The Playboy's Baby
Chapter One
There he was.
Frozen at the edge of the crowd, Emma Stanton bit down on her bottom lip. Her heart skipped out an erratic beat. All around her barely controlled chaos reigned. Four thousand people lived in the small town of Hastings, Montana, and she’d bet almost every one of them was in this club. People packed in around her, bodies bumping off each other in an effort to move. Most of them gyrated to the pulsing, surging beat of music echoing off the walls.
A typical Friday night for Hastings. At the end of January, with a half foot of snow on the ground, a person wouldn’t find much else to do in a town with three stoplights, one gas station, one teensy motel, and a single bar. The bright neon beer signs on the front window attracted the residents like insects to an incandescent streetlight with the promise of alcohol, dancing, and the opposite sex.
She hadn’t come for any of that. She came for him.
Twenty feet in front of her, leaning back against the waist-high bar, stood the man she’d spent all day tracking down—the infamous Dillon James. The man who would soon have the power to take away everything she held dear. He stood amongst a small crowd of adoring fans, all staring up at him with starry-eyed expressions, hanging on his every word. Judging by the playful glint in his eye, he loved every minute of it.
Dillon’s head turned, his brows rising in stunned surprise. His gaze locked with hers. He straightened off the bar, pulled away from the women vying for his attention, and moved in her direction, his stride long and loose.
Every step that drew him closer only increased the odd mix of emotions pounding through her. For two weeks she planned this moment, right down to what she’d say when she eventually found him. Yet not only had her throat closed up, her entire body trembled. Trepidation mixed with anticipation, excitement, and a good amount of fear coursed through her.
When Dillon stopped in front of her, her pulse settled on a quick, wild rhythm. At six foot five, he towered over her and made her shiver from the sheer size and power of his broad, sculpted body. God, she hadn’t seen him in eight years, yet he looked so much the same. The same dark hair—a rich brown, the color of espresso, sinfully thick and gleaming soft beneath the low overhead lights. He had the same square jaw and wide, sensual mouth.
The lithe nineteen-year-old body she remembered had filled out over the years. The dark blue T-shirt he wore was stretched taut over broader shoulders, the soft cotton clinging to distinctly thicker biceps. His dark jeans hugged the contours of his body, outlining the shape of his lean hips and long powerful thighs.
“Emma Stanton.” Dillon shook his head, a wistful smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. “I thought maybe I was seeing things, but, wow, it really is you.”
“Hi, Dillon. Sorry to show up here like this.” Her stomach somersaulted. “I’ve been looking all over for you today. I went to your house this afternoon. Obviously, you weren’t there. So I went to your parents’. Your mother wasn’t at home, but your housekeeper mentioned that she’d seen Logan yesterday and suggested I ask him. Your brother’s back in town, by the way. Did you know?”
She caught the insanity flying past her lips a moment too late to suck the words back. A fierce heat climbed into her cheeks. Of course he knew his brother was back in town. Probably saw him every day. God, could this get any worse? She looked like a complete fool.
“It’s good to see you too, Em.” Dillon folded his arms across his chest, his mouth splitting into a wide grin.
She swallowed hard and opened her mouth—to say what she came here to say—only to shut it again when Dillon’s gaze left hers. Oblivious to her torment, his eyes slid over her, moving down her body and back up to her face in a slow, unapologetic appraisal.
“You look good.” The soft tone of his voice matched the sentiment in his eyes.
Dillon James had very candid eyes. A deep, dark brown, they matched the color of his hair. When he wanted to, he could say more with his eyes than with anything that came out of his mouth. Sometimes they danced with laughter. Sometimes they flirted and glittered with playful impishness.
Right now, they were heavy-lidded and soft, reminding her too much of the last time she saw him. Eight years ago, on a rainy night in the middle of the summer, her perception of this man shifted. He showed her a side of himself she’d never seen before. A tender, caring side that melted the wall of ice she kept against his charms.
“You grew your hair out. It was shorter last time I saw you.” Dillon tucked an escaped lock behind her ear, his fingers gliding over her suddenly all too sensitive skin.
The man had huge hands, straight and long-fingered, but unbelievably warm and soft, and she couldn’t stop the shiver that ran the length of her spine.