“Can I get you something to drink, luv?” an older guy at the table nearest her asked.
“I…no, thank you. I’m looking for someone.”
“Anyone special?”
“Dylan Hastings. Do you know him?”
The man’s eyebrows rose, and the mood at the table shifted. “Down at the bar,” said one of the men with a jerk of his head.
Megan made her way to the long wooden bar that ran the length of the far end of the pub. Television screens mounted above the counter flashed highlights from the recent race at Warrego Downs. One of the men at the bar cheered, punching his fist into the air. “Yeah, baby! That’s Harrison’s filly from Huntington Stud. Bottoms up for Harrison!” The group raised their beers.
Then she saw him.
He was seated on a stool at the far end of the counter in a darkened corner, drinking a draft with a bunch of guys. He was wearing low-slung faded jeans, dusty bush boots. His hair was tousled and a stark white T-shirt molded over his muscles, making her recall the sight of him shirtless. Her pulse quickened. One of the men next to him said something, slapping his shoulder, and Dylan threw back his head and laughed heartily
God, he was gorgeous. Seeing him like this, out of uniform, all loosened up, did unspeakable things to her body.
She inhaled deeply, bolstering herself, and made straight for him.
The guy he was talking to glanced up sharply as Megan entered his peripheral vision, and his mate whistled low and soft. Dylan’s eyes immediately shifted to see what had snared their attention.
“Megan?” He stiffened, got up off his stool.
“Hey.” Crap, she felt nervous. She managed a smile. “Your mum said I could find you here…she told me when I dropped Heidi off.”
His buddies looked at Dylan, curious.
He shifted on his feet. “Uh—can I get you something to drink?”
“A glass of white wine would be nice, thank you.”
An exchange of looks and raised brows.
“What kind would you like?”
“Surprise me.”
He snorted softly, and she felt even more alienated. She smiled at the guys while he ordered. He hadn’t introduced her, and the omission stung. “Hi, I’m Megan.” She held out her hand.
“Mitch,” said one of his mates, taking her hand. “They call me Slugger.”
“You’re Jenny’s man, aren’t you? Jenny from the hospital?”
“Yeah. And you’re from the Fairchild place.”
“Well, I suppose you could say I—”
Dylan handed her the chilled glass, placed his hand firmly on her waist, and snagged his leather jacket from the chair. He lowered his voice near her ear. “Come. We can talk outside.”
He nodded to his buds, and she felt a silent exchange of something she couldn’t quite read.
Chill night air brushed the skin on her bare arms as he led her out onto the brick terrace where a gibbous moon hung low and yellow behind the branches of the gums. Megan gave an involuntary shiver as she set her wine on a table.
“Cold?”
“I’m fine,” she said, taking a seat on the wooden bench.
“Here.” He draped his leather jacket over her shoulders, warm, heavy, the faint scent of his aftershave enveloping her. The garment felt like him—protective, masculine. A woman would forever feel safe knowing this man had her back.
He sat on the bench opposite her, his rugged features cast in shadow.
“You don’t want to be seen with me,” she said. “Is it because of the case?”
“It’s quieter out here,” he said simply. “We can talk.”
“Look, I’m sorry I came. I—”
He cleared his throat. “Did…uh…Heidi find a dress?”
Megan smiled hesitantly, relieved he’d opened the conversation. “Your daughter is going to be the belle of the ball, Dylan. We had a fabulous time. You have a great child, you know? A really special family.”
He snorted, took a sip of his draft. “Dysfunctional family.”
“No. You’re wrong. You should see what goes down in the city—”
“Megan—” he said, setting his mug down firmly. “I worked homicide in Sydney, the biggest metropolis in the country. Believe me, I know what goes down. It’s why I moved out here. Now I have a kid champing at the bit to go back to the city, to go to school there. Live there. Like Sydney is some bloody Shangri La with all the answers to life.”
Megan was taken aback by his tone. “You should maybe ease up on Heidi a bit, Dylan. She has her head screwed on right. She told me about her career goals, and for a child her age, she’s really got some stuff together. We went to galleries, and she knows her art. Going to a school like Brookfield doesn’t have to be a sacrifice of traditional values, you know. If you don’t ease up on the reins a little, you’re going to push her away.”
He grabbed his mug, took a deep swig. “Why did you really come here tonight, Megan?”
Nerves nipped at her. He’d changed, really closed off since that moment down by the river. She took a deep breath. “Heidi told me about Sally.”
He looked up sharply, and Megan leaned forward.
“Look, I know it’s not my business, and I really struggled with coming here tonight. But I thought you should know that Heidi has e-mailed her mother in London, and she wants to move there, and go to school there, if she can’t attend Brookfield.”
He sat dead still, staring at her intently. “Go on.”
