by Jane Porter
He looked good in ivory, the light cream color contrasted with his black hair and straight slash of eyebrows. His jaw was now shadowed with a day’s growth of beard and he looked ridiculously sexy for her kitchen. Which had been until now, very much a mom kitchen.
Suddenly she was loath to send him away, although nothing good would come from having him stay.
“We did this before,” she said.
“We’re just talking dishes, babe.”
And yet from his husky inflection and the flare of heat in his gold eyes, she wasn’t at all sure what they were talking about.
“I’ll be back in twenty minutes. Thirty at the most,” she said. “If you’re here, you’re here. If you’re not...you’re not. Either way, thank you for doing the dishes. This mom appreciates you giving her a break.” She smiled and steered Addison out, telling herself he wouldn’t be there when she came back down, and yet a little part of her hoped he would be.
Dillon watched her disappear with Tyler and Addison, and exhaled as they rounded the corner. He slowly ran his hand along his jaw, the bristles of his beard chafing his palm.
He was ignoring his own rules. So dangerous.
His rules were there for a reason. To keep him—and others—from getting hurt.
But there was something about Paige that made him ignore his rules and throw caution to the wind.
Maybe it was because he’d been with a lot of women in the past ten years and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt that way with a woman. He couldn’t remember when he’d last felt so...connected.
It hadn’t felt like a hookup. It’d felt like more. He didn’t understand why, either. Maybe that’s what made him want to talk to her. To try to understand. So he could move on. Let it go. Let her go.
He had to let her go. He was leaving tomorrow.
Another thirty seconds passed and he glanced towards the family room where the TV was flashing pictures but the sound had been muted, and then he thought of Paige upstairs, doing whatever it was to get her kids settled for the night, and then he turned around and confronted the pans on the stove, and the dishes in the sink.
Upstairs, Paige read the last two chapters to Addison, and then talked with her about the ending—such a good ending—and then kissed her sweet girl goodnight before going to tuck Tyler in.
Usually Tyler gave her a quick hug and that was that, but tonight Tyler wanted to talk, interested in hearing what she thought of TJ’s uncle.
“He seems nice,” she answered, striving to sound casual, taking a seat on the edge of his bed, and lifting his hair up from his brow to check the bruising on his forehead and then around his jaw.
“He’s smart,” Tyler said, pulling away, still lisping through the split and swollen lip. “He’s an engineer. He even started his own company.”
“I know. And he’s going back to his company tomorrow. It’s in Texas.”
“Austin,” Tyler added, lying back in bed, and pulling the covers up higher on his chest. His face looked even more swollen and bruised against the white pillowcase.
She leaned over and gently kissed his forehead, choosing a spot that wasn’t black and blue. “No more fighting, okay?”
“At least not until I know how to fight smart.”
“I don’t think fighting is the answer.”
“Boys fight, Mom. You just have to accept it.”
She arched a brow. This definitely didn’t sound like her Tyler. “Who told you that?”
“Mr. Sheenan.”
“I thought so.” She wagged a finger at him, not impressed. “Mr. Sheenan may know a lot about science and engineering, but he isn’t a parent, and he shouldn’t give you advice on things like fighting. We don’t fight in our family. We turn the other cheek—”
“I did,” Tyler interrupted. “And Sam hit that one, too.”
She held her breath a moment, amazed by Dillon’s influence after just a couple hours. “Fighting doesn’t solve anything,” she said, kissing him one last time before standing. “But using your brain does.”
Chapter 10
Dillon didn’t leave.
He was still in the kitchen when she returned, standing virtually in the same spot she’d left him, except the kitchen was now spotless, not a dish remained, and the sink was clean and dry. The counters gleamed, completely clutter free, and even the two dishtowels he had used were now hanging neatly from the towel bar on the kitchen door while coffee brewed.
“Wow,” she said. “That’s impressive.” She meant it, too. The man knew how to clean up. “Your mother must have taught you right.”
“Actually, Dad taught me. He ran a tight ship. We were like two bachelors living together...bachelors that had maybe once been a Marine.” His mouth quirked, his tone wry. “Dad was a Marine, which probably explains that.”
Paige took this in, processing it, filing bits away as this was the first truly personal thing he’d ever told her about himself, or his family. She’d heard plenty from McKenna and Taylor, but Dillon never really talked about his family. Dillon almost always deflected attention from himself. “Either way,” she said lightly, “you are a miracle worker. Thank you. You have no idea what a treat it is to get out of dishes for a night.”
“It’s the least I could do. That was the best dinner I’ve had in a very long time.”
She smiled. “Good thing you’re leaving town, or I’d be offering to invite you over for dinner more often.”
“You’re counting on me offering to do dishes each time, aren’t you?”
“Well, wouldn’t you?”
“I would. And while it’s on my mind, I think you should know you’re a pretty awesome mom. Your kids are really lucky to have you.”
“Thank you, but I’ve got pretty great kids. They make it easy. And fun. I do love being their mom. I also love how different they are. Addison is a princess and loves everything pink, purple and sprinkled with Disney. Tyler could care less about playing pirate or cowboy or cop. He’s going to invent the next time machine. And I believe him.”
