Delivering History (The Freehope Series Book 4)

by Jenni M. Rose

  It would do.

  Alex woke the next morning to a hot, hard, naked man and blinding sunlight. Just as she had thought the night before, there were no curtains on Dylan’s windows, nor were there any blinds.

  Just the rays of a thousand suns scalding her eyes.

  She lifted a hand and groaned, checking the clock on Dylan’s nightstand. Six-thirty in the morning. She glanced at Dylan, still sleeping soundly, one hand resting on his chest, the other wrapped around her middle.

  He was a toucher, she confirmed. There hadn’t been one second where he hadn’t had his hands on her, affirming their connection.

  His blond hair looked even lighter, when the bright morning light weaved its way through the strands. Even his eyelashes were light, though not as light as the hair on his head. Curious, Alex lifted the sheet and took a peek, smiling at the hair there that wasn’t as light as the hair on his head either.

  Dylan still made no moves to wake for the day so Alex gently extricated herself from the bed. She tossed on a discarded button-up she found on a chair, rolling up the sleeves. She explored his condo, unashamed at her snooping. If he didn’t want her nosing around, he shouldn’t have left her unattended, she mused, as she poked around the corner of a guestroom and moved on.

  Downstairs she admired his well-appointed living room, though it was nothing outlandish. It was when she turned the corner to the kitchen that she nearly screeched and fell to her knees. The man had a kitchen that was magazine-worthy. To absolutely die for, the thing was decked out better than some of the commercial kitchens she’s worked in, and it was gorgeous, to boot. Granite-countered everything, stainless steel, commercial appliances, Alex almost checked for drool.

  It was gorgeous and she felt a pang of annoyed jealousy. No amount of big-box store gift cards were going to get her a kitchen like that. She ran her fingers along the white granite counters as she walked by and peeked in the oven. It looked like it hadn’t ever been used. She opened a few cabinets and then the fridge, when a thought struck.

  She went back to the cabinet and grabbed a few things, making herself right at home. If he was going to sleep in, she’d just make him some breakfast for when he decided to get up.

  If she got a chance to test out his kitchen while she was at it, then so be it.

  Within minutes she had her ingredients out. They weren’t much; most ingredients weren’t. It was what you did with them that made them sing.

  Between the basics, which he had, and some extras, it didn’t take her long to put something together and in the oven. She cleaned up a little and then remembered another little pile of berries she’d seen in the fridge. Her eyes cut to the leftover dough she’d used as crust.

  She could make one more little breakfast tart. She took a few minutes to piece that together, and when the soufflés came out of the oven, she slid the tart in.

  It was small, but glorious. She smiled at it as she watched through the glass.

  “Make yourself at home.”

  Alex screamed, Dylan’s voice startling her enough that she jumped back, knocking into the counter. Her heart pounded as she held a fist to her chest.

  “Scare me to death, why don’t you! Make some noise next time.”

  “You were talking to the oven. I don’t think you would have heard me either way,” he noted, his lips twitching, wearing nothing but his boxers.

  “I was talking to a tart,” she corrected. “But seriously, I just had a heart attack.”

  “Yeah?” he asked. “Let me have a listen?” The way he approached her was as close to stalking as she’d seen, like she was prey in his territory. Which, she supposed, she was. His steps were slow and measured, his eyes never leaving hers and when he reached her, he pulled her hand away from her chest.

  With deliberate fingers, he unbuttoned the shirt until it fell open, flapping at her sides. His hand pressed against her sternum, taking in her heartbeat before sliding up and around her neck. He pulled her lips to his.

  “Heart seems just fine. Morning.” He’d brushed his teeth and she was suddenly wishing she’d done the same until he spoke again. “You taste like berries.”

  “You’re obsessed with how I taste,” she told him.

  Dylan smirked. “I know. Want me to show you how much again?”

  Yes. She absolutely did, and he could see it all over her face but they were interrupted by the oven timer. Alex hurried to button the shirt, grabbed the pot holder, and opened the oven door, sticking her hand in to press the dough and test the consistency.

  “Don’t burn yourself,” he warned, his voice laced with concern.

  “Hazard of the job,” she said, shrugging him off. The dough was just firm enough that she felt the tart was done. She took it out and slid the pan onto the stove top before transferring it to a baking rack. “Why do you have all this stuff?” she asked, gesturing to all the cooking utensils and accessories he had.

  “Came with the place,” he admitted. “I don’t even know what that stuff is or where you found it.”

  Alex wanted to cry at the injustice. How many dizzyingly expensive kitchens were there out there being wasted on people that didn’t use them?

  “What’s your middle name?” she asked abruptly.

  His eyebrows shot to his hairline. “Why?”

  “Because I asked nicely.” She did not ask nicely, she demanded, but he didn’t correct her.

  “Henry.”

  “Dylan Henry James,” she scolded playfully, despite the serious tone of her voice. “How could you let all of this stuff go to waste? You’ve got restaurant-quality equipment in here. I don’t think your oven has ever been used.”

  He looked like he was hiding a smile as he approached, grabbing her around the waist and lifting her against him. She wrapped her legs around him and let him set her butt right on the counter.

