The Playboy's Baby

by Stewart, JM

  On top of it, somehow in the middle of all that, she had to convince him to not take Annie away from her.

  Emma let her head fall back against the headrest and closed her eyes. God give me strength.

  “Come on, sweetie.” Mind set, Emma opened her eyes and smiled in the rearview mirror before shifting the car into gear. “Let’s get this over with.”

  * * *

  Bent over the open oven, Dillon jerked his head up at the knock on the front door. Emma. He shoved the rack back inside and closed the oven door before glancing at the microwave clock. Damn. The woman couldn’t be five minutes late?

  “Coming,” he bellowed in the general direction of the front door then stepped to his right. He scooped up the place settings he’d gotten out and deposited them on the dining room table on his way through.

  He was running late. He woke later than intended this afternoon, and from there the entire day had been off. Paperwork at the club had taken longer than expected. Now dinner wasn’t done and he hadn’t managed to set the table yet. It didn’t help any that his stomach had twisted itself into a nervous knot. He felt like a damn kid on his first date because Emma would be here, in his house. He’d always attributed his infatuation with her to a teenage crush, but holding her in his arms Friday night, the emotion flared all over again. How good her soft curves felt against him.

  He stopped in front of the door and raked a hand through his hair, tried to prepare himself for the night ahead. Above all the awkward emotions, he knew whatever news she still had for him couldn’t possibly be good. He wasn’t looking forward to hearing it.

  He smoothed his hands on his jeans then stepped forward and pulled the door open. He was even more unprepared for the sight that greeted him. Emma stood on his doorstep with her hair free flowing around her shoulders, looking gorgeous.

  And an overstuffed diaper bag slung over one shoulder. He jerked his gaze to the car seat dangling from her other hand, the top of which had been covered by a fuzzy pink blanket. The bundle contained within squirmed and whimpered until the blanket fell away to reveal a chubby little face. Big, watery blue eyes rimmed with long red lashes peered up at him.

  A baby.

  “Wow.” He shifted his attention from the now fussing child back to Emma. “I didn’t even know you were married.”

  All the implications of that revelation quickly assaulted his senses. His stomach tightened, the green-eyed monster rearing its ugly head. Hatred for a man he didn’t even know. A man who so obviously got what he’d only been able to dream about once upon a time.

  A soft blush stole across Emma’s cheeks. She looked at the baby, gently shushing her. A frigid wind blew past him into the house and whipped her hair around her face.

  “I’m not.” She glanced at him, her brows drawn together. “Can we come in? It’s cold and I don’t want her to catch a chill.”

  “Sorry.” He stepped back and pulled the door open wider. “You surprised me. Janey never told me you had a baby.”

  A thought that quickly had his chest constricting. Janey hadn’t told him much of anything for well over a year. His best friend had become a stranger.

  Emma stopped inside the doorway and stared at him like she’d just seen a ghost. A split second later, the look disappeared and her mouth curled into a tight smile. “Smells good in here. Lasagna?”

  She turned that smile on him, waiting expectantly, and set the car seat on the floor. She stepped out of her snow-dusted boots, leaving them on the mat beside the door.

  Dillon managed to smile and nod, his mind struggling to keep up with her. “With fresh garlic bread.” Emma’s favorite, if he remembered correctly. “Ma’s recipe. I’m afraid dinner’s not quite done yet. I underestimated the cooking time. Still has about fifteen minutes or so.”

  She shrugged out of her coat and turned to hang it on a hook beside the door. His eyes slid over her. Emma was dressed simply tonight, in black slacks and a white button-down blouse. A very conservative, almost business-like ensemble, but it suited her. The clothing skimmed her curves and made her legs look like they went on forever. The hair got him. The glorious auburn locks spilled down her back in soft waves his fingers itched to sift through.

  “Can you do that? Cook I mean. Or should I worry?” Emma turned her head, arching one fiery brow at him. Her amber eyes danced with a devilishness that made his heart pound against his ribcage. God he’d forgotten how beautiful she was when she smiled at him like that. It was a rare occurrence, but he’d gotten a few growing up.

