by Sierra Hill
Sloane wasn’t aware that she was cold and shivering until Dylan’s warm hands wrapped themselves around her shoulders, pulling her into the cocoon of his strong, masculine body.
“You okay, babe?” His breath skimmed the top of her ear, filling her senses with coffee and sugar.
Nodding in acknowledgment, Sloane shifted in his hold, turning to face him, her eyes cast down. Gently pressing her forehead against his muscular chest, she let the weight of the scene that just unfolded between her and Blaine slip from her worry. In replace of it, the guilt she felt for not being honest with Dylan settled in.
“I’m sorry about that,” she whispered, a quiver in voice. “I didn’t think…I had no idea he would show up here like that. We are over. We were done the moment I left California. I promise.”
Sloane lifted her gaze to see the warring emotion in Dylan’s expressively dark eyes. Dylan’s lips formed a tight smile, as he stepped back, grabbing her hand to tug her toward the closest table. Sitting down, he acknowledged her admission.
“I believe you, Sloane. I know you well enough to believe you wouldn’t lie about that.” Dylan leaned forward, and placed his hand over Sloane’s.
“Do you feel like telling me about him? About what happened? I get the fact that you two were engaged, and now you’re not. And that the douchewad believes he still has a shot.”
Sloane snickered at his choice of language. Because honestly, she now saw Blaine as a douchewad. Or prick. Or shithead. Whatever name you gave him, the fact of the matter was that he was no longer the same man she’d fallen in love with three years ago. He had trampled her heart, broken her spirit, and left her feeling like she was to blame for not being able to keep him interested. Because why else would he sleep around with another woman?
Her response came out with a heavy sigh. “It’s a long story.”
Dylan gave her a sweet smile, leaned back in his chair, locked his hands behind his head and drew his foot up over his knee. Indicating he was willing to listen to her tale.
“I’ve got time.”
Chapter Seventeen
It was the day before New Year’s Eve, and the holidays were once again coming to an end. There was a sad sort of melancholy that descended over Dylan to see discarded Christmas trees and wreaths sitting in piled heaps by the garbage bins, awaiting the annual Boy Scout drive.
That reminded him that he had to put out his trash when he and Karma returned home from their walk. Dylan had gotten used to walking her every morning, even though he was far from a morning person. He hated going out in the freezing cold and standing around while the dog found a “good spot” to do her duty, but it held a quiet peacefulness about it in the still early morning light.
Dylan looked down at the end of the leash where Karma was sniffing at a crumpled brown bag in front of old man Marley’s driveway. It had him wondering what exactly the old geezer had eaten for dinner. Probably sardines and crackers. Dylan wrinkled his nose in disgust and tugged on Karma’s leash to get her to move along.
Today was the last walk he’d be taking with Karma for a while. Although he’d never been a big dog person, both literally and figuratively, Karma was an exceptionally trained dog, and was great company to have around. He had never felt alone before, not until Karma and Sloane entered his life.
Dylan had spent the last two years after his honorable discharge from the Marine Corps living alone. The solitude of being on his own, after years in the military where you couldn’t even take a shit in private, was something he’d come to enjoy. No one telling him what to do. Holding him to a schedule and telling him when to be back. No accountability to anyone else but himself.
Yet, the unexpected feeling of returning home every night to someone who greeted him enthusiastically and showered him with affection was comforting. Even if it was only a big, hairy German Shepherd. It actually made him wonder what it would be like to come home to a woman. A family. Someone as beautiful and loving as Sloane. A woman who could fulfill all his physical needs with her sexy body. Her curious mind. Her gentle soul.
After hearing the story Sloane shared about Blaine, and emails she’d found documenting his infidelities, Dylan wanted to kill the freaking bastard. It gutted him to hear the sadness in her voice as she told him about how she found out about Blaine’s affairs.
