Love Emerged (22 page)

I stopped at Water Tower Place to grab a dress for tonight since I only brought casual clothes. Not to mention, the last thing I need is for my grandmother to make fun of my clothes. I can practically imagine her rubbing the fabric between her two fingers with a look of disgust on her face. That might have been the reason I spent an ungodly amount on the dress, but surely, I can wear it again at some point. Maybe when I accept my promotion after the Nike campaign.

With my full face of makeup on, my more conservative dress that flares out after a snug top, heels, and my hair wavy in curls, I exit the elevator, searching for my dashing gentleman. I immediately spot him, talking to the desk clerk. He’s smiling, laughing, as he hands her something that she accepts with a flirtatious smile. A twinge of jealousy rushes through my body.

I’m not sure if he senses me or not, but he looks over, finding me there. With a tap on the desk and a good-bye, he swaggers my way. As much as I hate to admit it, he is dashing in dark slacks and a gray button-down shirt adorned with cufflinks. The stripes on his shirt define his broad shoulders as they slink down to his tapered waist. All of his tattoos are completely covered, and that doesn’t sit well with me, but at the same time, he resembles the boy next door who grew up into a handsome man. From what he’s told me, that analogy is correct.

“Hey, my dashing gentleman,” I say when he approaches.

A slow grin teases his lips. “Hey, my gorgeous lady.” He twists on his heels, so we’re facing the same way, and he holds his arm out for me.

I link my arm through his, and he guides us toward the front door. We file out into the summer night that’s growing cold with fall approaching, making me wish I’d grabbed my coat. But since it doesn’t go with this outfit and I wasn’t about to buy a new one, I resort to Dylan’s warmth.

The doorman calls a taxi over, Dylan tips him, and soon, we’re on the way to my father’s. That knot in my stomach emerges again.

He leans in toward me, his lips pressing on my bare skin. “You look breathtaking tonight,” he says.

I melt like hot fudge from his words. “Thank you,” I whisper.

He rests back on his side of the cab, but he entwines our fingers. It feels nice, nicer than I deserve after I ran out on him this morning. We both look out of the windows.

I wonder what it will be like if Deacon moves here. The Vitrons would have to share a city with me, and I’m not sure how much some of them would like that. For some reason, although I was born in a wedded relationship, I was stamped undeserving or dirty to them. As hard as I’ve tried to rub it off, it’s always there, as visible as a neon sign in a bar window.

The cab pulls along my dad’s condo building curb, and I practically shake from how sickened I am to have dinner with the whole family. We go to the desk clerk to announce our arrival, and then we shuffle to the elevator, all with Dylan’s hand glued to mine.

“So, who am I here as?” Dylan asks after I press the penthouse button on the elevator.

“What do you mean?”

“Am I the boyfriend, the friend, the coworker, or the fuck buddy?”

I sense he’s asking more for himself.

“I told them you were my boyfriend.”

He steps up to me, and my eyes glance at the elevator.

Tenth floor.

My back hits the elevator wall, and he cages me in, his hands gripping my hips.

“Am I?” He stares directly into my eyes, assessing and testing.

My heart stutters, my voice catching in my throat.

Yes. Say yes
, my insides scream. But, for some reason, there’s a huge lump in my throat, blocking my words.

Dylan’s hands leave my hips, and he starts to back away, but before he can escape too far, I grab his hand.

“Yes. Is that what you want?”

He moves back to me, and I check again.

Twenty-fifth floor.

“I thought I was clear last night.”

I nod. “You were, but in the light of day—”

“Damn it, Bea.” He releases his hold again, his right hand going through his hair.

The bell rings to alert that we’re at my father’s, but Dylan reaches over and presses the button to close the doors.

“Do you want to date me or not?” His eyes burn with a fury I’ve never seen before. A fury mixed with sadness.

“I’m not good at these things,” I argue an exhausting point.