“She told me Sally has not contacted her once since she walked out ten years ago, and I…I’m just worried Heidi will take a real hit if her mother shuns her now, especially since she’s reached out personally like this. I thought you should know, Dylan, so you could be there for her if things go downhill. Because they probably will, and Heidi probably won’t tell you when they do.”
Music drifted out from the open doors, the sound mellow. Dylan said nothing.
Megan stood up, removed his jacket, handed it to him. “That’s the only reason I came.”
“You could have called me.”
“Maybe I wanted to see you out of your cop uniform, off duty,” she said. “To see if you were sewn up any less tight.”
A hint of a grin tugged at his mouth. “Well, am I?”
She felt her cheeks warm and was glad it was dark. “Yes,” she said quietly. “And no.”
“You’re not going to elaborate.”
She remained silent.
He took hold of her wrist suddenly, and drew her slowly down to the wooden bench beside him. A soft breeze rustled in the gum leaves. “Sit,” he said quietly. “Finish your wine with me. Please.”
He draped his jacket back over her shoulders as she reached for her glass, uneasy. “Tell me about your own father, Megan.”
She looked at him in surprise.
“That’s why you’re on my case with Heidi, isn’t it? You mentioned him earlier, at the clinic. You said you lost him, and I didn’t get a chance to ask you more.”
She twisted her glass on the table, watching the puddle of condensation darken the wood. “He was a good man, Dylan. Very traditional, almost Victorian in his discipline, and he was the boss in our house, no two ways about that. He was super protective of me, and he didn’t want me to date.” Megan smiled ruefully. “I sort of ran with that for a few years, not wanting to upset things—he had a fierce temper, and even though I loved him, I guess I was also somewhat afraid of him. Then when I turned sixteen, there was one guy I fell really hard for.” Her smile deepened. “He was it, Dylan, quite a bit older than me, and he asked me out on a proper date. Dad flat out said no, wouldn’t even discuss it. I couldn’t believe it. I was furious, frustrated…Long story short, I sneaked out that night, didn’t come home until the early hours of the morning. He was up waiting for me.”
“What did he do?”
“Nothing. He didn’t say one word. And his silence just about killed me. I broke my dad’s heart that night, Dylan. He’d given me absolutel
y no freedom so I ended up rebelling totally, and then he wouldn’t talk to me for weeks…” She inhaled. “And then, before we could iron things out, before I ever exchanged another word with him, both my mum and dad were taken from us in a car accident.”
“Jesus, Megan,” Dylan said, sitting back.
“He died angry with me and it left this big, big void in my life. I know it’s not a major deal in the scope of life tragedies, but there’s something to be said for finding resolution, and being able to move on because of it. Because when you can’t—”
“I know.” His eyes narrowed on hers. “I know exactly what it does when you can’t find resolution. Justice. A way to move on.”
Megan waited for him to continue, but he declined to elaborate. She wondered if he was referring to Louisa, to that old court case.
“You really think I’m pushing Heidi away?” he said suddenly.
She looked up at him. “Yeah, I do.”
He rubbed his brow. “She saw I’d signed the divorce papers. They were on my desk. That’s what must have set her off, where she got Sally’s e-mail.”
A strange sense of disappointment rippled through Megan. “I…I thought you and Sally were estranged years ago.”
“We were. From the day she walked out. I…” He blew out air. “I never wanted her back, Megan. I never expected her to come back. I don’t even know if I could have found it in me to forgive her if she had. Not because she walked out on me, but because she walked out on her own kid. Her child, for Chrissakes. I can’t respect a woman like that.”
“Why did she leave?”
He sighed, looked up at the branches of the tree. “We married very young, and for the wrong reasons. By the time we realized we weren’t compatible, Heidi was on the way. I wanted to hold it together, but I was working a graveyard shift, overtime, and our marriage was falling apart. Then Sally went and had a raging affair with an artist. Some sort of self-validation thing.”
He swigged the last of his beer, plunked his mug on the table. “It broke me, Megan. Totally. But like I said, I’m a diehard. I wanted to at least try and put our life back together, so I moved us all back here to the Hunter where I’d grown up. Sally didn’t even hack it for one year. The city life was what she wanted, so she left, went to Sydney for a while, hooked up with some wealthy Brit interior designer who got her a job in London. And that was it.”
So that explained his issues with Sydney, thought Megan. “And you haven’t seen Sally since?”
“Nope.”
“Yet you never actually finalized the divorce until the other day? Why not?”
“For Heidi’s sake. I never wanted to shut the door for her, if that makes any sense. Even though I could never make it work with Sally, I wanted Heidi to have the chance to know her mother.”
