by Sierra Hill
“Yeah. I have a little fun with it. But I don’t go near as crazy as some other’s do, like Peter and Lydia down the street.” He pointed at a house three down and across the road from his. “Now that’s just an insane amount of merriment. They are definitely the Griswolds of the block.”
Sloane giggled, clearly seeing the comparison. The sound of her laughter sent a shot of lust to his groin, the ache still in full force since their kiss earlier that morning. He thought he’d gotten his libido under control while she’d been in the shower, allowing him time to think about anything else besides spending the rest of the night making the woman moan with ecstasy. Dylan glanced down at her face as she stood taking in the sights of his block.
Her pert little nose was red from the cold, her cheeks a rosy color pink as well. While she was hot as fuck, she also carried a very girl-next-door aura about her. The sweet creamy skin, unadorned with very little make-up, just a touch of glossy lip gloss to accentuate her peachy lips that he knew tasted just as good as they looked.
Dylan had never been drawn to sweet, cheerleader-type girls before. Growing up in the neighborhoods that he did, and then traveling the world on military deployments, his go-to women were sometimes a little rough around the edges, who were okay with quick hook-ups, and who didn’t expect to go meet the parents if they went out on more than one date.
And never had he dated a woman more than a few times. Three dates were his limit. The tipping point. No emotional baggage or feelings to get in the way. And no hearts to break. Especially his.
Whether he freely admitted it or not, Dylan’s heart was still in the land of the lost and broken, shipped off like the broken toys to the Island of Misfit toys. That damage had been done when his mother left him when he was six. She’d selfishly left him, his father, and his younger sister, and never returned. Left all three of them devastated from her departure, and with wounded hearts.
Dylan learned early on to keep his emotions out of the equation when it came to women. Short-term, sexual hook-ups were about all he ever wanted to handle. But Sloane was so different from other women. He enjoyed her company, enjoyed their exchanges, and he found her refreshingly honest. And oh-so-sweet. She was playful and he enjoyed finding ways to make her laugh. Like now.
“Hey, what’s that over there?” she asked, drawing his attention back to the corner of his house, just in front of his living room window.
“Oh, that. It’s just a metal art piece I made a few years ago.”
Sloane’s eyes widened in surprise, her mouth forming in the shape of an O, before she turned to look him square in the face.
“Are you freaking kidding me? Dylan, that is…wow. Just wow.”
He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, though he felt anything but. The praise in her tone, and the adoration stretched across her features, had his pride swelling to epic proportions, and a genuine smile of gratitude formed across his face.
“Thanks. It’s no big deal. Just something I do to pass the time.”
“No seriously. That is beautiful artwork, Dylan. I’ve never seen a design so intricate. It must’ve taken you forever. Do you sell them?”
She met his gaze, her eyes blazing with interest and sincerity, the question hanging between them like the icicles on his roof.
He toed a chunk of snow off the porch, shifting uncomfortably. Why did he all of a sudden feel shy over this conversation? Maybe because no one besides Rylie had ever really encouraged him or seen any potential in what he did as a hobby.
“No, I don’t sell them. Not yet. But that’s actually why I was in the bar that first night. I was there meeting with my friend Charlie. He knows a few art gallery owners and is going to try and help me set up a meeting. But I don’t know…”
“Well,” she grinned, taking out a card from her purse and handing it to him. “I also happen to know a very reputable art dealer in San Diego.”
Dylan peered down at the card she’d given him, a beautifully designed business card with the contact details for a Darla A. Channing-Fitzgerald. He glanced back up at Sloane, titling his head inquisitively.
“My mother. She’s been in business for over twenty-eight years, before I was even born. She sells to a lot of very high-end clientele and a lot of celebrities who are always looking for unique, one-of-a-kind art. And that, my friend” – she pointed back over to the piece – “is without a doubt, one-of-a-kind.”
He was just about to ask her more about what her mother might be looking for, when the front door opened, his dad stepping out to investigate what was happening.
