“Emma,” he rasped, almost in a plea.
She wound her hand around his full length and stroked him, settling into a rhythm. Breath hissed from his mouth, as sensation after lusty sensation drove her on. She unzipped his trousers and he quickly removed his remaining garments. He lay naked before her. He was beautiful, broad where he should be broad, muscled in a jaw-dropping way and lean everywhere else. There wasn’t bulk, but rugged, hard-won sculpture. She couldn’t believe Dylan was her husband. How had she gotten so lucky?
She continued to caress his upper body as she dipped her head down and took him to a place that had both of them panting and hungry. Dylan’s pleasured groans inspired her lusty assault. But then he grabbed her shoulders and backed her away. “Enough, sweetheart,” he said. Yet his expression said anything but. His restraint was endearing and tender, even as both of them were nearly destroyed.
He rolled her under him and began the same kind of lusty assault, using his hand first and then his mouth. Pleas and moans slipped from her lips, over and over, until she reached the very edge of pleasure. Her release came fast and hard. It shattered her, split her in half and half again. It was powerful, explosive, the pinnacle of pleasure. When she came back to earth, Dylan’s eyes were on her, watching her in awe. She couldn’t pretend she wasn’t immensely satisfied, nor would she want to. Dylan was an expert lover and she was attuned to him and his body.
She reached up to touch his face. He placed a kiss in the palm of her hand. She slipped her index finger into his mouth, and his hazy eyes widened, new energy erupting from him. No words had to be said. He growled and rose up over her. Within seconds, they were joined. She’d already gotten used to the feel of him inside her, the surge of power even as he took things slow, making sure she was comfortable. He couldn’t possibly know how right this felt to her, how her body wrapped around his with possession and adoration. She had let go of her fears when she was in bed with him and gave of herself freely.
Dylan appreciated that—she witnessed it in his expression. She’d never tire of watching him make love to her, to see the complexities on his face, the hunger, the passion and raw desire. She watched him and he watched her and they moved in unison, his thrusts coming stronger now, filling her to the max, giving her another round of hot pleasure.
Dylan’s guttural groan echoed in her ears. He reached as high as he could go. She, too, was there with him, arching up and taking that final earth-shattering climb. And then they exploded, sharing the precarious cliff and taking the fall together.
She gloried in the aftermath of his lovemaking and lay beside him, with no words, just feelings of total acceptance and tenderness and protection. If Dylan couldn’t give her his love, at least she had that.
Dylan grasped her hand, lacing their fingers together. “My wife.”
It was like a song to her ears. “My husband.”
“After I finish this movie, I’d like to take you on a real honeymoon, Em. I have a place in Hawaii, or we can go to Europe. If the doctor says it’s okay. If not, we can go somewhere locally. We’ll find a hideout, maybe up north. A friend of mine has a cabin by a lake.”
“Any of the above sounds wonderful.”
“Really?”
“Really. I’m low maintenance, Dylan.”
He turned onto his side to face her. Leaning on an elbow, he twirled a thick strand of her hair around his finger. “I love that about you, Em. You’re easy.”
“Hey!”
He laughed and the sound was beautiful and husky and filled with joy. “I meant you’re easy on the eyes, easy to get along with, easy...and fun.”
“You think I’m fun?”
His eyes narrowed and his brows lifted in a villainous arch. “So fun,” he said. He removed his hand from her hair and used his index finger to circle and tease the pink areola of her breast. Both nipples grew hard and pebbled. Gosh, she was so easy.
He bent and kissed both breasts and then sighed. “I should really let you get some sleep. You must be tired.”
“Not all that much.” Being in bed with him gave her energy and excited her as nothing else ever had. She ran her fingers through his mop of spiky, military-cut hair, grateful to have the freedom to do so—to touch him whenever she wanted. “Did you have something in mind?”
