by Sierra Hill
Kicking the discarded work belt to the side, Dylan stepped in closer between her parted thighs, until he was pressing into the heat that sizzled like scorching fire to his groin.
This woman was too much. Her beauty. Her light. Her sweetness. It consumed him like nothing else ever had. Everything he told himself the night before – about staying away from her – flew right out the window when he was in her presence. The need to be inside her drove him to distraction, whether she was in his arms, across the room or across town. She infiltrated his every thought, driving him to desperation and distraction.
Dylan moved his mouth back down her neck, Sloane’s scent and floral-flavored skin so intoxicating he wasn’t certain how he even remained on two feet. She tasted of ocean and sky. Sun and water. She made him weak with want, overwhelming his senses, like he was in the middle of the sea being overtaken by a giant, oncoming wave. Drowning in her essence.
Continuing to work his way down toward the soft indentation of her throat, he licked and sucked, and her moans grew louder and more pronounced, until he reached her breasts. Parting the shirt, he exposed the soft dewy flesh of her shoulders and tits. His tongue made light, flirty circles around one of her hard nipples covered with the lace of her bra, his thumb flicking the other, as her intake of breath told him she enjoyed the attention.
“Oh, Dylan…it…feels so good....”
The fact that she was practically stuttering incoherently under his ministrations about did him in. He mused at what she would say if he told her what he was thinking at the moment. That he wanted her on her knees so he could fuck her tits and come all over her stomach.
Oh shit…that thought had his dick bolting like a javelin against his zipper.
Dylan took a steadying breath and stepped back, to get a look at her gorgeous, naked torso in front of him, quivering with the need to be taken. He was about ready to divest her of her jeans and fall to his knees to worship her between her legs when a loud pounding pulled his attention from her to the front bar door.
Sloane’s brown eyes, that had moments ago been lust-filled, had grown wide as saucers with surprise. She immediately dropped her hands from his chest, reaching for the corners of her shirt to cover herself in modesty. Dylan stared in her eyes, giving a silent shake of his head and bringing his index finger up to his lips.
Who the hell was trying to get into Fitzgerald’s at ten in the morning? Obviously some die-hard drinker who couldn’t go another minute longer.
The pounding came again, this time with a loud, male voice attached to it.
“Sloane…baby. Open up. It’s me.”
The fuck? Baby?
Dylan cocked his head, his brows furrowed in question as he saw the shock and look of guilt wash over Sloane’s beautiful face. She nearly stumbled, righting herself against a barstool before buttoning her shirt in haste.
It would have been funny, her clumsiness and utter confusion as she looked around helplessly, seemingly trying to make herself presentable. It reminded him of the time he was sixteen and was caught in Tamara Dashon’s basement when her parents came home early and found them in a state of near nakedness, grinding against each other like two rutting animals.
But from the obvious concern etched in her features, he knew this was no laughing matter. Whoever was on the other side of that door was not expected. And possibly unwelcome.
Reaching for her shoulders, Dylan gave her a quick, reassuring squeeze.
“Do you need me to get rid of this guy?”
Sloane’s mouth opened and then closed. Blinking once, she bit her bottom lip, like she was about to make a monumental decision. Shaking her head, she moved out from under his grip and walked over to the door. He could see the tension rippling from her body, as she took a deep breath before unlocking the exterior door.
“What are you doing here?”
Dylan’s body went on the defensive immediately. Very caveman-esque, to be sure, but he was ready to fight to defend this woman against this other man. To protect her. To claim her as his.
But shit. That kind of thinking was exactly opposite of where his mind needed to be when it came to Sloane. She wasn’t his in any way, except for their few encounters in the bedroom. And even then, he knew this was just a brief fling, with no-strings attached. She’d be leaving him high-and-dry soon enough.
Dylan was closely monitoring the situation at the door. All he could see was the back of Sloane’s head and body, as the door was cracked open from the other direction, so Dylan couldn’t get a glimpse of the man from his current location. But what he heard was enough to get his hackles up.
