by Anthology
“Scared?” Dylan growls. I don’t feel nearly as comfortable as I did a few moments before. I can’t quite tell if Dylan is playing with me, or if he’s telling the truth. He stretches the silence out again, until the tension is almost unbearable.
“Naw gal, yer fine,” he grins. I can’t help but let out a huge sigh of relief. I didn’t really believe that Katie would let me wander into a situation where I was completely out of my depth. But you never know with that girl…
I nod, unconvinced. “So what did you do? Or – what do they say you did?” I ask, feeling all kinds of clever.
This time it’s Dylan’s turn to look a touch embarrassed. His shoulders slump a bit. “I … I stole…” The rest of his sentence disappears into an inaudible whisper.
I cup my hand around my ear. “I’m sorry…” I say sarcastically. “I didn’t catch that.”
Dylan’s eyes glitter as he glares at me. There’s a fire in them. “I stole a goddamn wedding dress, okay?”
I almost fall backwards with surprise. It’s like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. The way Dylan was acting I thought he might have killed someone, or something.
“A –?” I stammer, trying to hold back the guffaws of laughter that are threatening to overwhelm me.
Dylan twists his foot against the floor. “Sure – g’wan, laugh, will ’ye?” He grunts moodily, that Irish accent rising up with his anger. “How was I supposed to know it was the mayor’s daughter’s dress?”
I collapse against the couch. My stomach muscles are screaming out with pain. I can’t bear it. “You didn’t seriously,” I gasp, my eyes watering with amusement, “please – stop. I can’t take anymore. What were you even going to do with it?”
Dylan glares at me again. I stare right back, not flinching. This time, I notice what’s been bothering me about his eyes. They are different colors. I’ve never seen that before. I like it.
“Wear it?” I laugh, one last time, picturing Dylan squeezing his bulging muscles into a white, silk dress. I wipe a tear from my eye.
“I was drunk, sue me,” Dylan says, kicking the cushion back in my direction. His aim is better than mine. “And me cousin’s getting married in January; thought it might make a nice present.”
I run a hand through my finally dry hair. “But the mayor’s daughter, Dylan… of all the dresses in Boston, why pick hers?”
A shadow of a smile glints on Dylan’s face. “It was the one in the window,” he says, shrugging, as if that’s a reason.
“So what are you going to do?”
“Ah, it’s fine. Dec will sort it out,” Dylan explains with an airy wave – like that explains anything whatsoever.
“So’s,” he says, jerking his perfectly sculpted chin at the couch, “we’s gonna watch this movie, or not?”
Chapter 5
Liv
Dylan is lying so close to me. We both know the game he’s playing. We both know how this is going to end. Why stretch it out?
I know the answer. It builds anticipation. It builds desire. That’s exactly what’s happening inside me right now. I’m second-guessing every thought, every emotion, and every desire. Every time I move, I wonder if I’m being too loud. I’m holding back from breathing, because I’m so turned on I feel like if I’m not careful, I’m going to pant.
That’s so sexy, right?
I feel like I’m back in high school, but I sure as heck never got this close to a man this pretty back then. Of course, I never got myself into this type of situation – of being date rape-drugged – back then, either.
But everything else? It fits.
I glance to my right, wondering if I’m going to see Dylan’s glittering eyes watching me. I feel a pang of disappointment when I see the light from the television reflecting off them instead. It’s almost physical. There’s half a foot of empty space between our bodies. It feels like the Grand Canyon.
I need to do something to shake things up. My body is trembling with anticipation. I’m just lying here, waiting for Dylan to make his move, and that’s not me. I’m a girl who makes things happen, or at least I want to be. I can’t think of a better time to start than now.
The television speakers explode with sound. Some production company’s trailer plays on-screen. I elbow Dylan in the ribs.
“Hey!” He growls, his voice low and husky. He grabs my arm before I have a chance to drag it back, and doesn’t let go. Dylan’s touch is hot. It sears my skin. “What was that for?”
