The Playboy's Baby(31)

“Em, wait.” Dillon darted in front of her, forcing her to stop. He hadn’t put on a coat, hadn’t bothered to tie his boots. Concern etched his face, shone in his eyes, and the emotions she barely held back rose in her throat.

She glared at him, hands clenched into fists. If he came to stand up for his father, he had another think coming. “I don’t have to stand there and let him talk about my sister that way.”

“I know. I’m sorry I asked you to come.” He cupped her face in his warm palms, his voice gentle and annoyingly soothing to her ragged nerves. “I should have come alone. I didn’t think he’d direct his anger at you.”

“Janey is my sister. I know darn well she wasn’t perfect, but she’s my sister. She was all I had.” The quiet understanding in his eyes conspired against her, and more angry tears welled to the surface, a couple slipping before she could stop them.

His thumbs swept across her skin, wiping away the wetness. “My father’s a hard man. He has his own ideas about the world, and he’s very set in his ways. He’s a bit over protective of his family. Doesn’t mean he’s right.”

“You accused me of the exact same thing.” Emma shook off his touch, turned away from him, and folded her arms. That hurt more than she cared to admit. She’d expected him to be on Janey’s side. Her side. Without him, she felt entirely too alone.

“I know I did.” The snow crunched beneath his feet when Dillon took a step, his body pressing against her back, his voice a low, husky murmur in her ear. “I’m sorry. It was a knee-jerk reaction.”

She stiffened her spine, determined not to let him get to her. “I came back to town because Janey should have told you. You’re Annie’s father. You deserve to know. I don’t want nor have I ever needed your money.”

Dillon apparently had made up his mind to torment her, for his hands slid onto her upper arms, and he tugged her back against him. “I know. I’m sorry. I should never have accused you of being after money.”

The soft sentiment in his voice seeped inside and she turned to face him, needing to see his eyes before she allowed herself to trust his words. The sheer honesty in those dark orbs, the almost palpable sorrow and regret, pulled at her and the pain rose to the surface.

“I miss her so much.” Her voice shook with the emotion she couldn’t hold back anymore.

“I do too.” His arms closed around her, pulled her flush against him.

Emma gave in. She laid her head against his chest and allowed herself to accept the comfort. His heart pounded a soothing rhythm beneath her ear, his body warm against her cheek. She wanted to bury her nose in his chest and fill her lungs with his scent.

Feelings she didn’t know what to do with. How could a man she’d grown up hating make her feel so warm and safe? His touch, the look in his eyes, made everything right again. Nobody since her mother had ever made her feel so protected.

Arms wrapped around his back, she looked up into his face. He lifted a hand and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Sweet tension moved thick and palpable between them, until she became lost in the deep, liquid pools of his eyes.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, his head came down and his mouth touched hers, the briefest of kisses, merely the brush of lips, light and electrifying. She froze, standing on the precipice of something that would alter everything between them. It would force her to face the feelings she held for a man she shouldn’t want.

Heart pounding against her ribcage, she closed her eyes. She needed to push him away. It was the right thing to do. His mouth touched hers again, sipped and tasted, and she lost the battle. A tiny, shuddering exhalation of defeat slipped from her lips. She pressed into him and shamelessly offered herself up to him. God help her, she couldn’t deny her attraction to him, couldn’t deny the need that fluttered hot and tangible in her belly, or the sweet pleasure rocketing up her spine.

A quiet groan rumbled out of him. A sound of surrender, of needs too long denied. His other hand slid into the hair at the base of her skull, and he deepened the kiss. His mouth moved over hers with a gentle insistence that weakened her knees.

She shuddered, whimpered, and curled her fingers against the solid muscle beneath her palms, caught between holding on for dear life and pulling herself closer. She’d kissed a few men in her life, but none of them ever made her feel like this. His kiss was better than she could have imagined, his lips far softer, his mouth headier, like a fine wine that went to her head in a dizzying rush.

With infinite control and patience, Dillon pulled back and stared at her with dark eyes so full of raw hunger she trembled beneath their power. His right hand cupped her cheek and his thumb stroked her chin, grazing her bottom lip. His gaze followed for a moment before he looked at her again.