“Baby, I missed you. I came out here to bring you home.” The man said, in a whiny, nasally voice.
Dylan watched as Sloane leaned back, avoiding the man’s unwanted embrace.
Sloane scoffed at his remark. “Stop calling me baby. You have no right. I didn’t invite you out here. And I am certainly not going to go home with you, either.”
Dylan wanted to fist pump the air in rival pride. Damn straight she wasn’t going home with that guy, whoever the hell he was. He tried thinking back to the conversations they’d had about her life in California. While she was always fairly vague about her personal life, he did recall that she specifically said she no longer had a boyfriend. So his arrival was obviously unwelcome and out of bounds.
“Sloane, come on. Let me inside so we can talk. It’s insanely cold out here.”
Without waiting for an answer, Dylan watched as the unwelcome intruder brushed passed her, stepping into the bar entry. Because the man had his back to Dylan, who was in the back near the kitchen, the man hadn’t seen him. Good. It would give him the element of surprise if things got sketchy and he needed to use it.
Sloane sighed and closed the door with a reluctant shove. Turning to face him, she crossed her arms in a defiant pose.
“Blaine, you know perfectly well that when I left, that was it. We are done. You took everything that was good and made it cheap by what you did to me. You’re a lying, cheating prick and I don’t ever want to fucking see you again.”
Blaine? What the hell kind of pussy name was Blaine?
Blaine stepped toward Sloane, crowding her with his body, before reaching out to grab her by the waist, pulling her toward him. Something tightened in Dylan’s stomach and he was about to pounce when Sloane scrambled to get away, her fists coming out to shove him back.
That’s all it took. Dylan was not about to let him manhandle her, especially when she made it clear she didn’t want anything to do with him.
He cleared his throat loudly, enough for both heads to snap over in his direction. From the outside, his movements were smooth and calculated, even though he was ready to tear the guy’s head off at the slightest provocation.
“I’d recommend you remove your hands from Sloane immediately, or I will remove them for you.”
Blaine’s eyes assessed Dylan’s sincerity by looking him over, before turning his head to Sloane’s and then back to Dylan. To his credit, he did step back a tiny bit and dropped his hands. Pasting a fake plastic smile on his face, Blaine moved forward to greet Dylan, as if he hadn’t just heard the challenge in his throw down.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know anyone was in here with Sloane. I’m Blaine Holloway, Sloane’s fiancé. And you are?” he asked as if he did this for a living, his hand proffered in front of his body waiting for Dylan to shake it.
Fiancé? What the actual fuck?
She’d never once mentioned she was engaged. Doubt crept through Dylan’s brain, realizing now just exactly why Sloane wanted to keep things so casual between them.
Quickly containing his shock from the preposterous piece of news, Dylan grabbed his hand and squeezed. Hard. Bone-shattering tight. I’m-going-to-fuck-you-up hard. He smiled when he saw Blaine wince before he pulled his hand away.
“Dylan Hemmons.” His voice was curt and clipped. He wasn’t about to play nice or put on a false air of politeness to meet this douche.<
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There was a brief, uncomfortable silence, as the three of them assessed each other and the situation, Blaine obviously waiting to learn who Dylan was to Sloane, and Dylan not about to give in and put an end to his curiosity.
Blaine cleared his throat and was the first to speak up, turning back to Sloane to ask the question.
“So, um, how do you two know each other?”
The corners of Dylan’s mouth lifted in a sly smile, his fingers twitching at his sides, as he wondered how Sloane would explain to her fiancé just exactly who he was. He honestly hoped she’d introduce him as the guy she was currently fucking. Yeah, that would certainly make for lively conversation.
Sloane’s hands landed on her hips. He could see the fists that were balled up with tension, ready to let fly at Blaine’s face or worse.
