Harlequin Romance September 2013 Bundle: Bound by a BabyIn the Line of DutyPatchwork Family in the OutbackStranded with the Tycoon

by Kate Hardy

  The result was baby rice spattered all over her.

  Dylan smothered a laugh. ‘Sorry. But...’

  ‘I look ridiculous. I know.’

  ‘Let me see if I can persuade him to try it,’ Dylan suggested.

  But he got nowhere, either.

  He looked at Emmy. ‘So, Ally didn’t do any of this with him?’

  Emmy thought about it. ‘She did talk about weaning him. She said she was planning to start—’ she gulped ‘—when she got back from Venice.’

  But that moment was never to happen.

  Dylan patted her shoulder briefly in sympathy, then grabbed a paper towel, wetted it under the tap, and wiped the spattered baby rice from her face.

  She gave him a wry smile. ‘I’m glad you used water on that paper towel before you wiped my face.’

  ‘A dry towel wouldn’t have got it off.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant.’

  He frowned. ‘I’m not with you.’

  ‘I mean, I’m glad that you used water and not spit.’

  She saw the second the penny dropped. ‘That’s really gross!’ But he laughed.

  ‘It’s what my mum used to do,’ she said with a grin. ‘Didn’t yours?’

  ‘No.’ His tone was short and his smile faded.

  What was Dylan’s issue with his mum? Emmy wondered. Was he not close to her? Was that why he kept people at a distance?

  He switched the subject by tasting the rice. ‘I think I know why he’s spitting it out.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Try it.’

  She did. ‘It’s tasteless. Bland.’ She grimaced. ‘But I guess it’s about getting him used to texture rather than taste.’

  ‘So we’ll have to keep going.’

  * * *

  They muddled through the next few days, and finally Emmy cheered. ‘Yay! He’s actually eating it.’

  She put up a hand to high-five Dylan. He paused—but then he surprised her by high-fiving her. ‘Result.’

  ‘The Baby Bible says we should introduce one new food at a time, leaving three or four days in between, so we can spot any food allergies,’ Emmy said later that evening. ‘They say it’s good to start with carrots—so I’ll steam some and purée them for him tomorrow night.’

  The carrots went down as badly as the baby rice had the previous week.

  ‘It’s a new taste. It took a couple of days with the baby rice, so we’ll have to just persevere,’ Dylan said. He scooped Tyler out of his high chair. ‘And I will clean up this little one while you, um...’ His eyes crinkled at the corners. ‘While you de-carrot yourself.’

  ‘I am so wearing an apron, next time I try and get him to eat solids,’ Emmy said. ‘Thanks. I need to change.’

  But when she came out of the bedroom, she saw Dylan coming out of the bathroom wearing just his jeans and no shirt, with the baby cradled in his arms.

  ‘Did you get splashed?’ she asked.

  ‘Just a bit.’ He grinned at her.

  Oh, help. Her mouth had gone dry. She knew he went to the gym regularly, but she’d had no idea how perfect his musculature was. That he had a six-pack and well-shaped arms.

  And she really hadn’t expected to feel this surge of attraction to a man who’d always been prickly and standoffish with her, and sometimes downright rude.

  Then again, she had a rubbish choice in men. She’d picked loser after loser who’d let her down and made her feel like the most unattractive woman in the universe. OK, Dylan wasn’t a loser, and he wasn’t the stuffy killjoy she’d also thought him; but he was the last person she could get into a relationship with. Her relationships never lasted, and Tyler would be the one who paid the price when it all went wrong. She couldn’t do that to the baby, especially as he’d already lost so much. So instead she made a light, anodyne comment, let Dylan put Tyler to bed, and fled to the safety of her workbench. Working on an intricate piece would take all of her mental energy, and she wouldn’t have enough space left to think about Dylan. To dream about something that just couldn’t happen.

  * * *

  The next night, Tyler woke an hour after she put him to bed, and started crying.

  She groaned. ‘I’m rubbish at this parenting business. He’s never going to sleep again.’

  Dylan followed her up to his room. ‘The book said babies cry because they need a nappy change, they’re hungry, they’re tired, they’re bored, or they want a cuddle.’

  ‘I’ve fed him, and he’s had more solids today, so I don’t think he’s hungry. He’s clean and dry, so it’s not that. I don’t think he’s bored. But this isn’t the same cry as when he’s tired or wants a cuddle.’ She bit her lip. ‘I think I might need to call Mum.’