  He returned the smile. “Come on now, you should know me better than that. You can’t live with my parents and not learn how to cook.”

  His grandmother had been born and raised in Sicily. Nana still chose to speak Italian and always had something brewing on the stove. Inspired by her, his family opened a small chain of Italian restaurants. Dillon and his older brother, Logan, helped out in the kitchen every night, from the time they were tall enough to reach the counters until they moved out. In his family, it was tradition.

  Emma laughed. It was a soft breathy sound he yearned to hear again. She picked up the car seat and moved past him. Following her into the living room, he tried his damnedest not to watch the gentle sway of her shapely rear end. It didn’t help matters any that once she reached the couch, she set the car seat on the floor and bent over it.

  He swallowed hard, trying not to stare when she unbuckled the child. Emma managed to get the baby out of the snowsuit she was bundled in, then scooped the child up into her arms and patted the baby’s back, murmuring soothingly. In a matter of moments, Emma had the child lolling to sleep on her shoulder.

  “You always did have a way with kids.”

  Watching her, long buried desires floated to the surface. He wanted the marriage and family thing once, thought he was ready to take that walk. He’d been so in love with Leila. The sun had risen and set in her eyes. Until he learned the hard way, Leila was yet another woman who saw him like a means to his bank account. These days he intended to avoid marriage altogether. He found life easier that way.

  Emma slowly turned to face him, her hips rocking from side to side.

  “Oh, babies are easy. All you have to do is love them.” She shrugged a shoulder and smiled at the baby. “You’d be surprised what you can do when you have to.”

  The odd tone of Emma’s voice made his stomach knot. She had a similar one right before she dropped the news about Janey. At that thought, his stomach sank. Pain washed through him.

  He still couldn’t believe Janey was dead. He’d never get another chance to make things right between them. Never get to hear her laugh or see her smile or even to see that wickedness dance in her eyes when she was up to no good.

  “God, I’m going to miss her.” The words left his mouth before he realized he’d spoken them out loud. He lifted his gaze to Emma. She stared at the floor, both arms now wrapped tightly around the baby, like the child provided a lifeline. “How are you holding up?"

  Emma turned to him, her eyes brimming with tears, but offered a brave smile.

  “I’m a survivor. It’s what I do. Besides, I have her now.” With a wistful smile, she laid her head against the baby’s. “She keeps me on this side of sanity.”

  That was definitely the Emma he grew up with. She was one of the strongest women he knew, and completely selfless. In fact, he couldn’t remember a time when she wasn’t taking care of someone. The question was who took care of Emma?

  “So.” Dillon stepped forward and eyed the sleepy baby. “What’s her name?”

  “This,” Emma beamed like a proud mother hen, “is Annabelle. Annabelle Amelia Stanton.”

  “After your mother.”

  She gave him a soft, wistful smile. “Yeah. Janey used to call her Bellie, because she has a nice round belly to match those cheeks of hers.” She laughed softly, tears pooling at the corners of her eyes. “I call her Annie.”

  “She looks like you.” She had a full head of the thick red hai
r all the Stanton women had. Emma’s was more of an auburn, a deep reddish brown. Janey’s was strawberry blond. Annie was in the middle, with a wild blazing red ’do that stuck straight out from her head.

  Emma’s gaze snapped to his. Something he couldn’t identify flashed in her eyes, but she lowered her gaze again and shook her head.

  “I think Annie looks like Janey when she was a baby, but Janey used to say she looked like her father.” She looked at him and pinned him with an odd, penetrating stare. “The older she gets, the more I’m inclined to agree. She has his eyes, I think. Nose too.”

  “So if you’re not married, where exactly is her father?”

  Emma stared at him a moment, a blank expression on her face. “You didn’t read the letter.”

  It wasn’t a question.

  “No. The club got kind of crazy. I got sidetracked.” Dillon shrugged and tried to find something, anything, else to look at but Emma’s amber eyes. Their magnetic pull called to him and demanded he answer the way they always had growing up. With a sigh, he let his shoulders slump and gave in. “I couldn’t do it.”