“Not that it’s any of your business,” she huffed, shoulders pulled back tight. “Because it’s not. But Dylan is my friend who is working to fix up the bar so I can sell it. So now that you know, why don’t you tell me why the fuck you’re here and then get the hell out of my life.”
Chapter Sixteen
Sloane was practically seething with indignation. Her nails dug into the palms of her hands so hard, as she tried to hold on to her temper, that she was worried she’d bleed.
In all the years she’d known Blaine, never once had she said a disrespectful word to him. Never called him out on his behaviors, even when he’d make an ass of himself in front of her friends or colleagues. She’d been the perfect girlfriend. And look where that got her.
“Sloane, you know it’s so unbecoming and terribly unladylike to swear. Especially in front of guests.” His head tipped toward Dylan, whose own temper looked like it was just about to blow, based on the clench of his jaw and fisted hands. She was so damn glad he was there with her right now, otherwise, she wasn’t sure she’d have the balls to stand up to Blaine in this manner.
“Are you fucking kidding me, Blaine?” she spewed, emphasizing the curse word venomously. “Might I also say how unbecoming it is for you to fuck other women when you were engaged. To me.”
Surely he’d have the decency to look somewhat remorseful and contrite with that little nugget thrown in his face. But nope. Not Blaine. There wasn’t an ounce of apology etched across his face for any of the embarrassment he’d caused her from his sexscapades. Even if his indiscretions weren’t public knowledge – at this point, at least – they had made her feel utterly worthless. Like she meant nothing to him. Like she wasn’t enough to satisfy him.
Instead, Blaine’s face turned into a scowl as he looked down at her, his sharp gray eyes boring into her skin, showing his condescending disapproval.
“Now Sloane. I don’t think this is a conversation we should have in polite company. Why don’t we go somewhere else to discuss this further,” he glanced over Sloane’s shoulder, nodding in the direction of the kitchen. “In private, darling. Then we can get you packed and ready to go.”
Blaine’s hand shot out to grab her elbow, as Sloane jerked her arm back, hitting her funny bone on the corner of a table. Yelping in pain that radiated up her arm, she grabbed at it with her other hand to rub away the sharp ache that was transmitting blinding explosions up her shoulder. Within a flash, Dylan was by her side, his arm wrapped securely around her shoulders, squeezing gently, yet protectively, his other hand pushing out against Blaine’s chest. Blaine toppled back with the unexpected shove before righting his balance again, his face contorted in obvious outrage, but nothing in comparison to the look of pure fury across Dylan’s.
“Don’t you ever put your fucking hands on Sloane again. Do it one more time, and I will fucking end you.”
Whether from shock or anger, Blaine’s face flushed fire engine red. His schoolboy face, which Sloane had once found so sweet and attractive, now looked distorted. The ugliness of his acrimony turned her stomach, the bitter bile slowly ascending her esophagus. God, how could she have not seen this side of him before? Was she that naïve? Did the love that she had for him really make her blind to all his faults? To his callous and cold possessiveness?
Sloane felt like she was going to vomit. Everything she’d known, or thought, to be true about her relationship and the man she’d loved, was a lie. She had falsely pinned her hopes on a man who was unable to be faithful, and who seemed to care so little about her feelings.
It was unfathomable what he did, and yet he now stood in front of her, suggesting that she come back with him to California like nothing had ever happened. Like she was just to forget everything she witnessed and had seen, erasing it from her memory, and get back to settling down into a happily ever after marriage?
Not going to happen.
While her mother had always been a fan of Blaine’s – and to this day was still enamored with Blaine, even though she knew nothing of his indiscretions, Sloane knew with one-hundred percent certainty that she would never want Sloane to live with a man who had sexual relations behind her back. She’d expect Sloane to speak up for her rights, and never take shit from anyone, much less a man who was supposedly her partner in life.
Extricating herself from Dylan’s strong hold, she took a few steps toward Blaine, pointing her finger at the door he’d just stepped through.