He’s so close that my nipples are touching his chest, and it sets off a tingle of excitement that flushes my body. There’s something about seeing him angry that turns me on.

How sick is that?

“I know, but I like you, Bea. I’ve tried to deny my feelings for you, but I can’t. I want to explore them. I’m not asking for you to move in with me or marry me.”

He’s growing impatient, and I’m growing hotter. Damn, his one vein is bulging in that edible neck.

“I like you, too, but—”

His lips capture mine, and I fall into the hard wall, allowing him to silence me.

The tip of his tongue teases the parting of my lips, and soon, we’re frantic to have more of one another. My one leg winds around his thigh, needing to feel his erection against my clit. As if he knows it, he presses into me harder, and I whimper at the same time my hips grind his.

Ding.

The doors open, and we break apart to find my grandmother standing there. I look to the elevator panel to notice Dylan’s two hands are up my dress, gripping my ass.

Fuck, fuck. Fuck a duck.
This is the last thing I need right now.

Dylan releases his hands, and I unhook my leg from around him. He straightens my dress out and holds the door open for me to exit first.

“June,” I say, my cheeks on fire, “this is my boyfriend, Dylan McCain.”

Dylan looks over to me, winks, and then holds his hand out. “I’m very sorry you had to witness that, but I just can’t seem to keep my hands off your granddaughter. Nonetheless, it was inappropriate, and I apologize.”

My grandmother nods and glances back to me before shaking his hand. “Hello, Dylan. Yes, it was disturbing to witness that act. Bea is rash on occasion.”

She pins me with the blame, and I want to scream like a grade-schooler that he kissed me first. But I stand there, like I always do, silencing myself in front of her.

“If you mean, she’s irresistible, I couldn’t agree more. She’s a unique creature that I’ve fallen for.” Dylan comes to my side, his arm extending across the small of my back.

“Well then, shall we?” She turns to walk to the door in front of us.

Dylan squeezes my ass, making me jump. She sharply turns around. I smile, and she looks me up and down before opening the door. I wonder why she was standing by the elevator.

Was she going somewhere or waiting for me? On alert to knock me down with her insults before I enter the condo?

Dylan’s hand lies on the small of my back, leading me into the room, and I swallow down the bile rising up my throat. Not only am I
not
comfortable in this part of my life, but Dylan is also a new addition, and I’m not sure where he fits.

Do I want him to be my boyfriend?

Yes. I meant my answer, but there are obstacles in our lives that I’m not sure we can ignore. One being the fact that he was hung up on someone else when he returned home for Brad’s wedding. He thinks I don’t know, but I’m not blind. He had heartbreak written all over him from the minute he stepped out onto the Ashby’s porch. I guarantee we were different, and I worry how I’ll compare.

Dylan

BEA AND I FOLLOW HER
grandmother through a foyer adorned with a small round table with an overfilling vase of flowers situated in the middle. Seems like a waste of valuable square footage in Chicago to have a room that people pass through. Then again, I’m on a different level here, standing in a penthouse of one of the most sought-after condo buildings.

We walk into the room, Bea breaking away from me to greet her dad. From what she’s told me, I assumed their relationship was estranged, but she’s practically running over to him.

His thin arms wrap around her, and she kisses his cheek, but the entire time, his eyes are on me. In all the confusion of whether Bea and I are more, I forgot that I’m meeting her father tonight. I swallow down a sizable gulp as the pressure builds inside me.

Bea turns around after greeting her dad and smiles over to me. “Dad, this is Dylan. Dylan, this is my dad, Hugh Vitron.”

Panic erupts up my throat, drying my mouth. For fuck’s sake, the name Vitron finally dings in my head. Her family owns the restaurant empire.

Gaining as much confidence in myself as I can, I step forward with my hand held out in front of me the entire way. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.” I put on my best charm even if I haven’t met very many parents in my past.