“I do, too. He’s a very smart boy.”
“It’s hard to keep up with him sometimes.”
“I don’t know that you have to keep up with him. What he needs most from you is love.”
There was something in Dillon’s voice that caught her attention. “How old were you when your mom died?”
“Ten.”
Ten, she silently repeated. He had been just a little boy still when his mom died. He’d grown up surrounded by men, and from the sound of his father, a tough, non-emotional man. “Were you close to her?”
He hesitated. “I don’t really remember. I know I was the baby, so theoretically I should have been closest to her, but she wasn’t well during those last few years, so a lot of it is a blur.”
“I didn’t realize she was ill.”
He rubbed his chin, again hesitating, as if trying to decide how much to share. “She was really depressed,” he said finally. “She spent a lot of time in her room, alone, and before that, I don’t really remember.”
He looked at Paige, shadows in his eyes. “I wish I could, though. I would like to have some good memories of her. Memories of us doing things together, fun things, but it’s mostly just the memory of her, in her room, and Dad telling us to leave her be.”
Paige knew she was treading on dangerous ground but had to ask. “She didn’t get help?”
“I don’t know. My gut says, no.”
“Your dad didn’t insist on it?”
He glanced away, his jaw tightening, grinding, making a small muscle bunch near his ear. “My dad didn’t believe in that sort of thing.”
“But he loved her. Yes?”
He didn’t answer but his tortured expression said plenty. Paige also had a sinking suspicion that she knew how Dillon’s mom died. And if that were the case, it was an unthinkable tragedy. She was the mother of five boys, one still in elementary school. How could she have just left them?
Paige s
wallowed hard, trying to get rid of the lump filling her throat. “So it really was you and your dad.”
“Yeah.”
“The others were gone? They’d moved out?”
“No. Cormac would have been going into his junior year at Marietta High when she passed away, and Trey and Troy were high school seniors, close to graduating. Or maybe they had graduated. I do know she wasn’t there at the ceremony. I can’t remember why, but she wasn’t in any of the photos and it’s not something we ever discussed. Once she was gone, she was—” His shoulders lifted, fell, his tone equally flat. “Gone. And our family....moved on.”
He abruptly turned, shoulders taut, and headed to the coffee machine to check the progress of the coffee. The glass carafe was full, the brewing cycle finished. “It’s decaf,” he said. “I found the beans in your freezer. I thought we could maybe sit for a minute. Talk.”
They’d already been talking about some pretty heavy things, but Paige sensed that what he wanted to talk about had nothing to do with his family and everything to do with them. “Talk?” She echoed, hoping to sound appropriately careless.
“Shouldn’t we?”
She forced a smile. “No.”
“It seems awkward, what happened that night. I think it’d help if we discussed it.” He reached into the cupboard and found two mugs. “These okay?”
She nodded, and watched as he filled the cups, trying to figure out the right words to say. “From my point of view, it’d be even more awkward to discuss that night.”
“It got pretty hot and heavy between us,” he said, passing just in front of her as he carried the mugs to the table.
“Not that hot and heavy,” she protested, her skin prickling with awareness. He hadn’t even touched her and yet she could feel his warmth, his energy reaching her, dazzling her senses.
“Can I grab milk?” he asked, heading to the fridge.
She noticed he didn’t wait for her to say okay. He just went to the refrigerator and opened the door and grabbed a carton as if he belonged here, in her house and kitchen.
Maybe that’s because in a crazy way she didn’t fully understand, he did.
He did belong here. He was the man this house needed. Maybe even the man she needed.
The thought made her heart turn over. She sat down, reached for her coffee, blowing on it before taking a sip. The coffee was hot and strong, but good. Not bitter, not weak, just kind of perfectly delicious.
Like kissing him.
And being around him.
Her eyes suddenly burned and she took another sip of coffee to hide the wash of emotion. She had to stop this. She was losing perspective, maybe even losing control.
He took a seat next to her, topping his coffee off with a generous dollop of milk. “And you might say, it wasn’t hot and heavy between us, but that’s not what I remember.”
Just like that, she was blushing, cheeks burning. “You’re making too much of it. Let it go. I have.”
“I don’t think you have.”
She gripped her mug, feeling cornered, but also defiant. “What is this? What are you looking for? A review? A button or badge? Honestly, Dillon, what do you want from me?”
The edge of his mouth curled but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I want to make sure you’re okay.”
She couldn’t believe they were having this conversation, much less at her kitchen table, over cups of coffee he’d made. It was almost as if they were a couple, instead of two people who’d hooked up after a community fundraiser for a steamy makeout session. “I’m okay. Or I was okay, until you decided we had to analyze something that was obviously a mistake—”
“So you do regret it?”
“I regret being impulsive, yes. I regret losing control.”
“I knew it.”
“Stuff happens. That happened. We move on. Put it behind us.” Heat rushed through her, from her chest up, and she could feel herself flushing, her face probably now a bright, hot pink. “And I pretty much had, until you forced us to have this conversation.”