  Call him a coward, but he hadn’t been able to make himself read what had likely been some of Janey’s last words. He ducked his head and dragged his hands through his hair, compelled to be honest by something that scared the hell out of him.

  “Something went wrong between us. I should have done something to fix it while I had the chance. I should have pushed. Now she’s gone and I’ll never get another chance.” The very thought had a heap of guilt rising to the surface, waiting to suffocate him.

  Emma’s expression softened, understanding pooling in her soft amber eyes that somehow soothed the pain in his chest.

  She nodded. “Guilt’s a killer, isn’t it? Going through Janey’s things hasn’t been easy for me either, but you should have read the letter. It would have explained a lot.” She closed her eyes, her chest rising then falling and drew in a deep breath, blowing it out. “Then this wouldn’t be so hard.”

  He frowned and shook his head. “You’re talking in circles and I’m afraid I’m not following.”

  She heaved a shaky sigh, opened her eyes and slowly turned to look at him. “Annie’s not mine.”

  He frowned. “I don’t understand. Then whose is she?”

  Emma pinned him to the spot with a direct stare. “Janey’s. Annie turned six months old three days ago.”

  “Damn.” Dillon closed his eyes, pain washing through his chest. They’d been best friends since elementary school, yet Janey hadn’t even told him she was pregnant.

  “There’s more.” Emma’s voice was soft and gentle, but didn’t ease the wound the way she likely hoped.

  He opened his eyes and shook his head. “I’m not sure I can handle any more.”

  She stared him dead in the eye, her gaze soft and understanding, but uncompromising. “I’m afraid you don’t have a choice. It’s about the baby’s father.”

  Unease crawled up his spine. “Let me guess, he dumped her, right?”

  Janey never had very good taste in men. She seemed to end up with the ones who left her high and dry, used her up then spit her out. He couldn’t count on both hands the number of times he’d gone to get her when one of them left her stranded somewhere.

  Emma gave a slow shake of her head, then dropped her gaze to the floor and slowly paced back and forth along the front of the couch.

  “Janey refused to tell anyone who Annie’s father was.” Having reached the right end of the couch for the third time, she finally stopped and looked at him. “All I have to go on is what’s in that letter.”

  He gritted his teeth. “Spit it out, Em.”

  For an endless moment, she didn’t speak, just stared at him.

  “I’m really sorry.” She shook her head. “I have to ask you this.”

  Apprehension knotted in his stomach. “Ask me what?”

  Emma looked at the floor and drew another breath before finally meeting his gaze again. “Did you sleep with Janey?”

  The absolute last subject he ever wanted to discuss with her.

  Dillon turned his back to her, didn’t want to know what look would cross her eyes when he told her the truth. He’d seen too much judgment in her eyes over the years. “That’s an awful personal question.”

  “Please.” She laid a hand on his back, her voice lowering, softening with understanding. “It’s important. I wouldn’t ask otherwise.”

  He drew in a deep breath. The muscles in his shoulders tightened. Dillon prepared himself for the judgment sure to come. “Yes.”

  Her hand dropped from his back. “When?”

  With an indrawn breath, he forced himself to turn and face her, hoped that just once he wouldn’t see that look in her eyes. “A little over a year ago. She went with me down to Vegas, for that liquor convention, remember?”

  She nodded absently, made a sound at the back of her throat and pursed her lips. The look turned his stomach. He’d seen it one too many times over the years, usually when she’d caught him sneaking Janey back into the house after a night of fun and assumed he’d been the ringleader.

  “You can stop looking at me like that. I didn’t use your sister. It was a mutual decision.”

  “I’m not judging you.” She turned her head, met his gaze and shrugged a shoulder. “But you do have a notorious reputation, Dillon.”

