The Playboy's Baby(57)

It wasn’t her decision. It was his, and the unchecked emotion in his eyes made her chest ache all over again.

She dropped her gaze to Annie, whose little face lit up at the sight of him.

“I forgot to leave her diaper bag.” He moved into the room, his gaze on his mother. “Her bottles are in here.”

His mother sat regarding her son for a moment then pursed her lips. “You look just like Emma does. Miserable.”

Dillon shook his head and set the diaper bag on the floor beside the playpen. “Leave it alone, Ma.”

His mother’s features blanked. She rose from the couch and bent over Emma, taking Annie from her lap, and then moved toward the exit at the back of the room. “Annie and I are going to check on supper. Emma, it’s ridiculous for you to pay for a room when we have dozens of empty ones right here. You’ll stay with us.”

Emma shook her head. “I don’t want to impose.”

Halfway across the room, Camilla turned, her eyes soft. “Nonsense. You’re like family, sweetheart. After supper, you can go get your things. All right?”

When she nodded, Camilla turned and resumed her trek. She disappeared moments later, leaving her and Dillon alone.

Silence seeped over the room. Awkward tension returned, a palpable entity that rose between them like a tall, immovable mountain. Emma twisted her hands in her lap, trying to decide whether she should follow his mother and offer to help. She wanted to run and hide.

“Did you have a good week?” Dillon’s voice came low, his question entirely too conversational.

She managed a tight smile, but couldn’t bring herself to meet his gaze. “Fine, thanks. Yourself?”

“I’ve had better.”

The honesty in his voice made her look at him. The same somberness glimmered in his eyes, his gaze searching and intense, but for a long moment, neither said anything. She couldn’t stop watching him, kept waiting for him to say…something.

“You should come with me to the club tonight.”

She lowered her gaze to her lap and shook her head. “I’d like to spend the night with Annie. I’ve missed her.”

“Right.” Disappointment rang in his tone.

Looking at him, the emotion was written on his face, subdued, like he tried to hide it but there all the same.

“Maybe tomorrow?” His brows rose in anticipation. Tension radiated from him, his shoulders set a little too stiffly, hands stuffed into his pockets the way he did when he was uncomfortable.

He offered an olive branch and it tugged at the ache in her chest again. She longed to go to him, to slip her arms around him, and somehow soothe the wound between them.

Clasping her hands tighter, lest she do exactly that, she nodded, forcing a smile. “Tomorrow would be better.”

His face lit up, a smile easing across his mouth, and the tension left his body. “Good. I’ve got to jam, but I’ll call you tomorrow. Or you can just bring Annie over. I don’t have them on me, but I got the keys to your house.”

The quick change in his emotions twisted at the doubt still lingering in her mind, at the ache in her chest that wouldn’t go away. It hurt that he could so easily dismiss what happened between them while she struggled to return to “normal,” whatever that was for them anymore.

Forcing herself to focus on his words instead, she frowned. “That was fast.”

He shrugged. “Check cleared. It’ll be a while before you get the deed.” He turned to leave the room, striding for the exit. Just before he disappeared under the archway he lifted a hand in farewell. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Em.”





The following evening Emma sat on a barstool at the club. Dillon stood in the exact same spot he always was, arms folded across his chest. So far, his usual throng of groupies had yet to appear. The music surged, bodies packed in around them all gyrating to the pulsing beat. He brought her in early, before the club opened at eight, showed her around the place, and introduced her to the employees. He wanted her to follow him for the night.

In truth, she was at odds with the place. She didn’t normally come to places like this. They weren’t her style, and being there made her feel a bit too much like the odd duck. It didn’t help matters any that she had no idea how to relate to Dillon. So far, he acted cool and detached. He went right back to treating her like his best friend’s older sister, like they hadn’t shared anything at all. The way Janey might have.

Except for his eyes. Dillon never could hide his emotions. Every time he looked at her, yearning shined back at her. He still touched her a little too much, still held her gaze a little too long. It confused her; left her caught in a tug of war she didn’t know what to do with.