“You don’t want to know what’s on my mind.” His mouth twitched, his smile wicked. But then he gathered her up in his arms and covered them both with the sheets. “Sleep, Emma. I’m not going to wear you out tonight.”
“Darn.”
He chuckled.
She rested her head on his chest and closed her eyes.
She’d have a lifetime of nights like this with Dylan.
She couldn’t imagine anything better.
* * *
Cameras flashed like crazy as a dozen photographers on the red carpet of the premiere of Dylan’s romantic comedy, A New Light, caught sight of him with Emma as they exited the limousine. Just one look at her and they started tossing out questions.
“Who’s your date, Dylan?”
“You’ve been holding out on us!”
“Are you going to be a father? Is she your baby mama?”
Dylan hugged Emma closer, his arm tight around her waist. She looked gorgeous in an organza gown he’d had tailored just for her. Her belly bump couldn’t be hidden any longer, but the Empire style of the dress and the floral colors showcased her skin tone and her pregnancy in a beautiful way. “Sorry, honey. This is my life.”
“It’s okay, Dylan,” she said. “You warned me about this.”
Selfishly, he’d wanted Emma by his side tonight. Hiding the news of his marriage and the upcoming birth of his baby was proving harder each day. He’d talked to his publicist and they’d both decided that tonight during the movie premiere would be the best time to introduce Emma as his new wife to the world. At least the media would get the scoop from him, and not have to speculate or make up lies to fill their pages.
So right there on the red carpet, with a crowd gathering and the media in his face, Dylan proudly announced, “I’d like to introduce my new bride, Emma McKay. We were married last week in a small ceremony on the beach. Emma and I have known each other since my days in Ohio. I’m happy to say we’ll be parents by early next spring. She’s an amazing woman and we’re both thrilled to have a baby on the way.”
“Is it a boy or a girl?” someone shouted.
“We don’t know that yet.”
“When did you get married?”
“Last Saturday.”
“What is Emma’s maiden name?”
“Bloom,” Emma answered, and Dylan slid her an appreciative glance. She wasn’t going to let him take all the heat. She’d have to learn to deal with the media and it might as well start now.
The reporters angled their microphones her way now. “How do you feel marrying the world’s most eligible bachelor, Mrs. McKay?”
“I’ve never really thought of him that way. He’s just Dylan to me. His sister and I have been best friends since grade school.”
“Are you going to—”
“Please,” Dylan said, putting up a hand. “My publicist will issue a statement in the morning that will answer all of your questions. The movie is about to begin and my wife and I would like to enjoy the premiere together. Thank you.”
With bodyguards in front and behind him, Dylan moved through the crowd keeping Emma right by his side. It wouldn’t be long now. He’d make headlines and their secret marriage would be a thing of the past. He felt the loss in the pit of his stomach. He loved the anonymity, the intimacy of having Emma all to himself these past few days. Now the news would be out and their lives would change, once again. Lack of privacy was a penalty of fame and he accepted it graciously for himself, but there was Emma to consider now. And their baby.
> “You handled yourself pretty damn well, Em,” he whispered in her ear.
“I winged it.”
“I like a woman who can think on her feet.”
He took her hand and entered the iconic movie theatre. It was one of the last few truly historic theatres in Los Angeles, with its plush red velvet seats, sculpted walls and miles and miles of curtains. “Well, what do you think?”
Her pretty green eyes took all of it in. He wanted so badly for Emma to experience the same sort of awe that he did. Moviemaking was in his blood. He was producing more and planned to continue to direct other projects in the future.
“I’ve never seen anything like this, Dylan. I can picture this theatre back in the day. All those classic movies flashing on that big screen. The actors, directors and producers who’ve taken their seats here. It’s all so...grand.”
He smiled. She got it. Emma was an amazing woman. He hadn’t lied to the press today. He was falling for her and it didn’t scare him, or make him nervous. Brooke had said Renee had scarred him for life, but maybe it had taken a woman like Emma to make him realize he was completely healed.