She placed her hand softly over his. He was a good man. A really amazing man, and in this moment of revelation, she’d glimpsed the vulnerability under the hard, cool, capable cop exterior, the pain of a single dad who wanted everything for his daughter. He was a man who went the distance, and he’d been burned trying. And Megan thought she might just be falling in love with him.
That scared her a bit. No. That scared her a lot. Because she didn’t know what to do about it.
She slanted her eyes up to his. “Why now, Dylan?” she asked softly. “Why did you suddenly sign those papers now, after all this time?”
His eyes held hers. “Because, Megan, I met you. And I decided it was finally time to close that old door.”
She swallowed, a hot tension simmering between them, the weight of her decision suddenly growing heavier.
“Thanks, Megan, for coming tonight.” He cupped the side of her face briefly, held her eyes. “You didn’t have to do this.”
“I did,” she said softly, every nerve in her body zinging.
“Because of what happened with your dad.”
She nodded.
“Tell me about yourself, Megan, your job in Sydney. How’d you get into the art business?”
She inhaled. “Well, I started criminal law at university, but it wasn’t in me. It was combative, and I’m not. And it has more to do with strategic game-playing than real justice, or retribution. At least that’s the way I see it.” She laughed. “I’m too sensitive. Too idealistic. Well, that’s what Louisa and Patrick keep telling me. I should have been a social worker. Anyway, I moved over into corporate law, and an art minor.”
He looked at her so intensely she felt as though he were trying to read right into her heart. “I got you wrong, you know? When I first saw you.”
She shrugged. “We’re all guilty of prejudice. It’s human. It’s the way we learn not to get burned again.”
“Doesn’t make it right,” he said, watching her so fiercely she thought she’d combust under his gaze.
“No, it doesn’t.”
“And the gallery business?” He touched the back of her hand lightly with his fingertips as he spoke. “How’d you get into that?”
Megan tried to swallow. “It…suits me.” She forced herself to concentrate as his fingers feathered her wrist. “And I’m good at it. I have some very high-end private clients and have moved into auction buying, researching provenance, that sort of thing. The art business has paid well. Very well.”
“Would you ever consider doing something else?” he said, trailing the backs of his fingers softly up her arm, higher, his lips moving closer to hers. Megan could barely breathe, let alone speak, think. Desire shivered down her spine, and a tingling started low in her belly.
“I…hadn’t…thought of it.” Her voice came out a dusky whisper.
He hesitated, his mouth so near hers now, his lids lowering, his hand moving under the jacket, up to cup her shoulder. The sound of music and laughter grew louder in the pub, the wind increasing in the rustling gum leaves as her heart began to pound.
Without thinking Megan reached up, placed her palm against his jaw, feeling the delicious sensation of rough dark-blond stubble under her skin, and heat arrowed through her abdomen.
He leaned forward, his lips meeting hers as he grabbed her suddenly around the waist, pulling her harder into himself, gathering her into his strong arms, against his chest, as if suddenly unable to hold off any longer. She could feel the steady thud of his heart against the swell of her breasts as he moved his mouth over hers. Her world swirled, sucking logic and thought away with it.
She opened her mouth under his, and he kissed her deep, hard, hungry, his tongue tangling with hers as his hand moved down and cupped her breast.
Megan moaned against his mouth as his thumb rasped her hard nipple. Her breathing grew light, fast. She splayed her fingers over his chest, feeling the resilience of firm flesh over rippling muscle as she ran her palm down to the waistband of his jeans. His belly was hard, like iron. She moved her hand lower still, over rough denim where she could feel his erection.
He stilled suddenly, her hand between his legs.
Then he drew back, his eyes dark, hungry, a little wild, and they exchanged a hot silent look. “Come back to my place, Megan.” His voice was rough.
I don’t mess around. I don’t do half measures, Megan. I can’t…I’m a lifer…
And suddenly Megan was terrified.
This was a serious decision. For him. For her. Her heart began to race so fast she couldn’t breathe, and perspiration broke out over her skin. “Dylan…I…” Her voice hitched. “I…think I better go.”
Confusion snaked across his features. He frowned slightly. “Megs?”
She tried to swallow the ball forming in her throat. “I’m sorry,” she whispered almost inaudibly.
His eyes turned grave. “This your way of saying no?”
She shakily pushed her hair back from her face, emotion burning into her eyes. She didn’t know. She honestly did not know how to handle this, him, where to go from here. Her brain was thick, logic unclear. She stood quickly, pulling her dress straight. Even her legs were shaking. “It’
s better this way, Dylan.”
“Megan—”
But she spun round and all but high-tailed it out of there using the terrace exit instead of going back through the pub again.
A nanosecond longer and she’d have been beyond the point of no return, undressed and in his bed. Her physical ache to have him—all of him—inside her was so hotly intense she didn’t trust herself to make the right decision.
Breaking Free (Thoroughbred Legacy #10) Page 15