Rylie had called yesterday to remind Dylan to pick Mitch and her up at the airport tomorrow. Their flight was to land early afternoon and then that night, New Year’s Eve, they were hosting a party at their house. Dylan thought they were both nuts to have a party after traveling back from Spain, but she insisted it would help with jet lag.
When he’d mentioned to Rylie that he and Jason were both bringing a date, she clucked her tongue in an annoying little sister fashion. Dylan was actually glad she was still on another continent, because she would have given him the first degree if they were face to face.
Rylie knew of his playboy ways, always teasing him about the revolving door of women. But she never pressured him to settle down, or ‘find a good woman’ like his pops always did. Considering the hell his pops went through when his mother left him, Dylan was always a bit surprised when his pops asked him about his love life. But until Sloane came around, there was never anything to tell. Only a bunch of hook-ups and revolving door of one-night stands.
But Sloane…shit. Why was it that the one woman Dylan could see himself falling for wasn’t planning on sticking around? The truth of the matter was that he had already fallen. The girl had him tied up in knots. She was all he ever thought about. He felt like a teenage boy with his first crush. Dylan wanted to spend every waking moment in her presence, because she was the light to his dark. He wanted to belong to her.
He didn’t often show it, but the things he’d done and seen while in Afghanistan three years ago caused him agonizing pain. Losing good friends in the war, seeing his buddies return to fight other battles – either psychological with PSTD, alcohol and drugs, or recover from the physical loss of limbs – their bodies a daily reminder of what they lost in a land so far away.
Dylan was lucky in that manner. He’d shared some of that with Sloane later that night, staying with her to ensure Blaine wasn’t going to show up again. She’d opened up to him about their recent break-up of their engagement, and he’d divulged a bit more about his past. Something he’d never been asked about before.
“So how did you get involved in making metal art sculptures?” she’d asked, casually strumming her fingers across his naked chest.
So far, only a handful of people knew that he’d been fiddling around with making art. He’d picked it up while overseas, during downtimes as a way to keep his mind off something other than death, loneliness and war.
“Well, I was stationed at Camp Leatherneck in the Helmand Province. My unit wasn’t out on the frontline, but we provided aviation ground support for Operation Enduring Freedom. My crew and I were working to return salvageable USMC equipment back to the U.S., disposing of material excess. You know, you can’t just leave millions of dollars of assets over in the desert.”
They laid together in his bed, his thumb brushing long strokes up and down her naked back. Sloane had taken the night off and they’d gone out to a movie before returning to his house, where she’d spent the night.
“I don’t know what made me do it, but I just started messing around with the scrap pieces, using the torch gun to meld the reclaimed metal into these abstract pieces. Call it a pastime, or whatever, to keep my mind sane and grounded. It kept me focused on making something instead of losing it. Word got around among the unit, and then one day Marine Colonel Jenkins, requisitioned a piece. I was fucking floored.”
Sloane lifted her head off his chest. “That’s so great, Dylan. He obviously saw talent.”
Dylan placed a kiss on the tip of her nose before she nestled her head back down on top of his pecs.
“Well, I don’t know about that. But now I’m just trying to turn my little hobby into a viable car
eer option. But it’s harder than it looks.”
“Just remember, whenever you want an introduction, my mother is the queen of art in San Diego. She’d be more than willing to give you your first break.”
Even if he did get a foot in the door with her help, Dylan would still have to break it to his pops that he’d be leaving the family business. Something he was definitely not looking forward to.
###
Dylan stomped his snow-covered boots on the entry mat as he walked into a fairly busy lunchtime crowd at Fitzgerald’s. He slipped off his black beanie cap and stuffed it into his back pocket. As he walked back toward the kitchen, he hefted his tool belt around his shoulder.
“Hey man,” Donnie called out to him as he passed by the bar. Over the last several days working behind the scenes, Dylan had gotten to know the bearded hipster. Good guy. He was taking some time off from college to figure out what he wanted to do.
Dylan nodded his greeting. “Sloane back there?” He pointed toward her office, getting a head nod acknowledgment.