He kissed her cheek then, and she glanced up at him. “What was that for?”
“Can’t a man kiss his wife just because?”
She smiled and his heart warmed. He took her hand again. “C’mon, Mrs. McKay, there are bigwigs who would love to meet you. I guess we should get this over with before we take our seats.”
“I’m down with that,” she said. And he cracked up.
So far, marriage to Emma had been anything but dull.
Nine
“Honey, I’m home,” Dylan called out as he entered his house on Monday afternoon. He’d always wanted to say that, but now that he had, his wife was nowhere to be found. He was home fairly early from the set, though. He took a look at his phone and saw that she’d texted him.
I’ll be home a little late. Behind on work today. See you at 6ish.
Dylan was disappointed. Each day, he looked forward to coming home to Emma. He’d find her doing pregnancy exercises or poring over a book of baby names or helping Maisey make a healthy dinner for the two of them. Each day also brought him closer to fatherhood, something he discovered he could hardly wait for now. He and Emma had plans to design the nursery. It would be just another few weeks before they found out the sex of their baby.
“Emma’s not here, Dylan,” Maisey said, greeting him in the hallway off the kitchen. “I’ve got dinner ready. It’s in the oven, keeping warm. If you don’t need me, I’ll be heading home.”
“Thanks, Maisey. Sure, go on home. I might as well take a run. Emma’s going to be a little late.”
“Have a good evening, then,” Maisey said.
He waved goodbye and dashed up the stairs to change his clothes.
A few minutes later he was on the beach, the shoreline nearly empty as he began to jog. He started out at a good warm-up pace and did at least half a mile before he kicked it into higher gear. It was cloudy and cool, making the run more enjoyable. What had started out as a chore—a fitness program for his role as a Navy SEAL—had become a ritual lately, one he enjoyed. His runs helped him think, helped him work out his upcoming movie scenes and gave him a way to reflect on his life. He’d asked his bodyguards to keep their distance. They had trouble keeping up anyway and he loved the idea of solitude on the beach.
Once he got going, his mind clicked a mile a minute and he made mental tallies of his thoughts as they rushed by, one after the other. And as he ran, he thought back on the night of the blackout. If only he could remember his last day with Roy...
And then images popped into his mind. He was sitting in his house, drinking with his buddy Roy. He was laughing and they were talking about the upcoming stunt and then his phone rang. It was Emma. She was freaking out and slurring her words. She was drunk. She’d said there was a blackout in the city. Dylan’s lights were still on. The power outage hadn’t reached the beach. He still had full power. Emma was looking for Brooke to come pick her up. Dylan immediately told her to stay put, and he’d come get her.
Dylan slowed his pace, thinking back, happy to have the memory return. To see Roy in his mind, who looked so much like him they could’ve been brothers. To remember their laughter and then...then he remembered Roy getting pissed at him. “Dylan, you’re in no shape to drive. You’ve worked your way halfway through that bottle of Scotch. Give me your keys. I’ll go get Emma.”
The scene played out in his head. He’d been stubborn with Roy, but when he’d tried to rise to go get Emma, the room began to spin and he’d sat back down.
Holy crap.
He came to an abrupt halt on the beach, his feet digging into the sand. His limbs wouldn’t hold him; they were like rubber now. He dropped to his knees, his face in his hands. He saw himself handing Roy the keys to his car.
Dylan’s face crumpled. Tears burned behind his eyes.
Images that he’d prayed would return now haunted him. He’d let Roy pick up Emma that night, because his friend had been right—Dylan was in no shape to get Emma. Roy picked Emma up that night. Roy...made love to Emma. It was Roy all along.
And the next day on the set, right before Roy got into that car, they’d argued. About Emma. Roy told him what happened and said he’d let things get carried away with her that night. Dylan had gotten hot under the collar, accusing him of taking advantage of Emma. And minutes later, the car exploded, with Roy inside. A fire cloud went up and Dylan was hit with shrapnel.