Dan Hemmons’ booming voice echoed under the porch awning. “Is my idiot son going to keep you outside all night in the freezing cold, or allow you inside so you can eat some of this fabulous food I’ve been cooking all day? What do I look like to you, boy, Martha Stewart? It’s about time you got back to help out.”
Sloane’s cheeks grew pink and she bit her bottom lip as if she’d been caught doing something bad. As far as introductions went, that wasn’t how he’d envisioned his old man meeting Sloane for the first time.
“Sorry, Pops,” he grumbled, holding the door open so Sloane could step into the foyer, as his dad moved back to make room. Once they were both inside, Dylan began to make their formal introductions.
“Sloane Fitzgerald, meet Dan Hemmons, my dad. Pops, this is Sloane, the new bar owner I was telling you about.”
Dan Hemmons was a gruff, burly, weathered man in his mid-fifties, who could come across to strangers as a bastard with a biting personality, but was as teddy-bear soft as they came, without a mean bone in his body. And while he’d never been overly affectionate with either of his children, Dan could still turn on the charm when faced with a pretty woman. A fact that had Dylan almost slinging a protective arm around Sloane’s shoulder in a possessive and territorial gesture.
“So pleased to meet you, Mr. Hemmons,” Sloane said, her formal greeting and handshake a clear mistake given the man in front of her.
“No formalities necessary, young lady. Call me Dan.” He pumped Sloane’s hand with his calloused, working hands, smiling eagerly at her. He dropped her hand with a wink, and gestured her into the living room.
Dylan helped her with her coat, lingering a bit when his fingers touched the back of her hair. He thought he felt her shiver. Maybe she was still cold. His dad was right. He shouldn’t have stayed outside that long. Nice going, D.
Dylan covertly perused Sloane’s slender body as she dislodged her arms from the outerwear. She was dressed in a pair of black leggings, her lower legs covered from ankle to knee with leather boots. She wore a burgundy cable knit tunic sweater dress, the hem hovering just below the waist, giving him a perfect view of her backside. And damn was it a perfect ass.
As they walked into the kitchen, his dad caught him staring at her, and he gave Dylan a look that told him, “Knock it the hell off or I’ll slap you silly,” which made him feel like a horny seventeen-year-old.
“It smells so good in here. Dylan told me that this is the first Christmas dinner either of you have made before. I’m really impressed. So not that you need it, but what can I do to help you?” Sloane asked, rubbing her hands together in anticipation. “Oh, I forgot. I brought a few things with me, too.”
She reached down to grab the reusable grocery bag she’d carried in with her, hoisting it up before emptying its contents on the kitchen table. She’d convinced Dylan to stop at the grocery store on their way over so she could contribute to their dinner, even though he was certain they had everything they needed.
“Let’s see…I bought some pie filling and baking items so I can make the pie. I can put it in the oven while we eat dinner. I love to bake and eat desserts,” she confided, patting her belly. “Although my waistline doesn’t always appreciate it.”
Dylan made a scoffing noise and bumped against her hip with a light tap to let her know she was full of it. Her waist, and every other part of her body were something he wanted to devour for his own d
essert. And knowing now that she wore a belly piercing made him wild with need to see her naked body. To play with it using his tongue and mouth. To watch her squirm as he flicked his tongue and lips over it, sucking it into his mouth.
Jesus, he was not going to make it through dinner.
“I also got some heavy whipping cream to make homemade topping, and sweet potatoes and marshmallows for my sweet potato casserole.”
Dan moved to the table and sorted through the items.
“Well now, that sounds awfully delicious. It was thoughtful of you, Sloane, to contribute. But we certainly don’t expect our guest to have to cook. Now why don’t you let me continue what I have started in here while Dylan gives you a quick tour of the place. You know what they say about too many cooks in the kitchen.” He smiled and gave Sloane another knowing wink before ushering them out the kitchen.