  “I like when you get bossy,” he murmured, running his lips across her open collar.

  “Someday, when you’re not doing what you’re doing, I’m going to school you on how utterly insulting it is to call a woman bossy and why I absolutely hate it. For now, instead of calling me bossy, you can just call me the boss.”

  Instead of looking annoyed at her assertiveness or insulted, he looked pleased. If the tent in his boxers was anything to go by, he wasn’t offended.

  “Have I told you yet how much I enjoy you?” he asked, completely out of the blue.

  “I thought that’s what you were doing last night,” she asked with a smile and raised eyebrow.

  “No, not that.” He shrugged. “Yes, that, too, but just you, Lexi. Have I told you how much I enjoy who you are? How refreshing your honesty is? How interesting you are?”

  No one had ever said any of those things about her; whether they didn’t feel them or thought she was too unapproachable, she didn’t know.

  “How about I feed you breakfast and you can count the ways,” she offered.

  He kissed her, full and soft, before pulling away, sending her a look that melted something inside her chest.

  “I’d like that.”

  She set them up in a breakfast nook with the little ham-and-cheese soufflés and coffee, the berry tart between them. The table was small, in a cute alcove with a window that overlooked the wharf.

  Dylan dug in, the steam escaping the ramekin as he broke the crust on the top of the soufflé. Alex looked down at hers and suddenly felt less enthusiastic. Not sick, thankfully, but not hungry. Instead of eating, she looked out the window, watching as a water taxi approached the dock. She’d always been fascinated by the idea of the water taxi, but had never taken it before.

  “Are you serious with this?” he asked, spooning up another bite and closing his lips around it. “How did you make this? Did you go to the store?”

  She shook her head. “No. You had all of the ingredients here.”

  “I didn’t have anything here. Just some leftovers from this week,” he argued.

  “And some basic pantry staples, cheese, an
d cream.”

  “I did not have cream,” he shot back.

  “Half and half,” she agreed. “Still works.”

  “You’re not hungry?” He looked at her untouched food, concerned.

  “I’m starting to wonder if I’ll ever eat again. Everything I look at makes me want to be sick.” She huffed and immediately corrected herself. “That’s not true. Andy said I should look at the bright side, which is her specialty, not mine. Everything I want to eat, makes me want to be sick. I still haven’t moved onto the whole eating whatever I want phase of this thing.”

  Dylan leaned back in his chair, still in nothing but his underwear, and stretched his legs out until his foot touched hers.

  “Can we talk about this thing?” he asked, eyeing her stomach.

  He hadn’t seemed bothered by it the night before when he’d uncovered the bump. If anything, he’d almost seemed fascinated by it. Heck, she’d even woken up once and he’d been spooned behind her, his big hand covering it protectively.

  Alex shrugged. “Sure.”

  “How uh…” He squirmed, uncomfortably. “How much longer do you have?”

  “I’m almost sixteen weeks now,” she told him, sticking to the facts. “Pregnancy, best case scenario, lasts at least forty. So, I’m not even halfway through. They break it down into trimesters, so I’m into number two. The risk for losing the baby goes down now, so that’s a plus.” She didn’t want to think about the ones that didn’t take. It had been hard to bear, to feel that responsibility, when Beth had been so heartbroken.

  Dylan nodded his head, almost assessing her now.

  “Your brother mentioned that you and Beth aren’t particularly close.”

  He said it casually, but he was prying for information. She didn’t mind too much, but that topic struck a little bit of a nerve.

  “We’ve had our ups and downs,” she said vaguely. “Doesn’t mean I love her any less or wouldn’t make sacrifices for her.”

  “Sacrifices?” He sounded personally affronted. “Lex, you’re giving up months of your life and your body. I’d say that’s a little more than sacrifice.”

  “I made her life a living hell.” Alex grunted, looking away as that familiar shame washed over her. “When my mother died, Beth struggled. More than the rest of us. Not that we weren’t all hurting and missing her but, Beth completely broke. Instead of supporting her, I shamed her.” She met his eyes head on, letting him see what it cost her. “I pushed her away.”

  It was one of her biggest regrets.

  Dylan regarded her with a soft curiosity. “So, you owe her because you hurt her?”

  “I don’t owe her,” she hedged, though when she explained it all out loud, that’s how it sounded. “I just… I want to do something to show her I’m better than I was, that I’ve grown into a sister she can count on.”

  “So, you’re trying to prove something to her?”

  Beth shook her head. “It sounds dumb when I say it out loud, but I guess I want to be able to make her whole again.”

  “And a baby will do that for her?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “It will. I get it if it doesn’t make sense to you. People think I’m doing something either insanely stupid or that I’m a selfless saint. I’m not either of those things; I’m just trying to make sure my sister knows I love her and help her get what she needs.”

  “I’d say that falls under extremely selfless, though after last night, I’d never call you a saint.”

  He was smiling, like her admission didn’t change the way he looked at her. And maybe it didn’t. It made her feel dirty, admitting that she’d purposely hurt her sister, who was already suffering. It made her feel petty and small, and maybe she was. Maybe that’s the sister she was.

