The Playboy's Baby

by Stewart, JM

  Like the phone, dropping her awful news on him in his place of business felt wrong, like taking the coward’s way out. She was not a coward.

  She sighed, letting her shoulders slump. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to be like this. When you weren’t at home, I didn’t know where else to find you. I came to ask when would be a good time for us to…talk.”

  “Now would be a good time.” The creases between his brows deepened. He handed her the towel of ice and shook his head. “You’re already here, and I’m not waiting until tomorrow to hear whatever it is you need to tell me. Meet me in my office. This won’t take long.”

  Without waiting for a reply, Dillon pivoted and strode off into the crowd. The very same crowd she pushed and shoved in order to get through only minutes before, now all but parted for him.

  Emma eased her foot back into her boot all the while sending up a silent prayer for strength.

  * * *

  Dillon heaved a sigh. He envisioned the room beyond the landing of the small flight of stairs in front of him—and the woman seated within. The ball of dread in his stomach tightened. It formed there the exact instant he spotted Emma at the edge of the crowd.

  He shook his head. She could’ve blown on him and knocked him over showing up here like that. Janey used to come back to town on a regular basis, every few months or so she showed up on his doorstep with a wicked gleam in her eye. Growing up, that girl got him into more trouble then he cared to remember.

  Emma, on the other hand, hadn’t been back to town since she left. He hadn’t seen her since the night her mother died.

  He loped up the stairs two at a time. At the landing he stopped and turned to the closed door, pausing to draw in a deep breath. Preparing himself for the bad news instinct told him lay beyond that door.

  Four years older, Emma was one of those annoyingly sensible types. An overachiever. She all but raised Janey, got a job at fourteen to help pay the bills and still managed to end up at the top of her class. She was completely not his type, not to mention she loathed him. Where it concerned Janey, she was like a tigress protecting her cub and hadn’t bothered to hide the fact she thought him no good for her little sister.

  No, whatever news she came to tell him couldn’t be good. She wouldn’t have come to see him otherwise.

  He turned the brass knob and pushed the door open. Emma slowly turned wary amber eyes to him. Seated in a straight-backed chair opposite his desk, she sat stiffly with her hands folded in her lap and her ankles neatly crossed and tucked beneath her. She looked the way he’d felt when he stood at the bottom of the stairs—nervous.

  Yet that night eight years ago refused to leave his thoughts. He’d had the biggest crush on Emma for years. Getting to hold her in his arms that night had been…sublime. Seeing her now brought up that old craving—wanting to know the flavor of her mouth and the softness of her lips.

  Yeah, she was still gorgeous. She barely came up to the center of his chest, but she had long, graceful limbs and soft, voluptuous curves that were accentuated by the straight lines of her black suit.

  A suit. He wanted to shake his head. She wore a casual ensemble, slacks and a V-neck jacket with a white button-down shirt, but it still amounted to a suit. She topped it all off with fur-lined suede boots. No one but Emma Stanton would dare walk into his club in that kind of outfit and manage to look so damn sexy.

  “So, how long have you had this place?” Emma pulled her shoulders back and offered him a nervous, awkward smile, one that lifted one corner of her mouth higher than the other.

  He raked a hand through his hair and returned the smile. “About four years. This used to be Arnold McNabb’s place.”

  Her eyes brightened. “I remember him. Wasn’t it a country-western place?”

  He nodded and moved into the room, deliberately walking a wide path around her chair, lest his hands gain a mind of their own. He itched to pull those long auburn locks from the clip holding them to the back of her head, yearned to burrow inside, to see how long she’d let it grow, to feel its softness sifting through his fingers.

  “It wasn’t doing so well.” He took a seat behind his desk. “It cost him more to keep it open than he brought in.”

  He rested his hands on the top of the desk, taking refuge in its cool solidness beneath his palms. Any distance between them was a good thing. Emma was forbidden fruit. He could look, but not touch. Never mind she was his best friend’s big sister. He played the love game once and lost and didn’t intend to do it again. All he could offer Emma was a fling, and she deserved more.