The plan was to do some work in the kitchen over the next week, while Sloane awaited a new industrial stove. They’d spent a few hours the day before looking online to find the one that would best meet the bar’s needs. While Fitzgerald’s wasn’t known for its upscale menu, Sloane and Curtis had made some additions, that with the new oven, would allow for a larger variety of food items besides the frozen pizzas, nachos and spicy wings they currently doled out.
As Dylan neared, he could hear Sloane sniffling from inside the office. Stepping inside, he shut the door, his eyes landing on her tear streaked distraught face, worry etched across her forehead. She held something in her hand, but dropped it to the desk as he walked toward her. Without rationalizing what he was doing, or the reason behind it, Dylan gently pulled her up from her desk chair and brought her onto his lap on the couch. Sloane’s body quivered in tight, silent sobs.
“Baby, what is it? Why are you crying?”
Dylan held her against his chest, her head buried in the crook of his neck, his arms wrapped tightly around her in support. Tears of anguish poured down her cheeks, dripping onto his T-shirt. It may have been five minutes, or five hours, but Dylan didn’t care. He continued to hold her until her sniffles quieted and her breathing became steady once again.
This broke his heart. He wanted to do something to take away her pain. Be her comfort. Protect her from whatever she was going through, and fight against whatever caused it.
“I’m sorry for being so emotional.” Sloane moved her head off his shoulder, but her eyes were cast down in sorrow.
Leaning to his side, he cupped her cheek, bringing her eyes up to look at him directly.
“Hey now. Don’t be doing that,” he admonished gently, tucking the loose strands of her hair behind her ear and out of her face. “I’m here for you if you want to talk about it.” She hiccupped a sob.
“You don’t have to tell me everything, but if this has anything to do with that motherfucker, I’m going to kick his ass for dragging your heart through the mud. I wish I would’ve done it when he was here. Broke his nose and kicked in his sissy balls.”
She let out a choked laugh. “That’s uh, very chivalrous of you, I think. Things are just a little messed up in my life right now.”
Dylan knew what she was saying was true. And he didn’t know how he could help fix it. But he’d be damned if he’d let her sit around and wallow in grief over it. It was his job now to ensure this perfect woman, who walked into his life and turned his heart inside out, was taken care of and made to feel special.
“Listen, I know you probably have to be here tomorrow night for New Year’s Eve, but would you want to come with me to my sister’s house for dinner before you start your shift? I’d really like you to meet Rylie and her husband, Mitch.”
Sloane withdrew from his lap, shifting onto the couch cushion beside him. Dylan watched as she fiddled with the phone in her hand, obviously thinking about his invitation.
“I – I don’t know –”
His interruption was swift and immediate.
“I’m not taking no for an answer. At the very least, we can hang out and you can have some fun away from the bar. You’ve been working so hard lately. I think you’ll really like my sis and her best friend, Sasha,” he said convincingly. “Although, I’ll warn you. Sasha is a little devil of a woman. She’s got a mouth on her. But she’s totally cool. And she’ll probably be hanging all over her fiancé, Jackson, anyway.”
That got Sloane to smile. He liked making her smile. His ray of sunshine.
Dylan leaned to touch his lips against hers in a sweet kiss. Her lips were so soft. He wanted to kiss them every day and every night. For as long as he had her.
“I want to spend as much time with you as I can, Sloane. Before you go back to California. Please say you’ll come with me.”
Goddammit. He’d never begged a woman for anything before. Never needed to. All the women he’d ever been with were compliant, bending to his whims and will without question. Yet here he was, with the girl that turned him upside down, pleading with her to be with him. To stay with him.
Honestly, Dylan had never felt that type of emotion before this moment. The fierce pull of another – and not just physical. The chemistry between them was beyond worldly. But the intensity of their emotional connection was off the charts. He was willing to fall to his knees and beg her never to leave him.
Sloane dabbed at the remainder of her tears before bundling up the wad of used tissue in her hand. Her lips drew up into a pursed smirk.