  She had him there. He prided himself on it once. If the gold diggers in this town were determined to use him, he was determined to enjoy it. Over the years, all Emma ever managed to see were the things that went wrong. More than anything, he longed to change the view she had of him, to show Emma there was more to him than what she saw. Just once he wanted to see trust in her eyes, instead of that damn wariness.

  He sighed. “Look, I’m not going to stand here and tell you it was something it wasn’t. Frankly, it just…happened. One thing led to another. You know how it goes.”

  A flush rose in Emma’s cheeks, and she jerked her gaze to something beyond him. Her arms tightened around the baby. “Actually I wouldn’t.”

  That got his attention. He quirked a brow, his mind twisting in a different direction. “You’ve never gotten caught up in passion?”

  The thought intrigued the hell out of him. He suspected inside that cool, always-in-control exterior laid the heart of a very passionate woman.

  “No.” Her chin ratcheted up a notch, and she pinned him with a hard stare, those amber eyes daring him to judge her.

  He lowered his voice and shook his head. “That’s a crying shame.”

  A fierce blush slid across Emma’s cheeks, but true to her nature, she held his gaze with a boldness that made his heart want to escape his chest. Damned if he didn’t want to be the man to coax that fire out of her. He bet she was beautiful when her cheeks flushed with desire.

  He jerked his gaze to the window beyond her, staring out into the darkness beyond. Something, anything, rather than looking into her eyes. “Look, Janey and I talked the next morning. We both agreed neither of us wanted any emotional complications and it should stay at one night. When we parted at the end of the weekend, she said she was fine with it.”

  He was closer to Janey than anyone, able to share things with her he couldn’t share with anyone else, and that night had been no different. They needed each other with something beyond friendship or love. The morning after they both admitted their night together wasn’t about attraction—that, in fact, neither had ever been attracted to the other—but about the need for physical intimacy, a deeper sense of connection to another human being. Having been hurt one too many times, each of them needed it with someone they trusted, and they were able to give each other that. He couldn’t explain the whole notion to Emma if he tried.

  He shrugged and looked over at Emma. “Is there a point to all of this?”

  She turned away and went silent for so long he wondered if she’d ever say anything. The silence grated on his nerves.

  Finally, she turned to fa
ce him, a quiet determination in her gaze that knotted his gut. “Do you still have the letter?”

  A stone of dread dropped in his stomach. Dillon knew what she was going to say even before the words left her mouth but nodded anyway. “Yes.”

  “Read it.” Shifting Annie to one arm, she reached out, laid a hand on his bicep, her eyes pleading with him. “Please.”

  Dillon heaved a sigh and nodded, reached behind him and pulled the letter from his back pocket. He moved to the sofa and sank onto the soft leather seat before unfolding the paper. He drew in a deep fortifying breath and dove in.

  Dillon,

  By now you’re likely wondering why I’ve been avoiding you. Truth is, I have something I’ve kept from you. I have a daughter. She’s yours. The result of the one and only night we shared—Vegas. When I found out I was pregnant, I knew immediately I wanted to keep her. I also know you. I’ve been your best friend for twenty years.

  I’ve watched them over the years. The women come and go, trying to use you. I’ve had to watch them break your heart and steal that light from your eyes. I hated seeing what Leila did to you. You don’t admit it, but you’re not the same. You used to be so vibrant. You hold back now.

  When I decided to keep the baby, I also decided to keep her father’s identity a secret. Not even Emma knows. I knew if I told her, she’d tell you, and I refused to be one of those women who used you. I couldn’t bear to do to you what they did. I knew I could take care of her on my own.

  I miss you, Dillon. You’ve been my best friend since kindergarten. I’ve shared my entire life with you from the day we first met. I’ve never kept anything from you, so to keep this from you feels…wrong. She’s five months old now and she is…amazing, which made me realize keeping her to myself is selfish. Emma is right—she deserves to know her father. And you deserve to know her.

  I know this letter is taking the coward’s way out. I should have called, but I’m afraid. I’m terrified of what you must think of me right now. I’ve lied to you, shut you out, no doubt made you feel like you did something wrong. I only hope you can forgive me.