  “So you bought it. Why?” Emma readjusted her position, uncrossing and recrossing her legs, and arched a fiery brow.

  “This place has been a part of the town since I was little. I didn’t want to see it gone.” Dillon shrugged. “Plus I liked Mr. McNabb. He was one of the few people who didn’t treat me differently simply because of who my parents are. He didn’t care.”

  Emma’s eyes narrowed, playful in a nervous kind of way. “I probably already know the answer, but I have to hear you say it…why a nightclub?”

  She said the word “nightclub” like it was distasteful. Her little button nose wrinkled. He grinned. This woman knew him entirely too well and yet there was so much she didn’t know.

  “Actually, it was Janey’s idea. She said, and I quote, ‘This town could use a little livening up and you’re just the man to do it.’ I agreed with her.”

  Amusement flitted across Emma’s eyes then faded a breath later. Instead, her amber eyes filled with sadness, glistening with unshed tears.

  It made his chest tighten when they were downstairs and did so again now. He couldn’t stand to see tears in her eyes. Seeing them had sunk him eight years ago. Emma had always been strong, the one in charge. She didn’t hesitate to confront him when she assumed the trouble he and Janey got into was his fault. She was one of the few people in this town who wasn’t intimidated by his size or his name. He admired her for that.

  The emotion in her eyes also wrenched at his gut simply because it provided a firm reminder she hadn’t come to recount childhood memories. She had a reason, and instinct said it wasn’t pleasant.

  “I’m sorry.” Emma shook her head and dropped her gaze to her lap, her fingers toying with the edges of her jacket. “I’m stalling.”

  “I noticed.” He sat back in his chair, settled his elbows on the armrest, and folded his hands over his stomach, offering her a smile. “Why don’t you tell me what you came here to say and get it over with? It’s like pulling off a bandage. The slower you do it, the more painful it is. Rip it off quick, and it doesn’t hurt so much.”

  A ghost of a smile flitted across her mouth. “It’s not good news.”

  “Yeah, I gathered that much.”

  She closed her eyes, drawing in a deep breath and releasing it in a slow, serrated stream of air. Dillon gripped the arms of the chair to keep from reaching out to her. Something had happened to Janey, and that very thought left him tied in knots. He hadn’t seen her in over a year. He called on a regular basis to chat, to check in with his best friend, but lately Janey’s voice was tight and distant. The phone calls usually lasted less than two minutes and ended with a lame excuse about having “things to do.”

  The distance between them hadn’t been there before, and it drove him crazy not knowing what went on in her life. It made him sick to his stomach to think something bad might have happened to her.

  Emma lifted her gaze to his, those amber eyes looking simultaneously lost and intense, and a stone of dread dropped in his stomach. He remembered that look. Too well. She looked at him the exact same way when he found her in the pouring rain in the middle of Rugby Park in the center of town. Right after her mother died.

  “She’s…” Emma’s throat bobbed. “She’s…”

  Her voice wavered then stopped and she swallowed again.

  “Just say it, Em.” His gaze locked with hers. Dillon gripped the arms of his chair tighter. “Plea
se.”

  “She’s dead.” One single tear escaped down her pale cheek.

  Her words hit him with all the force of a meaty fist straight to the gut. The air left his lungs, along with a soft curse. He sat in stunned silence, staring past Emma to the two-way mirrored window beside the door. A single thought playing like a broken record through his mind. He’d lost his chance to make amends with his best friend.

  Chapter Two

  God, why didn’t he just say something?

  Emma shifted in her seat and peeked at Dillon’s still form. He’d been sitting there staring at the ceiling for what seemed like forever, like the white tiles above him contained the answers to the mysteries of life. His head rested on the back of the chair, hands draped loosely on the arms.

  So unbearably calm and silent while she fought to control her emotions. Tears burned behind her eyelids, itching to follow their predecessors down her cheeks. Being in the same room with him flooded her mind with memories, half of which revolved around him, all of which revolved around Janey.