“I wouldn’t have had to force anything if you’d just talked to me Sunday when I dropped by to fix your toilet—which I understand from Tyler is still not working properly—so I’d know all was well.”
“All was well.”
“Bullshit.” His brow creased as he leaned against the table, resting his weight on his elbows. “If all was well you would have talked to me, not kicked me off your front porch. That was not cool.”
“There was nothing to say.”
“Then you’re either lying, or you suck at communicating, because there is a lot to say.”
She looked away, lips compressing, because how could she talk about what had happened Saturday night? She liked it. He didn’t. How did one discuss that?
How did one discuss that she’d wanted even more to happen? She’d wanted to go all the way. He didn’t.
So yes, her pride was hurt, her feelings bruised. She wasn’t someone who ever casually hooked up, and she wasn’t trying to sleep with Dillon to prove anything or make him feel responsible for her. She’d just wanted to feel...more. She’d wanted what she never got to feel. And she’d thought he would be safe for a fling. She thought he’d be good love and protective...respectful of her feelings. Instead he was too respectful.
How did you discuss that?
It was embarrassing even remembering, so yes, she wanted to squash the subject completely but it didn’t look like he was going to let that happen.
“I’m uncomfortable. Embarrassed,” she said quietly, unable to meet his gaze. “I find this all quite...mortifying.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m not someone who...does...this.” She looked up, and then away. “I’m that mom that’s all about errands and bills and giving to my kids and work and community. I’m always so focused on doing the right thing and being mature and responsible and then I had an hour with you at the diner, and for an hour I was someone else, and it felt really good. Really freeing. I was just living in the moment and I was happy.” She drew a quick deep breath, hands clasped in her lap, and plunged on. “But then when we got to my house, it changed. And, that’s okay. I get it. You can totally change your mind, you have every right to change your mind, but I was kind of blindsided and so I felt vulnerable, and...” Her voice drifted off. Her shoulders twisted. “Pathetic.”
It was a long speech. She’d said a lot. And now there was silence.
Paige chewed her inner lip, waiting for Dillon to say something, wanting him to end the silence as the kitchen was way too quiet and the only sound was the tick-ticking of the charming Bavarian cuckoo clock Lewis had brought her after a climbing trip to the Alps.
She glanced now at the clock, hanging on the wall, above the big bulletin board covered with the kid’s school and soccer photos, their most recent art projects, her shopping list and to do lists, envying the little bird tucked away inside the clock. It’d be so nice to be hidden and protected, but Dillon wanted this conversation so she was having it.
She fidgeted in her seat, growing restless. “Does any of that make sense?” she said after a moment, determined to break the uncomfortable silence.
“No, because you’re not pathetic,” he said shortly. “You’re the furthest thing from pathetic.” Then he reached across the table and took her hand in his. “But I can understand how you’d feel vulnerable. And for that, I’m sorry. That was the last thing I’d want to make you feel.” His voice was deeper than normal, and troubled.
She glanced up into his face. His expression was just as troubled.
“Paige, I left abruptly the other night because I wanted you. Badly.” His fingers squeezed hers. “It wasn’t just this momentary lust, either, an itch I could scratch and be done with it. It was more. That scared me.”
It was hard to focus when they were touching. “Scared you?”
He made a soft, rough mocking sound. “I’ve had a thing for you for a long time, and then I finally get close,
and I discover you’re everything I imagined, and more. But I’m leaving, and I can’t leave, not if I’m starting something with you.”
“But we weren’t starting anything—” she broke off at the lift of a brow. “Were we?”
“Look at us,” he said, nodding to their hands, fingers entwined. “There is something here. We both feel it. Every time we touch something happens. It’s hot. But problematic.”
“So you weren’t turned off by me,” she whispered.
“Absolutely not. All I could think about was taking you. Making you mine.”
A rush of heat washed through her, blistering her and she exhaled hard. “I wanted you to.”
“I know.” His thumb stroked the back of her hand, caressing her knuckles. “But you’re not mine to have, babe. And I don’t want to get in your head, or your life, and leave you hanging. Or hurting—”
“But maybe that’s not for you to decide.” She leaned towards him, looked into his eyes. “Maybe you need to leave that part to me.”
“I can’t.”
She felt another rush of emotion, this one split between anger and despair. “Why not?”
“Because I can’t be my dad. I can’t not care about you, and what’s best for you. And that will never change. I loved my dad but he broke my mom, not just her heart but her spirit, and I can’t be the man. Ever.”
Paige understood then why she was drawn to Dillon. He was one of those men born to protect, and she loved him for it. But she also understood then, that she wouldn’t be able to convince him that he was wrong, or that he should let her choose for herself. He’d been too scarred by his mother’s pain to allow him to do anything but what he thought would be best for her.
Once again silence stretched and it wasn’t tense or uneasy, just quiet, and perhaps sad. Things had once again shifted between them, changing in a way neither could ignore.
“I guess I was the one that needed to talk,” he said after a moment, expression wry. “Or, maybe I just needed you to listen to me.”