“Please, call me Hugh.” He shakes my hand, his grip more lifeless than years prior, I’m guessing.

I show no sign of him being sick. “Hugh then.” I nod.

We release hands, and there are several conversations around us, but I try to focus solely on Hugh until he’s satisfied we’ve shared enough time.

“Have a seat. Would you like a drink?”

A nice brunette comes by and hands a drink to the grandmother.

What do I say? It seems oddly inappropriate to drink an alcoholic beverage in front of someone with liver failure. Like,
Hey, looky-look, my liver is in tip-top shape
. Nah, I don’t think so.

“I’ll just have a water. Thank you,” I say directly to the lady.

“I’m good, Gretchen. Thank you.” Bea and I sit down on the couch.

I instantly place my hand on her knee. Weird how that appeared to be instinctual.

“So, how long have you two been dating?” the grandmother asks.

I glance at Bea to judge if she’s told them more than I know, but she’s biting her lip.

“Not too long, but I’ve had my eye on her for a while.” I squeeze her knee, remembering how soft her skin was last night, making my dick grow slightly.

“Oh, I thought you guys were an item for longer,” the nosy grandmother continues.

I already feel the animosity between the two because Bea’s body stiffens every time her grandmother speaks.

“Bea was a tough one to catch.” I smile at Bea, and she rolls her eyes at my dramatics. “Not to mention, her career means a great deal to her.”

“Well, it’s not exactly like she has a high-level job.”

“Mother,” the dad finally speaks up.

Took him long enough.

“You know what I mean. She could have worked with us, but she declined.” She raises her hands in quotes. “‘Wanting to make it on her own.’”

“I don’t really remember being welcomed to come work for Vitron’s. Quite the opposite,” Bea sneers.

A tingle of excitement flitters to life in me because her spunky side is coming out to play. I wondered why she was being so quiet.

“You know you’re always welcome.”

“Do I?” Bea asks.

Her dad sits up and places his hands up in the air, one in the direction of his mother and the other one to Bea. “Enough, ladies. Let’s have a nice dinner. Or do I need to throw the card out there that I don’t have many dinners left?”

“Dad,” Bea sighs.

“Hugh,” the grandmother argues.

But he’s too busy laughing.

“It’s painless to stop the cattiness of women now,” he says directly to me.

I smile although it eats me up that he lets his mother talk to his daughter like that.

A bell rings, and I watch Gretchen rush through the archway to the wasted entry room. A second later, a couple walks in, followed by a girl about my age.

“Beatrice,” the woman croaks, having her eyes set on her.

I release Bea’s leg, and she stands to greet the woman dressed like this the Royal family is making an appearance.
Isn’t this a home dinner?
If it were my home, I’d be in jeans and a T-shirt. But, damn, this woman has more jewelry on than what the cases at Bloomingdale’s hold.

“Hi, Aunt Cate.”

They exchange an awkward hug.

“You look beautiful.” She pulls back, extending her arms out to take a good look at Bea. “Your hair is too short, but otherwise, you’re holding up good.”

What the hell is up with this family?

“You look great, too.”

Bea is being way too damn polite, and I can’t stand that she lets these people treat her like she’s less than perfection.

“Hi, I’m Bea’s uncle. Len Vitron.” A healthier-looking Hugh steps up to me with his hand out.

“Dylan McCain,” I introduce myself.

He tilts his head, as though he might know me. I wait for it, but it never comes. Even as he steps aside, you can tell he’s flipping through his Rolodex of contacts in his mind.

“This is Lily, our daughter,” Len introduces the girl about my age.

She barely shakes my hand but gives a full-on smile.

“Hello,” I say.

Her eyes roam me up and down. “Are you related to Tanner McCain?” she asks.

Len snaps his fingers, pointing to me. “That’s it.”

I nod and smile, not completely wanting to dive into my personal life. These people are weird and odd. Next they’ll ask me to broach the subject with my brother about him endorsing their company.