  ‘Wait a second. Do you think he’s teething?’ Dylan asked. ‘Didn’t the health visitor say something about that?’

  Emmy frowned. ‘His face is red, so he might be. Give him a cuddle for a second, will you, while I wash my hands? Then I can check his mouth.’

  Dylan held the baby until she came back with clean hands. She put her finger into Tyler’s mouth and rubbed it gently over his gums. ‘I can’t feel anything—but, ow, his jaws are strong.’

  Tyler was still crying.

  ‘What are we going to do, Dylan?’

  He grimaced. ‘I was reading something the other day about you have to let them lie there and cry so they get used to falling asleep on their own.’

  She shook her head. ‘I hate that idea. He’s upset about something or he wouldn’t be crying.’

  ‘Let me try something.’ Dylan rocked the baby and seemed to be talking to him, but his voice was so soft that Emmy couldn’t quite catch what Dylan was saying. But the amazing thing was that the baby actually settled and went back to sleep.

  Dylan put him down gently in the cot, and Tyler started crying again.

  ‘What did you do before?’ Emmy asked.

  He flushed. ‘I sang to him.’

  Emmy was surprised; she hadn’t thought Dylan was the type to sing. ‘Do it again—but don’t pick him up, because maybe it was putting him back down that woke him.’

  Dylan shrugged, and sang ‘Summertime’ in a rich baritone.

  And she was mesmerised. OK, so she’d heard him sing in church at the funeral, but she’d been preoccupied then. She’d had no idea he could sing like this. Like melted chocolate, rich and smooth and incredibly...

  She stopped herself. Not sexy. It would be a bad move to think of that word in conjunction with Dylan Harper.

  The baby yawned, and finally his hands flopped down and his eyes closed.

  Dylan stopped singing and leaned over the edge of the cot. ‘How can they sleep like that? He looks a bit like a frog—and I’m sure that can’t be comfortable.’

  ‘It’s probably a lot more comfortable than it looks, or he’d lie in a different position,’ she pointed out. ‘I think he looks cute.’ She shared a glance with Dylan. ‘You have a good voice, Dylan.’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘Was that grudging or surprised?’

  ‘Surprised,’ she admitted. ‘I didn’t think you’d—well, be a singer. Or know a song like that.’

  ‘My grandmother used to sing it to me when I was little.’

  She smiled. ‘It’s a beautiful song.’

  ‘Yes.’ And it was weird how much that compliment from her had warmed him. Nobody had ever commented on his singing before. Then again, he’d never really sung in front of anyone, except in church at a wedding or christening. His throat tightened: or at a funeral. ‘We’d better leave him to sleep,’ he said gruffly, and left the room abruptly before he did anything stupid, like asking Emmy to spend time with him. They were co-guardians, and that was all.

  * * *

  A couple of days later,
Dylan came home early to find Emmy in tears. His stomach clenched. What was wrong?

  ‘Is something wrong with Tyler?’ he asked.

  She shook her head. ‘I would’ve called you if there was a problem.’

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘I just—’ she gulped ‘—I just miss Ally. Tyler...She’s missing out on all his firsts. He’s getting his first tooth—you can actually see a little bit of white on the edge of his gums now.’

  ‘That must be why he was crying the other night.’

  She nodded. ‘And he said “dada” today.’ She dragged in a breath. ‘Ally would’ve called me to talk about all this. And I’m the one seeing it, when it should be her, and I can’t even talk to her about it. This is all so wrong.’

  Tears would normally send Dylan running a mile. He’d hated it when Nadine cried. He’d always found an excuse to back away. But he couldn’t just walk away and leave Emmy distressed like this.

  ‘I miss them, too,’ he said, and wrapped his arms round her.

  Big mistake.

  She was warm and soft in his arms. Her hair smelled of spring flowers, and felt like silk against his cheek, smooth and soft and shiny.

  * * *

  Emmy froze. This was bad. Dylan was holding her. And she was holding him right back.

  Comfort. This was all this was, she told herself.

  But then she pulled back and looked up at him.

  His eyes were a dark, stormy blue.

  And his mouth—since when had Dylan had such a lush mouth? She wasn’t sure whether she wanted to stroke it first, or kiss it, or what. Just that she wanted him.

