The Playboy's Baby(6)

“When?”

Startled by the sudden sound of his voice, she jerked her gaze in his direction. Only to wish she hadn’t. Dillon stared at her. Pain and longing added a haunted shadow to the depths of his eyes, and a wave of weakness washed over her.

“A…a month ago.” She dropped her gaze to the floor and clasped her shaking hands until her knuckles turned white, fighting back the tears that welled to life in her eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. It’s just—”

“Don’t apologize.”

The gentle understanding and quiet patience in his voice all but zapped the last of her strength. She closed her eyes and drew in a deep, shaky breath.

Just keep talking. Keep talking and you’ll be fine.

“It…it was an accident. Janey wanted to go out, and I-I told her she had responsibilities now, that she couldn’t go traipsing around anytime she felt like it. There were certain things she had to give up, that it all came with the territory.” The words spilled from her lips on a torrent of pent-up anger, pain and guilt.

All the while the memory replayed through her mind like a bad horror movie, and her grip on sanity and her resolve slipped a notch.

“She said she wanted a little freedom.” Emma stared at the floor, the white flecked tiles beneath her feet blurring. “A little time to herself. That…that she’d be back in a couple of hours, but two hours turned into four. Then it began to rain, thundering and lightning, and it was cold. The rain turned to ice. Then the police came…”

She wasn’t even aware Dillon had moved until his jeans appeared in her line of vision, his broad form looming over her. Her heart pounded, but she didn’t dare look up, didn’t dare stop talking.

“She’d gone for a ride with this guy on his bike, a friend of hers, but the roads were wet and slippery, and, and…” Her voice cracked, a wave of pain washing through her chest. In an instant, Emma saw her failure. “Oh God, Dillon. Why didn’t Janey ever listen to me? She used to tell me I was only her sister, that I had no right to—”

“Stop.” Dillon gripped her shoulders and pulled her out of her seat, tugging her against his big, warm body. He held her tight. His voice was a soothing murmur in her ear. “Stop. It’s not your fault.”

God help her, she pressed her cheek to his chest, for the briefest of moments, allowing herself to accept the comfort he offered. He smelled so good, all warm and spicy. His hands caressed her back. His deep, rich voice murmured reassurances. He was soothing and calm in a moment when she felt anything but.

Just like that night.

Emma squeezed her eyes shut, willed the memories away, but they came in an onslaught, a barrage of images and sensations she’d tried for eight years to forget. She was barely twenty-two when her mother died. That day she was everything the moment dictated her to be. She set aside her grief to console sixteen-year-old Janey, who was understandably beside herself. Planned the funeral and prepared for the small get together at their house afterwards; held it together in the face of the people who came to offer condolences on their loss.

Janey had run off halfway through the funeral. She was always prone to running off when upset, and Emma let her go, knowing her sister needed time to deal with her grief. When all the people finally went home and Janie still hadn’t come back, Emma had gone looking for her. She didn’t remember when it started to rain. Only that she ended up in the park in a last ditch effort to find her sister, but Janey was nowhere to be found. The last of Emma’s strength ran out and the grief finally struck her. She’d never felt so alone, so lost. She stood there, slowly getting soaked, seeing very little and feeling nothing, trying to make sense of her life.

That day, responsibility weighed heavily on her shoulders. Her mother’s death made her an instant parent, and Janey hated it. Emma wondered how she’d ever be strong enough for her willful little sister when she didn’t feel strong enough for herself.

Out of the rain, Dillon’s familiar voice called her name. An odd mix of relief and shock seized her when she turned. His dark eyes were full of concern. Dillon wrapped his coat around her shoulders and drew her against him.

The last thing Emma expected was for him, of all people, to comfort her, to care how she held up. Dillon came to tell her he found Janey sound asleep in their mother’s bed. Afterwards, he took her home, made her change and sat with her on the sofa in the living room. He held her, murmuring soft reassurances. She cried until no more tears would come. She remembered losing herself in the gentleness of his eyes. That night he gave her strength when, for the first time in her life, she had none.