Beside us, Dylan’s phone vibrated and beeped, clattering against the wood. We ignored it, too lost in desire to care that someone was calling. Whispering my name, Dylan switched sides, my wet nipple beading even tighter with cold once the warmth of his mouth was gone. Again, the phone rang, buzzing and beeping in insistent tones. A niggle of worry penetrated my lust soaked brain. The third time the phone came to life, Dylan leaned back with a curse. Picking up the sleek, black phone, he barked,
“What?” I couldn’t hear the voice on the other end, but I sobered immediately as Dylan went still beneath me. He murmured, “You’re sure. Okay. Yeah. We’re on our way. Thanks. See you there.”
Moving with deliberate care, he set the phone down on the table and met my eyes with a weighty gaze.
“Leigha, we have to go.” He stood, lifting me gently before setting me on my feet.
“What’s wrong? Is it my Mom?” I couldn’t imagine what else could have made him shift so quickly from passion to concern. If it had been the video, he would have been angry. There was some anger simmering in his green eyes, but mostly he looked worried.
“No, not your Mom.” With one hand on my arm, he ushered me to the bedroom. “We need to get dressed.” I dug in my heels.
“What’s going on?”
“Get dressed and I’ll tell you in the car.”
I thought about arguing, but his careful, quiet manner had me freaked out. Standing in front of the closet, I reached for a sundress. Dylan stopped my hand and pushed the hanger with the dress aside, grabbing a pair of jeans instead. I took them and fished around in my underwear drawer for panties.
By the time I had them on, Dylan had picked out a top for me and was getting dressed himself. I took a minute to brush my hair and refasten it in a pony tail. It was still stiff from all the hair spray I’d used the night before. I needed a shower, but whatever was going on, it didn’t look like a shower was on the agenda.
Dylan had his keys in his hand as I exited the bathroom. To my surprise, he also carried my purse. Things must be serious if he was returning my purse. For a second, anxiety chilled my heart. Was he getting rid of me? No, he was being far too sweet to be dumping me. Maybe he’d gotten my purse from its hiding place because he’d finally realized I wasn’t going to leave him. Not unless he tossed me out.
His arm wrapped around my shoulders in a protective embrace as we headed to the elevators. I leaned into him, nerves rising as he remained silent, the serious expression on his face growing more pained with each moment. And more pissed off.
“Will you tell me what’s going on now?” I asked, my voice low, as if I could soothe whatever had him upset. He gave me a tight squeeze and shook his head.
“Not yet. I want to tell you in private and we need to get moving. As soon as we’re in the car, I’ll fill you in.”
“But no one is hurt?” I asked. Even though he’d said this wasn’t about her, my mom was still on my mind. Something happening to my mom was the only thing I could think of that would be truly awful at this point.
Unless this had to do with the video. Now that a little time had gone by, more of the implications of the video had hit me. My first thought had been for Dylan, but my practical side had emerged to point out that the video would do me far more damage than it could strike at Dylan. He had the money to rebound if he lost his company. If it got out, I’d absolutely lose my job and no reputable accounting firm would hire me.
“And it’s not the video?” I asked in a small voice. He’d assured me it was taken care of, but the unexpected happened every day. Look at me, snuggled up to Dylan Kane. Unexpected was a massive understatement. He wrapped both arms around me, dropping his head to kiss my hair.
“No, it’s not the video,” he whispered. “Forget about that video. Axel’s guys found every copy of it. It’s gone. And we’ll be careful in the future. I won’t let you be exposed like that again. I promise.”
The vehemence in his voice was both comforting and alarming. My nerves ratcheted up another notch. I knew better than to ask him what was going on again. If he didn’t want to tell me until we got to the car, he wouldn’t.
Endless minutes later, buckled into the passenger seat of his Maserati, I waited for him to break the heavy silence. Now that we were alone, he didn’t drag it out.
“Your house is on fire. Your neighbor was out watering her flowers an hour ago and saw smoke coming from your kitchen. She called the fire department. They’re there now.”
“Who called you?” I asked, my thoughts frozen aside from the most basic questions. My house was on fire. How could my house be on fire? I hadn’t left any candles burning. The electrical systems weren’t new, the bungalow itself was decades old, but I’d had everything checked thoroughly before I’d moved in.