Annie was the one constant in all of this. She hadn’t realized it until he’d said the words, but it didn’t matter to her either whether or not Annie was technically Dillon’s child. He was a good father, and Annie adored him. Emma might be hurt and angry, but she didn’t have it in her to take that away from either of them.
“You don’t have to do that, you know.”
She shook her head and grabbed her suitcase off the bed. “All things considered, I don’t think me staying here is a very good idea.”
She couldn’t stay one more night in this house with him. At one point, she’d been sure they’d never get over the wall between them, but they had. They left that wall so far behind she forgot it existed, and she couldn’t bear to feel it again now. She’d rather not have to see him at all. At least until she had to. It would be easier to work with him if she stayed somewhere else. At least at the end of the night, she could go home where she could relax and unwind. No way would she be able to do that now if she stayed here.
She turned to head out of the room, but came up short.
Dillon’s tall, broad form filled the exit. For a long moment, he didn’t move, merely stared at her, a million emotions erupting in the depths of his eyes. Confusion and indecision. Regret and need.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you. I hope you know that.”
His words, the kind, caring tone of his voice, only seemed to mock the pain that gripped her chest. It made her long to throw herself into his arms, for the safety that enveloped her there. The feeling only served to remind her that he didn’t want her. He never really had.
It made her feel like that awkward teenager all over again, the wallflower who watched the world pass her by, wishing she could be anybody else.
She stiffened her spine and forced herself to meet Dillon’s gaze. “You didn’t. I can’t fault you for being honest. I’m fine. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get going.”
He didn’t look convinced, but stepped aside anyway. Her arm lightly brushed his body when she passed, his scent drifting to her, teasing her senses. She didn’t dare look back, and he didn’t argue with her. He let her walk out of his life without trying to stop her or convince her to stay.
The car door closed with a resounding click, and silence slid around her. Lonely tears welled to the surface. She looked forward to this week even less than the first week she had to live without Annie. She’d gotten used to Dillon being there, used to having someone to lean on, to share things with. Now she had to stand on her own two feet again. No big deal. She could do it with her eyes closed, didn’t know how to be otherwise, but loneliness wasn’t a place she was used to anymore, and she didn’t look forward to going back.
Chapter Twelve
Dillon lay in the darkness of his bedroom, staring at the glowing face of his cell phone, where it sat on the nightstand beside him. Its dark shape taunted him, dared him to pick it up and dial Emma’s number.
Four days had passed since she left. She’d done it before. This made the third time she’d gone to the city. Never mind the twenty-six years of sleeping without her before that.
Yet, every night so far this week he’d done the same thing—lain in bed after a long night at the club, staring at that blasted phone. The idea originally was he’d talk her to sleep. Except, now he couldn’t sleep without hearing her voice.
God, if he closed his eyes, he could almost hear her, her quiet, husky voice whispering to him.
He rolled onto his back and glared at the ceiling. He’d ended it. So, why was he so miserable?
He sighed.
Because he missed her. He missed every damn thing about her. The soft scent of her perfume floating through his house, all floral and feminine. The warmth of her body against him while he slept. Her being in the kitchen when he got up in the afternoon. The sound of her voice over the phone asking how his night went and, more importantly, knowing when he told her, she listened.
The house felt too quiet without her. Too empty. During the day, he had Annie to keep him busy. He was grateful for that. She was a beautiful distraction. The nights were long. It felt wrong for Emma to walk out that door, and every damn night spent without her he cursed his stupid decision.
Which begged him to wonder. Had he done the right thing? If he truly wanted things this way, why the hell did the very thought of going back to his life—without her—leave his chest hollow and empty?
* * *
“How was your week, dear?”
Seated in a leather wing back chair in the sitting room of Dillon’s parents’ estate, Annie burbling happily in her lap, Emma bit her lip. She struggled with what to tell his mother. Across from her on the matching sofa, the older woman sat with her hands folded neatly in her lap.