Dylan chuckled at his old man’s obvious tactic to get him alone with Sloane. His pops wasn’t stupid. When he’d told his dad that he was bringing a female guest over for dinner, his dad practically began writing out the wedding invite list. He knew the man was eager to get his oldest married off and starting a family.
It had been a long time since Dylan introduced a woman to his family. And even though he and Sloane weren’t even dating, he already felt so comfortable with her, and felt the stirrings of what could turn out to be a great friendship. Because of that, he really wanted his dad’s approval.
His pops had never remarried after his mother left him. In fact, he wasn’t even certain if they’d gotten a divorce. It had been well over twenty years, but he could still see the sadness hidden in his father’s eyes, especially when he looked at Rylie, who was almost the spitting image of their mother. Dylan knew that his dad had never truly recovered from his mother’s abandonment, even though he had dated a fair amount in the early years.
But now Dan seemed just happy and content seeing his daughter in love and in a new marriage, and it appeared he still held out hope that Dylan, too, would be next in line to walk down the aisle.
“Your dad’s really nice,” Sloane whispered as they rounded the corner down the main hallway connecting the kitchen and living room with the tiny stairwell that led upstairs. “He has that strong Boston accent. It’s kind of cool. You two look a lot alike. Well…except that he’s pretty handsome.”
She turned her head to give him a lopsided grin, letting him know she was teasing, giggling and yelping when he smacked her ass.
“Hey…I resemble that remark!”
She continued up the flight of stairs to the top as he watched her ass move, her hips seductively swaying back and forth in front of him, driving him to distraction. His dad had already admonished him with a glare for the lascivious looks Dylan had already been giving Sloane. But dammit. He couldn’t help himself. She was perfect in every single way.
When they reached the top landing, Dylan showed her around the three upstairs bedrooms. They were all small, but fit his needs perfectly. The first one closest to the stairs was being used as a workout room slash office space. Although it was currently in a state of disaster. Piles and piles of paperwork lay scattered and strewn across the far wall across the room. A treadmill and a weight set occupied the other side.
“Do you go to a gym, too?” Her question threw him and had him wondering why she was curious about it. He cocked his eyebrows.
She shrugged sheepishly. “Well, uh, I’ve felt your abs. You’re pretty ripped.” The color on her cheeks bloomed a bright pink.
Fucking adorable.
And yes, he remembered, all right. The night in the dark bar, when her palms laid out across his pecs, their warmth piercing him through his T-shirt, and her fingers digging into his ass when she tried to pull his body closer to hers.
He groaned inwardly, trying to keep his thoughts in check and away from the memory of how her body felt and would feel underneath him. Naked. Hot. Wild. He could not let himself go there. She seemed like a good girl. And good was definitely not something that described his intentions.
“I do a little boxing at a place down the street. Nothing much, just use the punching bag and do some non-competitive sparring. Otherwise, I run and lift weights when I have time. Nothing too outrageous. And I’m certainly not into all those trendy workout fads, unlike some of you granola Californians,” he used air quotes to emphasize this statement, preparing for her expected response. “With all your new-fangled yoga techniques, Barre method-crap, Pilates-paddle boarding, and God knows what else. You people are so susceptible to the latest and greatest.”
“Pilates-paddle boarding? Well that’s a new one,” she snorted. “And I take offense to being lumped in with all those granola Californians. For your information, Mr. Boxer, I surf, swim and run on the beach. If that’s too ‘trendy’ for you, then you can suck it.” She stuck her tongue out at him in a show of defiance.
Dylan’s brain was stuck on the image of Sloane out in the Pacific Ocean, clad only in a string bikini, straddling her surf board, her long wet hair clinging to her back. And the image of her sweet, pink tongue sticking out at him brought his dick to attention, with the carnal possibilities of it licking at his need.
God, having this woman in his house and so close to his bedroom was going to kill him. Have him go into cardiac arrest.
The snapping of her fingers in front of his nose brought him back to the present.