“Are you that stupid to believe that I would go anywhere with you, after what you did to me?” She continued to move forward until her finger pressed roughly into Blaine’s chest. She could feel his heart thumping, as if his wild energy seeped through to her, creating the adrenaline rush she needed and the resolve required to state her case.
“I don’t want to talk in private with you, Blaine. There is nothing left to say–”
Blaine opened his mouth to speak, but she pinched his lips together with her fingers to keep them closed.
“Shut it. I’m talking. Now…you are going to turn right around and get the hell out of my bar. You will not step foot in here again, and if you do, or if I catch you anywhere near my establishment, I will call the cops. I might even file a restraining order if I feel you’re badgering and stalking me. And when I return home, you will be moved out of my house, leaving none of your shit behind. Because I do not ever want to see you again. Do you understand me?”
Blaine’s bewildered appearance was almost so comical she wanted to laugh. This was the first time Sloane had ever spoken up in anger toward him, and it was obvious he was wondering what the hell had gotten into her.
What had gotten into her? When she left California, Sloane had hurt so badly, she just avoided the pain altogether. She’d buried herself so deeply in figuring out how to manage the bar that she hadn’t had time to deal with the anger she hid inside. Maybe it was the time she spent with Dylan, realizing how different things could be. How he made her laugh and did sweet things for her. Or maybe it was simply being around all the Boston patrons she’d recently met in her bar, who had revealed to her in their unique grammatical ways, how New Englander’s deal with conflict. Using their head-on, in-your-face, don’t-take-shit-from-anyone attitude. So she put those lessons to good use for once in her life.
Blaine’s expression moved from shock, to appalled, to angry, his jaw now clenched in seething bitterness.
“You don’t have a fucking clue what you’re saying, Sloane.”
Although he remained with his feet planted, his eyes moved between Sloane and Dylan, most likely putting two-and-two together. Regardless of the fling status, the sexual energy they shared was undeniable and palpable.
His eyes narrowed and darkened to a sinister level before turning to arrogance. “Mark my words. You’ll be back. And when you come to your senses, and you’re tired of slumming around with the hired labor,” he said, his look of distain and condescending tone clearly meant to rile Dylan. “I’ll be home waiting for you. You know you can’t live without me. You’re just not capable of doing it on your own.”
Blaine backed away slowly toward the door, his eyes firmly centered on Sloane. Keeping the faux-moxie plastered
across her face, engaging her body to stand erect and undeterred, she stood firm with resolve. The words he blasted at her would not make her crumble or feel weak. He could no longer have that control over her life. He gave that up the minute he decided she wasn’t enough for him.
“You’re an asshole, Blaine. I can’t believe it took me so long to see it. Now go back to California, clear out your things from my house, and get the hell out of my life!”
The cold air from the open door blasted through the bar, and Sloane wrapped her arms around her stomach to clutch her waist, shuddering violently. Trembling from both the cold, and her outrage over his uninvited appearance, she stepped forward to slam the door shut, locking the bolt with a loud slide-and-click. The weight of the heated exchange was too much, and she let her head fall forward with a soft thud against the wood.
This was a nightmare. She’d never expected Blaine to come looking for her. He was a complete stranger to her now. Maybe she shouldn’t go home after all.
The thought came out of nowhere. Not go home? How could she even consider that possibility? Staying in Boston wasn’t in her plans. She belonged in San Diego, with her family and friends. Her life was there. She knew no one in Boston, besides Dylan and Dan Hemmons, and her bar staff. Furthermore, she wasn’t cut-out for bar life. The other night proved that fact without a doubt.
Of course she couldn’t leave San Diego. The thought was absurd. Staying in Boston would be a colossal mistake. In fact, now that she’d sent Blaine home packing, Sloane figured she’d hurry things along with the bar remodel, get the realtor on board, and put the plans in motion to sell the bar sooner rather than later. No need to waste any more time wallowing in misery. She was ready to pick herself up and dust herself off.
