The Playboy's Baby(18)

The gesture quickly became something else entirely. His warm skin against hers sent heated shivers that spread from the point of contact outwards.

Heat simmered in the depths of his eyes, and Dillon turned his hand over, palm up, and held it there in silent invitation. The longing in his gaze said he had very similar thoughts, and for a moment, Emma could only stare at his hand. Part of her yearned to take his hand. The more rational side of her brain screamed warnings at her.

Even before she fully made the conscious decision, her hand slipped into his. Their fingers tangled together, his palm warm and smooth in hers. The gesture provided a simple connection that soothed the lonely ache deep inside, but the feel of his skin sent her heart tripping in her chest. It beat out a wild, erratic rhythm. Those penetrating dark eyes held her captive, seemed to stare right down into her soul until she feared of losing herself in the infinite depths.

“Want to watch a movie?” Dillon’s quiet voice vibrated with the sweet tension of the moment, and desire flitted like butterflies through her belly.

Emma could only nod. She knew darn well she ought to pull away, but couldn’t bring herself to do it. His eyes rendered her defenseless and her mind rewound back to that night eight years ago. Despite better judgment, some part of her, deep inside, hoped for a repeat. A chance to be within the safety of that embrace one more time.

Her gaze drifted to his mouth. She denied it over the years, but sitting with him now Emma couldn’t ignore it. Eight years ago, sitting on her mother’s couch after the funeral, she was tempted to kiss him. Back then, it was a hopeless thought in a desperate moment. Those fathomless eyes promised her safety, security, and tenderness. She wanted to get lost in them, if only for a moment, to escape the incredible pain.

Now, she wanted, needed to know what true passion felt like. Passion with someone she knew would never hurt her.

“It’s a horror flick. Is that okay?” One corner of his mouth quirked up, breaking the sweet tension of the moment. “I’m afraid I don’t do chick flicks.”

His grin melted her insides and an answering smile spread. “I love horror actually. Nothing like a good scare.”

He smiled. There was a content, but slightly surprised look on his face. “Janey hated them. She never watched them with me, said they gave her nightmares.”

She let out a laugh, surprised and pleased by the ease that suddenly spanned between them. “Yeah, she used to tell me the same thing. I used to have to turn the TV down so she couldn’t hear it.”

He gave a quiet laugh and turned away from her. When he pushed off the sofa, his fingers slipped from hers. The loss of their warmth shuddered through her. After putting the DVD into the player, he sank to the sofa beside her again and reached for her hand. His gaze on the television, he threaded their fingers, pulling their joined hands onto his lap. Then he picked up a remote off a small table to his right and pushed a button to start the movie. He settled back, like they sat together this way all the time.

The moment had an odd comforting sense about it that set off warning bells. He fully admitted he didn’t do emotional attachments, and Emma knew darn well she couldn’t settle for anything less. Janey had been the free spirit, not her. She tried it once in high school. It had gotten her into trouble she almost wasn’t able to get out of. It ended in a night she’d never forget. She hadn’t ever had the guts to try something like that again.

On top of it all, the little voice in the back of her mind reminded her again that this man was her niece’s father. Her sister’s lover. She knew the awful word the boy called her that long ago night didn’t apply, but still it taunted her. What did it say about her, that she allowed this small measure of intimacy between her and Dillon?

At the same time, she couldn’t summon the will to pull her hand back. They continued to watch the movie, the awkwardness that started the night melting into a comfortable silence. She leaned against his shoulder, glad for the solid strength of him beside her. Dillon lifted his arm in silent invitation and Emma couldn’t resist snuggling against his side. His arm settled around her, becoming a welcome weight. A simple gesture she wanted to revel in, because here, with him, she didn’t feel so alone anymore.





Emma woke the next morning in the spare bedroom, the sounds of Annie’s happy, playful babbling filling the room. According to the bedside clock it was just after six, but glancing out the window she found stars still littered the sky.

She sat up and flicked on the bedside lamp. Her last memory was of curling up beside Dillon. The movie hadn’t been that good and the day had worn her out. She didn’t remember falling asleep, let alone getting up and coming to bed. Dillon must have carried her.