  Saying the words out loud, having to watch his eyes slide shut when the news hit him was more awful than she imagined. If she got through this without having a complete meltdown, it would be a miracle. Seeing him made her miss Janey something awful. It became a throbbing ache deep in the pit of her stomach. One she wasn’t sure would ever go away.

  “When?”

  Startled by the sudden sound of his voice, she jerked her gaze in his direction. Only to wish she hadn’t. Dillon stared at her. Pain and longing added a haunted shadow to the depths of his eyes, and a wave of weakness washed over her.

  “A…a month ago.” She dropped her gaze to the floor and clasped her shaking hands until her knuckles turned white, fighting back the tears that welled to life in her eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. It’s just—”

  “Don’t apologize.”

  The gentle understanding and quiet patience in his voice all but zapped the last of her strength. She closed her eyes and drew in a deep, shaky breath.

  Just keep talking. Keep talking and you’ll be fine.

  “It…it was an accident. Janey wanted to go out, and I-I told her she had responsibilities now, that she couldn’t go traipsing around anytime she felt like it. There were certain things she had to give up, that it all came with the territory.” The words spilled from her lips on a torrent of pent-up anger, pain and guilt.

  All the while the memory replayed through her mind like a bad horror movie, and her grip on sanity and her resolve slipped a notch.

  “She said she wanted a little freedom.” Emma stared at the floor, the white flecked tiles beneath her feet blurring. “A little time to herself. That…that she’d be back in a couple of hours, but two hours turned into four. Then it began to rain, thundering and lightning, and it was cold. The rain turned to ice. Then the police came…”

  She wasn’t even aware Dillon had moved until his jeans appeared in her line of vision, his broad form looming over her. Her heart pounded, but she didn’t dare look up, didn’t dare stop talking.

  “She’d gone for a ride with this guy on his bike, a friend of hers, but the roads were wet and slippery, and, and…” Her voice cracked, a wave of pain washing through her chest. In an instant, Emma saw her failure. “Oh God, Dillon. Why didn’t Janey ever listen to me? She used to tell me I was only her sister, that I had no right to—”

  “Stop.” Dillon gripped her shoulders and pulled her out of her seat, tugging her against his big, warm body. He held her tight. His voice was a soothing murmur in her ear. “Stop. It’s not your fault.”

  God help her, she pressed her cheek to his chest, for the briefest of moments, allowing herself to accept the comfort he offered. He smelled so good, all warm and spicy. His hands caressed her back. His deep, rich voice murmured reassurances. He was soothing and calm in a moment when she felt anything but.

  Just like that night.

  Emma squeezed her eyes shut, willed the memories away, but they came in an onslaught, a barrage of images and sensations she’d tried for eight years to forget. She was barely twenty-two when her mother died. That day she was everything the moment dictated her to be. She set aside her grief to console sixteen-year-old Janey, who was understandably beside herself. Planned the funeral and prepared for the small get together at their house afterwards; held it together in the face of the people who came to offer condolences on their loss.

  Janey had run off halfway through the funeral. She was always prone to running off when upset, and Emma let her go, knowing her sister needed time to deal with her grief. When all the people finally went home and Janie still hadn’t come back, Emma had gone looking for her. She didn’t remember when it started to rain. Only that she ended up in the park in a last ditch effort to find her sister, but Janey was nowhere to be found. The last of Emma’s strength ran out and the grief finally struck her. She’d never felt so alone, so lost. She stood there, slowly getting soaked, seeing very little and feeling nothing, trying to make sense of her life.

  That day, responsibility weighed heavily on her shoulders. Her mother’s death made her an instant parent, and Janey hated it. Emma wondered how she’d ever be strong enough for her willful little sister when she didn’t feel strong enough for herself.

  Out of the rain, Dillon’s familiar voice called her name. An odd mix of relief and shock seized her when she turned. His dark eyes were full of concern. Dillon wrapped his coat around her shoulders and drew her against him.