I lick my lips, shooting him a coy look. At least, I think it’s coy. I’m not 100% sure I’m getting this whole seduction thing right. I’m doing my best. “You never told me what we were watching,” I reply.
“You never asked,” Dylan says. He doesn’t really seem interested in what I’m saying. His eyes roam across my body.
“Are you going to let go?” I say, glancing at my arm. Dylan looks down at it – and, if anything, he tightens his grip. I cry out, but it’s more out of excitement than pain.
“What are you doing?” I ask. I get my answer seconds later. Dylan slowly drags me towards him. His strength is magnificent. Pulling me across the couch doesn’t seem to tax him in the slightest. He does it slowly, so deliciously slowly, that I’m practically salivating with anticipation by the time our bodies meet.
The second they do, it’s like an electric shock sparks between us.
“That.” Dylan growls, and smacks his lips with satisfaction. Or maybe he’s blowing me a kiss, I can’t tell. His face is blank, inscrutable, but I’ve got so many questions. What’s he going to do? Is he going to kiss me? Touch me? F –.
The movie starts, and I let out a huge, deep sigh. The sound of the score pulls me back into the moment.
“You never did say what you picked,” I say. I don’t bother to look at the screen. It’s nowhere close to the most exciting thing in this room.
Dylan flushes. I almost giggle – it’s that unexpected. He clears his throat. “Um… Independence Day. The new one. It was kinda slim pickings on the DVD shelf. That okay?”
A silly, squashed-down, girlish part of me screams that I should tell him I’d watch anything with him, anywhere. But that is so not playing it cool. I arch my eyebrow instead. “You’re kidding…”
“Well, we don’t have to watch it…” Dylan says, his eyes glinting. “There are other things we could do instead.”
He leaves the statement hanging. We both know what he’s talking about. A flash of heat overcomes me. My body is rigid – every muscle tense and taut. Dylan’s heat is burning into me, and heating up my desire. I press my legs together. I’m not ready for this to happen – not yet.
But I’m close.
My mouth is dry. “Like what?” I whisper.
Dylan leans over and grabs the remote control. He taps the button, tosses the controller aside and the movie pauses. The silence builds: it’s thick; heavy; almost electric with tension.
I think I know what I want Dylan to say. He leaves me in suspense, chewing his lip and studying my body with almost scientific interest. I swear the way he’s looking at me, I could ask him to draw a map of my body from memory, and he’d be able to. It’s a nice feeling. I never had anyone look at me like that before.
“Cards,” Dylan says, finally breaking his silence. He ticks the first idea on his list off on his fingers. “There’s Blackjack.” A wicked, teasing grin fills his expression. He pulls another finger back. “Or there’s strip poker?”
An image of Dylan’s bare, naked torso fills my mind. I let out a deep sigh, and clench my legs together again. Dylan’s lilting voice is almost enough to soak my panties, let alone the words he’s speaking.
Now my throat is dry, too. “Keep going…” I whisper.
Dylan doesn’t say a word, not for a couple of seconds. Then I see his arms moving, and they’re coming towards me, and then he’s touching me, and then he’s pulling at me. My entire body tingles. I have no idea what he’s about to do next. I don’t know if he’s going
to undress me, to kiss me, or even to lick me from my toes to the tip of my nose.
I’d be happy with any of those.
“What are you doing?” I squeak. I’m stiff with tense excitement, strung tight like a stretched rubber band. The wrong touch – or maybe the right one – could set me off at any moment.
Dylan picks me up, and drags my whole body over towards him. He lays me down to rest on his chest. And then he speaks.
“Or we could talk,” he whispers, his lips grazing my ear. I flinch, but it’s because it feels so good. His breath kisses my neck, blowing tiny red hairs out of the way. I see them fluttering in the corner of my vision. “And you can tell me what a beautiful girl like you is doing alone two days before Christmas.”
I freeze. I’m not sure this is the conversation I had in mind. I’m not sure if Dylan is the guy I want to be telling. He’s a bad boy. Shouldn’t he be undressing me, throwing me around, touching me in places that I’m barely confident enough to speak about without turning red?