  “Does it count as selfless if I’m not doing it to be selfless?” she asked, wanting Dylan’s opinion. “Maybe I’m doing it to be selfish, so I have something to hold onto to show that I put in some effort.” Frustrated with her train of thought, she sent him a desperate look. “What kind of person does that?”

  Dylan stood and came to her side, deftly scooping her out of the chair and into his arms. He carried her to the living room, where he settled into an armchair, again overlooking the water. His arms held her, enveloping her in his warmth.

  “I’ve never met anyone like you, Lexi,” Dylan murmured. “You’re the kind of person that isn’t afraid to say what they think or piss someone off. But you’re soft and sweet, just like those doughnuts I bought a few weeks ago. Delicate. You’ve got a big heart and one of these days, you’ve got to make room in there for yourself.”

  Her brow furrowed as she considered what he was saying. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, you’re so worried about making up a few bad years to your sister and how it looks to everyone else, but you’ll never be enough for them until you can be enough for yourself.” He pulled her face around with a finger so that his dark eyes could meet hers. “And you’re enough, Lexi. Not the person who’s giving your sister a baby or the perfect sister or the best aunt. But just you, Lexi.”

  She’d have replied if she had the words to say to him. If there was something she could respond with that was as profound as his words to her had been.

  But she was stunned speechless.

  A man she didn’t know all that well, one she’d almost written off as a rich pretty face, had just wrapped her up in cotton and made everything around her feel soft and warm.

  He’d been deeply insightful into the one thing she’d never admitted aloud to anyone else. It was her biggest flaw and he’d looked past it to see who she really was.

  Dylan James was more than he appeared.

  By three in the afternoon the following Wednesday, Dylan was suffering.

  Badly.

  He discreetly checked his watch to see that it was only fifteen seconds past the last time he’d checked. He had a date. Well, a baking class, but it was the same damn thing because it would be taught by Lexi.

  He didn’t foresee himself retaining all that much information from it, especially knowing how sweet and soft she was under her apron. He had zero interest in learning how to bake, but learning more about Lexi he’d take in a heartbeat.

  Grant was droning on about something, an investment he wanted them to personally back, though Dylan had ruled it out the second he’d heard Grant’s intentions. The funny thing about Grant Harrison was that he didn’t let a little thing like the word no get in his way. Even though he must have seen Dylan’s answer written all over his face, he was still expounding on the virtues of a tech start-up he thought was worth investing in.

  Small-time techies, no big names among them, looking for a huge chunk of change to move themselves to the next level. Personally, Dylan was technically challenged, his phone about all the technology he could handle. He knew right away he wasn’t the investor for the project.

  “You’re not even listening,” Grant said forcefully, kicking the front of Dylan’s desk to get his attention.

  “You know tech isn’t my thing and as a company, we invest other people’s money, not our own,” he shot back.

  “We’re always telling clients to climb out on that limb and find something new. Something worth putting money into. These guys are it.” Dylan checked his watch again. “That’s the tenth time you’ve checked your watch. Do you have somewhere more important to be?”

  It was meant to be rhetorical. Dylan had known Grant long enough to know that he didn’t care if Dylan had somewhere to be. He was pointing out that whatever it was, couldn’t be more important than work.

  A month ago, Dylan might have agreed.

  Now, thinking about Lexi, he wasn’t so sure.

  “I’m driving out to Freehope to see Lexi. I want to beat traffic,” he admitted before turning his eyes back to his partner. “I think this is something we should all talk about together, you, me, Brady, and Linc. I think this is something we can sell to clients to invest in, but I don’t know that it would be wis
e for us to be the lead investors, that’s all.”

  “We’ve got the money—”

  “But we don’t have the clout and you know it. We’re money guys. You want investors for this? You really want to get these guys off the ground? You need tech people. Rich tech people. Find them and do your job, but don’t come in here expecting us to bankroll some pet project.” Dylan stood and stuffed his arms into his suit coat. “That isn’t what we do, Grant. Get out there and find people with money, find investors. The right ones for the right projects, that’s what we always say. We don’t need just anyone’s money, we need the right people for the right project.” He sent a look to his partner. “That’s what we do.”

  He left Grant standing in his office and walked out, heading directly to his car, without another word to anyone. Lately, he’d been feeling like maybe his partners weren’t in the business for the long haul. Brady definitely was but Lincoln and Grant had both been pulling back. Not necessarily from the business itself, but they’d lost some of the fire they’d had when they started out just five years ago. Grant was always finding little companies, mom-and-pop type stuff, because he had a deep sense of community.

  It was nice, but that wasn’t what they did. This tech thing he was trying to sell was the same thing—Grant trying to help out the underdog.

  Lincoln had been putting up a good front for a long time. They’d all been surprised when he’d been all-in creating the firm, assuming he was going to move out of the city after college and branch out on his own. His parents, as nice as they were, still had a very firm hold on Lincoln and his sister; their biggest concern was being seen and written about in the society pages. Lincoln had always talked about getting away from that.

  Though, when the woman he loved, girl really, had been dragged away in handcuffs, Lincoln had lost some if his spark. They all knew it.

  Even if the woman in question was a train wreck. And, oh yeah, Brady’s sister.