”

  “It’s this.” Placing his hands on her shoulders, he eased her forward. His mouth lowered to within a breath of hers. “We need to get this out of the way before the suspense kills me.”

  In perfect synchronization, with no awkward maneuvering, clinking teeth, or bodily injuries, his lips claimed hers. Their mouths met and nothing in the world mattered to him but Gracie. Sweet, delicious, wonderful Gracie. The first gentle exploration escalated into open-mouthed desire. His hot, biting passion made demands that Gracie matched with dizzying speed.

  The kiss kicked him in the gut and became so much more than a mere meeting of lips and tongues. So much more than any other kiss he’d ever experienced. He hoped this kiss would never end.

  His hands cupped her ass. He pulled her close, closer, but not close enough. If their clothes disappeared and their bodies fused together, they wouldn’t be close enough. Not until he was wrapped around her, inside her, part of her, feeling her every breath, sharing her every thought. Not until then, would they be close enough.

  But that would have to wait for another time, another place, maybe another lifetime. For now, he concentrated on the intoxicating texture of her lips, the teasing bite of her teeth, and the sensual mating of her tongue with his.

  She had so much sass to her, he’d half expected her to taste tart and tangy. But she was undeniably delicious. Sweet, with a spicy undertone. His tongue delved deeper.