  The last thing Emma expected was for him, of all people, to comfort her, to care how she held up. Dillon came to tell her he found Janey sound asleep in their mother’s bed. Afterwards, he took her home, made her change and sat with her on the sofa in the living room. He held her, murmuring soft reassurances. She cried until no more tears would come. She remembered losing herself in the gentleness of his eyes. That night he gave her strength when, for the first time in her life, she had none.

  “You, of all people, ought to know you could never stop Janey from doing what she wanted.” Dillon’s voice rumbled through his chest, his calm tone contradicting the fierce pounding of his heartbeat beneath her ear.

  Looking at him, the acknowledgment flitted through his eyes, subdued, but there all the same. Dillon remembered that day.

  “I’m sorry, Em.” He stared so deep into her eyes she wanted nothing more than to lose herself in his.

  Her heart pounded in response to the memories, to the man. It hammered out the longing to press against him again, to return the comfort he offered, but she couldn’t.

  “I’m sorry too.” She braced her hands against his chest and shoved away from him, swiping the tears from her cheeks. “I didn’t come here for this.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “I came here to tell you.” She squared her shoulders, drew what was left of her strength around her and held tight to it. “And to ask if you ever get any time off from this place.”

  A sick sensation twisted through her stomach. She didn’t want to ask the question she knew she had to. She didn’t want to hear his answer, to have all those images taunt her mind.

  He went silent, but his penetrating eyes bored through her.

  “Yeah.” Confusion laced his voice. “We’re closed on Sundays. It’s a slow night and it keeps the churchgoers happy.”

  “I was thinking maybe we could have dinner.” Emma clasped her hands together to still their sudden quaking.

  His brows drew together, and he cocked his head to the side. “Dinner?”

  She nodded. “So we can talk. I figured we could do it over dinner. We both have to eat, right?”

  His eyes narrowed. “You have more to tell me.”

  She took a deep breath and nodded, forcing herself to hold his gaze Emma reached into the right pocket of her jacket. She fingered the folded piece of paper, soft and worn from numerous readings, before pulling it out. It was now or never.

  “I found this when I went through her things.” The pap
er trembled in her fingers. “Frankly, we need to talk about what’s in this, and I don’t want to do it here.”

  Curiosity lit his eyes. Dillon took the letter. Her heartbeat tripled when he glanced at it. He ran the pad of his thumb over the soft, worn paper, but instead of opening and reading it, he pocketed it and looked at her again. “All right. Sunday night then. Seven o’clock, my place. I’ll cook.”

  Sunday night, Emma sat in the car in the driveway of the bed and breakfast, staring in the rearview mirror. Her bundled passenger squirmed, turning her head from side to side and kicking at the blanket that covered her legs. The stillness of the vehicle and sudden chill in the air woke Annie from a peaceful slumber. The baby’s fussing seemed to echo the nervous knot in Emma’s stomach.

  She twisted in her seat to readjust the blanket and smiled at the chubby little face. “You ready for this, sweet girl?”

  Slate blue eyes blinked at her and began to fill with tears. A fat bottom lip popped out. The baby let out a long, tired whimper.

  Emma sighed. “Yeah, me neither.”

  She turned back around and stared at the wooden light pole in front of her. She was going to have to be in his house, surrounded by his things, immersed in his scent—a fact that made her stomach somersault to think about. She hadn’t anticipated remembering that night. The way it changed her view of him. How was it she’d known him for most of her life and never discovered Dillon James had a heart? Why had it changed her view of him entirely?

  She always attributed the stress of the funeral to the new buds of emotions that sprouted around her memories of him, but he’d done it again. He comforted her in a weak moment, and she found his arms a disturbingly safe place to be.

  Now, the thought of being alone with him, having to discuss intimate topics with him, all of which revolved around his relationship with Janey, made her tremble with a bad case of nerves. Dillon would have to tell her things she didn’t want to know.