“Okay. If I make this basket,” she stated, holding the ball up as evidence. “I’ll go to the party with you. But I’d need to be back here in the bar by ten. And if I don’t make it…”
Dylan jumped to his feet, rushing over to the trash can and bringing it back within an arm’s reach of where Sloane sat on the couch. She let out a giggle-snort that turned into a raging laughing fit. When she finally caught her breath and dunked the tissue ball into the garbage, she leaned back, clutching her stomach.
“Oh my god,” she gasped, as her hysterics died down. “I haven’t laughed or cried this much together since I was a teenager. I think I might have almost peed my pants.” Dylan’s eyebrows shot up in question.
“I didn’t, thank you very much. And yes, I’ll go to the party with you. But I don’t want any of my problems to be discussed with them, okay? I don’t want them to think I’m…”
She left the sentence hanging, but Dylan knew what she was going to say. Sloane didn’t have to worry about anyone thinking anything other than kind thoughts toward her.
He grabbed hold of her hand and brought it to his lips.
“Say no more. You’ll have a good time, I promise. And afterward, I’ll come back here and hang out while you work. After which,” he raised his eyebrows in a salacious gesture. “I’m going to fuck you into the next year.”
Dylan caught her gasp with his lips, his mouth taking possession of her with a deep, lingering, sexual kiss – full of promise and desire. Her flavor was intoxicating. It infused within him a desperate need to take her right there on the couch in her office. He’d locked the office door, hadn’t he? Her moan only incited him more.
But knowing he had work to be done and she had orders to place for the bar inventory, Dylan reluctantly pulled away. Sloane’s eyes were glassy and half-lidded, her lips wet and swollen. Her breasts heaved from the exertion of their activities and it made his mouth water. His cock was rock solid and growing harder by the minute from his thoughts of spreading her out across her desk and fucking her deep and fast.
As if she knew exactly what he was thinking, Sloane grinned up at him from the couch. Her finger came up and circled the hard pebbled nipple that was pressing against her tight pink T-shirt. Her actions put him in a trance, completely unable to move as he watched her hands circle the tips of her breasts playfully. Seductively. Enticingly.
And when her hands went down
to the front of her jeans, unbuttoning and then disappearing inside, they both groaned in unison. There was no way he could leave this room now – not with the vision of Sloane touching herself embedded in his brain. She was his wet dream come true and she was putting on a show just for him. Making him powerless to do anything but stand and watch her.
The sound of his gritty voice shocked even Dylan when he spoke.
“Take off your pants. I want a clear view while I watch you get yourself off.”
Chapter Eighteen
Hoo boy. Sloane had no idea what she’d been thinking when she decided to take matters into her own hands.
Literally.
All she knew was that one minute, she was crying on Dylan’s shoulders over the awful situation over Blaine and the School Board notice she’d received, and feeling guilty about hiding the truth from Dylan, and the next minute she’s acting out a sexual fantasy like a living, breathing floozy. Just thinking about it now made her cheeks burn bright red with embarrassment.
Dylan made her feel wanton. Desirable. Sexy and oh-so-naughty. And when his voice got all commanding like that? So deep and low, issuing dirty, filthy demands for her to act on. To act out. Well, it turned out that she liked that. A lot. She realized she would do anything to make him feel as good.
Based on his response, Dylan made it seem like she was doing him the favor by acting out his dirtiest fantasy, even though it was the other way around.
Sloane’s heart rate was doing trippy things to her, her body warm and flushed as she waited in her apartment for Dylan to pick her up for their date. Looking over her reflection in the mirrored closet one last time, she wiped her sweaty palms down the sides of her black cocktail dress.
Having brought nothing fancy to wear when she left California, Sloane had to make an emergency stop at the high-end consignment shop just down the street. Not only did she find a flirty, black-lace overlay Elie Tahara dress, but strappy-black heels in her size, too. All under fifty bucks. She’d been elated when she tried on the size six knee-length dress, as it was the perfect fit.