Dylan dug his fingers into the sand to keep from collapsing entirely. His head was down as he rehashed his thoughts, trying to contradict what he knew in his heart to be true. A woman walked over to him, the only other jogger on the beach beside his bodyguard. “Are you okay?”
Dylan nodded. “I’m...okay,” he told the woman. “J-just need a little break.”
He warned Dan off. The woman wasn’t a threat, but he might never be okay again. His whole future had been destroyed. The baby Emma carried wasn’t his. He was married, but his wife had lied to him. Was it all a ruse? Had she deceived him on purpose? How could she not know what man she was screwing?
The woman walked off slowly and Dylan waited until she was out of sight before he tried to rise. His legs barely held his weight. His entire body was numb from neck to toes. His head, unfortunately, was clear for the first time in weeks, and the clarity was enough to squeeze his gut into tight knots and suck the life out of him.
He walked along the beach, feeling broken, each step leading to his house slower, less deliberate. He was more broken than when Renee had dumped him.
More broken than at any other time in his life.
* * *
Emma tossed her purse down on the living room sofa and went in search of Dylan. His car was in the garage; he must be home. She couldn’t wait to see him. They’d talked about planning the nursery and she’d brought home paint samples of blues and pinks, greens and lavenders. The sex of the baby would determine the color themes, and they’d find that out pretty soon. At least they could narrow down their options, if Dylan wasn’t too tired tonight to help her make some selections.
Unless he had other things on his mind, like taking her to bed early. Lately, they’d been doing a lot of going to bed early and not sleeping.
She smiled as she walked the downstairs hallway, popping her head inside rooms in search of him. A delicious aroma led her to the kitchen. She opened the oven door and peered at the meal Maisey had left for them. The garlicky scent of chicken cacciatore wafted in the air.
She closed the oven door when she heard Dylan enter from the beach. He was dressed in a tight nylon tank and black running shorts. Her heart skipped a beat, he was so gorgeous.
“Hi,” she said. “How was your run?”
Dylan didn’t answer right away. He head
ed to the bar in the living room. She followed behind him, noting the lack of pep in his step. His shoulders slumped and he was extremely quiet. “Dylan, are you all right?”
Silence again. She waited as he poured himself a drink of some sort of expensive whiskey and gulped it down in one shot. “Did you have a bad day?”
He looked at her then, his face ashen, his cloudy blue eyes dim and lifeless. There was something so bleak in the way he looked at her. “You could say that. I got my memory back.”
“Oh? Isn’t that a good thing, Dylan? It’s what you’ve been hoping for.”
“Sit down, Emma,” he said, his voice ice-cold. He pointed to the sofa and she sat. He poured another shot of alcohol and took a seat opposite her, as if...as if he needed to keep his distance. Her heart pounded now as a sense of dread threatened to overwhelm her. Something was very wrong.
“I remember it all, Emma. The night of the blackout, the call you made to me.”
She nodded and blinked her eyes several times. Dylan’s teeth were gnashing. He had a grip on his temper, but just barely. “I didn’t come for you that night,” he said, looking down at his whiskey glass. “It wasn’t me. It was Roy.”
“What do you mean it was Roy? You came for me. I called you looking for Brooke and you...you—”
He was shaking his head adamantly. “I was drinking with Roy that night. Roy didn’t think I was sober enough to drive. He took my keys out of my hand and picked you up.”
“No, he didn’t.” Emma’s voice registered a higher pitch.
“Yes, he did.”
“But...but...that would mean—” Emma bounced up from the sofa. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t the truth. Dylan had it wrong. It was all wrong. “Dylan, that can’t be true. It can’t be.”
Dylan rose, too, his blue eyes hard and dark as midnight. “It is true. Are you denying it? Are you going to tell me you don’t remember sleeping with Roy?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. I didn’t sleep with Roy. I wouldn’t do that.”
One Secret Night, One Secret Baby Page 14