Why should it be Dylan who I open up to, when I’m barely comfortable talking with Katie.
“I don’t think you want to know,” I croak. I feel my throat closing up.
Dylan’s fingers caress my cheek. They trail down, stopping on my chin, and cup it. He turns my head until my chin is resting on his breastbone, and our eyes meet.
“I do,” he says. His voice is firm, deep. I can’t hide from his different-colored eyes. It’s like they’re opening up every facet of my being, shining a light over parts of my mind that I’d rather hide. “Believe me – I do.”
“Why?” I ask, stalling. My mind is spinning. I was ready for one thing when I lay down on this couch with Dylan – and it sure wasn’t a session of psychoanalysis.
“Because I do,” Dylan says, stroking my hair as if that’s a real reason. His eyes have taken on that same caring sheen as they did in the hallway when he saved me from Russell’s assault. His expression is slightly hazy – it’s as if even Dylan doesn’t know why he’s acting like this.
I get that. I feel the same. I like Dylan’s attention –crave it even now. My body tenses up when he touches me, it tingles in ways I didn’t know it could. But is that any reason to open up to him? Just because I desire his touch, just because I can’t close my eyes without thinking of where and how and how long he could kiss and touch and caress me – does that mean there’s anything more to this connection?
I swallow hard. I can’t speak. I can’t think. I’m desperately trying to get the gears in my mind unstuck, but nothing’s working.
Dylan’s fingers drop away from my chin. It feels cold, and alone. I nestle my cheek into his body, pressing it harder into his chest.
“You know,” Dylan says in a conversational tone. It drops the tension in the room by what feels like a hundred degrees – if you even measure tension like that. I feel like giggling. Heck, I feel high again!
Dylan starts talking again. I realize that I have disappeared into my own imagination. I snap back to the present. Dylan’s voice is gruff and caring. “I like redheads. Did I ever tell you that?”
I don’t know where he’s going with this. I shake my head, and watch as my hair dances across his chest.
“And I got to thinking. Why is a pretty girl, like you are, on her own? Your friend Katie told me –.”
“Traitor,” I mutter, without waiting for Dylan to finish. Katie is always trying to set me up with different guys. Not that – this time – I’m altogether too disappointed with her choice.
“– Told me that,” Dylan says more firmly, “you don’t have a boyfriend.” He looks down at me hungrily. “Is that true?”
I blink, but the truth is I want to close my eyes and hide from Dylan’s stare. It’s asking a question I don’t know if I’m ready to answer. I know what my body would say – yes, heck yes. I decide to take the low risk approach. I nod, just once, a tiny little movement.
Dylan strokes my cheek. He leaves a trail of fire everywhere his fingers visit. “I want to know –.”
This time I cut him off, and this time it is Dylan’s turn to blink with surprise. “No,” I growl, “now you answer my question.”
Dylan bites his lip, but nods. “Okay. Fair’s fair. I guess you get a turn.”
“Who are you, Dylan? What’s your story? There must be more to you than the mastermind wedding dress thief, on the run and his friend’s basement…” I giggle.
“Hey!” Dylan protests, with a grin tickling his lips. “Watch what ‘yer saying. I ain’t living in no basement…”
“That’s not what I asked,” I point out, arching my eyebrow.”
Dylan nods his head, and strokes down my torso once again. I can’t help but arch my back as a shooting star of pleasure scorches through my body. I bite down my lip, trying to block out the feeling. At least to fight it off, just for now. Dylan hides a grin. He knows exactly what he’s doing to me.
“Point to Liv,” he smiles. “Okay – have it your way. See, it wouldn’t be so bad if I was just a normal guy –.”
“You’re not?” I ask. In my head, I’m thinking of half a dozen ways in which Dylan isn’t a normal guy: and imagining one more; a naughty one, a big one. But I don’t know what he’s talking about. He might have movie star looks, but I’m pretty sure Dylan’s no Hollywood actor.