“Huh? What?”
“I asked if you’ve ever surfed before?”
Dylan shook his head. “Nah. The Atlantic isn’t known for its great surfing spots. Although, when I was in South Carolina, many years ago, my buddies and I went to the ocean, but we weren’t really there for the water sports, if you know what I mean.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
Sloane shoved at his shoulder. “God, men have such one track minds.”
If she only knew.
“Why were you down in South Carolina?”
The question was innocent, and coincided with her taking in the sight of the U.S. Marine Corps flag display box he had sitting on top of his dresser. They’d moved down the hallway and stood off the entry of the second bedroom, a sparsely furnished room with a small bed in the corner, and an old chest of drawers. When he flicked on the overheard light and she stepped in, she launched straight over to the dresser, her eyes focused on the wooden engraved box. She fingered it gently before turning back to him, her eyes full of question.
He swallowed thickly, a feeling of uneasiness wrapping around him like a slithering boa.
“I joined the Marines right out of high school. Went to boot camp down in South Carolina, then MOS training in North Carolina until I was deployed to Afghanistan. I served my contractual six years before I was honorably discharged. Lost a lot of good buddies. That’s about all I’m going to say on the matter.”
He held out his hand to her to draw her out, and thankfully she came without any hesitation, or additional questions, even though her posture was now stiff. He brought her into the master bedroom, flipping on the bedside lamp to illuminate his private quarters.
Dylan watched her eyes peruse the room, landing first on the far corner and window bench, before moving to the door to the bathroom, and then finally to the large, California king bed taking up the majority of the room. The sudden change in the atmosphere felt like the barometric pressure had just plummeted, a storm of emotions stirring between them. Was it just him or did she feel it to? The surge of sexual tension that swirled and crackled, making his hair stand on end.
And all he could think about was what she would look like lying naked in his bed, her arms drawn up above her head, her legs spread wide, and his mouth devouring her between her thighs.
The sound of his pop’s voice calling them back downstairs broke the obvious spell, and reminded him that even if she were willing to in this moment, his father was still present.
Dylan only hoped his father would take the hint and leave as soon as possible after dinner. So he could work on the gi
ft that he’d been given this Christmas when Sloane stepped into his life. And now his home. Forget everything he’d said before now about keeping his distance. Santa was clearly telling him he’d been a very good boy this year and deserved everything on his wish list.
Which was Sloane Fitzgerald.
Chapter Eight
Sloane was ready to explode from the sheer volume and ghastly amount of food she’d shoveled into her mouth hole throughout dinner. She leaned back uncomfortably, casting a furtive glance at the other two table occupants. They looked about as miserable as she did.
“I really should have worn my sweatpants,” Dan groaned, his hand circling his slightly protruding belly in a slow pattern. “I feel like I’m carrying an elephant in my gut.”
“I told you not to eat that second piece of pie, old man. You just never listen to me though, do you? Stubborn old bastard.”
Sloane stood up and began clearing off the plates and silverware from the table, hoping her own pants wouldn’t bust a seam in an embarrassing place. She’d chosen leggings for this very reason. No buttons, no zippers, just expandable elastic.
She was just about to pass by Dan, when he laid a gentle hand on her arm, stopping her progress.
“Now Sloane, put those in the sink and come sit back down. I haven’t gotten to know you yet.”
She felt her spine stiffen at the mention of having to divulge personal details about herself to these two men. Up until that time, she’d been able to get away with trivial and generic tidbits, such as how she normally spent the holidays in California, some background detail about her education, and a story or two about her infamous Uncle Patsy. But from the gleam in Dan’s eyes, he was about to move out of the safe zone and into unknown territory.
“Um, okay…” She set the dishes carefully in the sink and slowly moved back to the table. Glancing at Dylan, he wore a devious grin that told her she was in for it, and that he may or may not help her out. Damn him.
“You mentioned that you got your teaching degree. Are you currently a teacher?”