Dylan pauses a second, as if he’s thinking of a plan of action. Then, quick as a flash, he grabs my left arm so I don’t slide off his body, leans forward and grazes my lips with a kiss. It’s just a flash, a second, but I wish it would last a day, an hour – a lifetime.
Dylan pulls back as though nothing happened. There’s a shadow of a grin on his face, but he carefully molds his expression into picture-perfect innocence.
“Like I was saying,” he says, “before you interrupted me – I’m a Byrne.”
He pauses, as if that’s supposed to mean something to me. I think he is a little surprised when I just stare up at him, blankly.
“You’re going to have to give me more than that…” I say.
Dylan looks at me like Sherlock Holmes studying a particularly intriguing clue. He shakes his head. “Where’ve you been livin’ n’ hidin’, Liv: under a rock?”
I can’t tear my eyes away from Dylan’s lips. My body’s trembling like the strings of a violin. God, I want him to play me so bad. I’ll say anything, do anything – except I’m struck dumb. I can’t speak.
“Okay,” Dylan says, chewing his lip as though he’s trying to figure out how to tell me something, “my family – my cousins really, they’re a… business family.”
“Business family?” I reply, my face wrinkling. I have no idea what Dylan’s trying to say. The phrase is a mangled, tangled euphemism – and I don’t know what for.
“Yeah – you know…”
I shake my head.
“Geez – you’re really going to make me say it, aren’t you?” Dylan groans. When I reply in the affirmative, he rolls his eyes. “Mob, Liv. They are the Mob.”
My body vibrates with a frisson of excitement. I know it shouldn’t, but it does. Anyone who tells you there’s nothing just a little bit cool about organized crime is just plain wrong. I’m a girl who was raised on crime movies. The Godfather was my jam.
“What – you mean like Al Capone?” I whisper.
Dylan laughs. “Not quite. We don’t kill, least – not unless someone’s coming after the family. Raises too many questions, you know?”
“Have you –?” I ask. I have to.
Dylan shakes his head. “Are you kidding? I got drunk and stole a wedding dress. You think they’d trust me with the keys to the kingdom? Not likely. Anyway, it’s my cousins more than my side of the family.”
I hear a thud from outside. It tickles the edges of my consciousness, but I don’t really register the sound.
“So you’re going to a mob wedding?” I ask, looking up at Dylan with interest. In fact, it’s not just interest – a hundred ideas just flooded into my mind. Like wh
at I’m going to wear…
Dylan nods. “Yeah – least, I will be when Dec smooths this thing out with the mayor…” He says, flushing red with the tiniest hint of embarrassment.
Dylan strokes my lips, and I press against his fingers with the slightest of pressure. God, I’m so desperate for him to kiss me again. Heck, the first one wasn’t even really a kiss, and yet –.
He leans forward. I close my eyes, knowing what he’s about to do, and so, so ready for it. I wait, and I wait…
… But nothing happens. My eyelids flutter open, and I stare up at Dylan’s grinning face with confusion. I swear I hear a scratch somewhere outside, but I don’t really register it. It must be the wind.
Dylan shakes his head. “Not so fast, doll,” he grins. “You’ve got a question to answer – remember?”
I hear another thud, and my eyes dart to the window.
“What was that?” I ask with my heart racing. I’m not sure I’m over what happened yesterday yet. Actually, I am sure I’m not over it, not one little bit.
Dylan doesn’t answer. He’s already moving. He slides out from underneath me, and in my confusion I swear I see a baseball bat appear in his hand. He jumps to his feet.
Chapter 6
Dylan
A flood of adrenalin surges through me. I don’t know if this is anything, but I saw the look of terror on Liv’s face. There ain’t nothing happening to my girl: not now; not ever. Not while I’m standing in the way, anyway.
My girl?
I shake my head. I don’t have time to figure out what the hell’s going on between us. I know what I want, and I think I know what Liv wants, but there will be time enough to figure all that crap out later.
I grab the baseball bat from where I stashed it by the couch. I didn’t know whether I would need it, but my motto is: better safe than sorry; especially when a freak like Russell Walters is on the loose. Even more especially when it’s my girl he’s after.