  She glanced back up to his eyes and realised he was staring at her mouth, too.

  No. No. This was a seriously bad idea.

  But her mouth was already parting, her head tipping back slightly in offering.

  His mouth was parting, too.

  And slowly—oh, so slowly—he lowered his head to hers. His mouth skimmed against hers, the touch as light as a butterfly’s wing. It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t anywhere near enough. She wanted more. Needed more.

  Even though her common sense was screaming at her to stop, her libido was doing the equivalent of sticking fingers in ears and saying, ‘La, la, la, I can’t hear you.’ And she found herself reaching up on tiptoe to kiss him back, her lips brushing against his. It was like some kind of exquisite torture; close, yet not close enough.

  His arms tightened round her, and then he was really kissing her. His mouth moved against hers, tentative and unsure at first, then more demanding. And she was kissing him all the way back, matching him touch for touch.

  She’d never, ever felt like this before. Even the guy she’d once thought she’d end up marrying hadn’t made her feel like this when he kissed her. What on earth was going on?

  Dylan untucked her shirt from the waistband of her jeans and slid his fingers underneath the cotton, splaying his palms against her back. He moved his fingertips in tiny circles against her skin; his touch aroused her still more, near to fever pitch.

  If he asked her, she knew she’d go to bed with him right now and to hell with the consequences. She wanted Dylan more than she’d ever wanted anyone in her entire life.

  She made a tiny sound of longing, and he stopped.

  He looked utterly shocked. His mouth was reddened and swollen, and she was pretty sure hers was in the same state.

  This was bad. Really bad.

  ‘Emmy, we—I—’ He looked dazed.

  ‘I know. We shouldn’t have done this,’ she said quickly, and pulled away from him. She needed to do some serious damage limitation, and fast. ‘Let’s pretend this didn’t happen. I was upset and you were comforting me, and you’re missing Ally and Pete as much as I am, and it just got a bit out of hand.’

  His face was suddenly inscrutable. ‘Yes, you’re right. It didn’t happen.’

  ‘I—um—I’d better start making dinner. I’m running a bit late. Sorry, I know you hate it when things aren’t on time.’ Flustered, she rushed out to the kitchen before he could say anything else. She really didn’t want to humiliate herself any further.

  * * *

  Dylan watched her go, not stopping her. Oh, help. He really shouldn’t have kissed her like that. Now he knew what Emmy tasted like, it was going to haunt his dreams.

  But he knew she was right. They couldn’t do this. It would make things way too complicated because of Tyler.

  They’d just have to be firmer with themselves in future. A lot firmer.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  EMMY PUT THE phone down, beaming and hugging herself. She wanted to leap up and cheer and do a mad dance all through the house, but she knew she couldn’t or else she’d wake the baby.

  This was the best promotional opportunity she’d ever been offered. It could lead to a real expansion of her business; and it could be the making of her name.

  Her smile faded as she thought about it. The deadline was tight. She was going to have to work crazy hours to get the pieces made on time. Which meant that she was going to have to ask Dylan to help her out.

  And things had been awkward between them since—well, since she’d wept all over him and he’d held her and they’d ended up kissing. He’d kept out of her way as much as possible, and they only stayed in each other’s company for as long as it took to update each other about Tyler or to eat dinner. And dinner meant no talking, because Dylan had retreated into reading journals at the table. It was horribly rude and she knew he knew it; but it was an excuse to avoid her, and there was nothing she could do about it.

  They’d agreed early on that they’d work as a team and support each other when they needed it. But had their kiss cancelled out that agreement?

  Maybe if she made something really special for dinner, it would knock Dylan off balance and he’d talk to her. And then she could ask him.

  She browsed through Ally’s cookery books and found a fabulous recipe for monkfish wrapped in parma ham. It seemed pretty simple to cook but it looked really swish. That would have to do the trick, surely? She made a list of what she needed and took Tyler out in his pram to the parade of shops round the corner. After the fishmonger’s, she went to the deli, the baker’s and the greengrocer’s.

  She chatted to the baby on the way. ‘This could be my big career break. Clap your hands and wish Aunty Emmy good luck, Ty.’

  Tyler clapped his hands and giggled. She laughed back at him. ‘You’re just gorgeous—you know that?’

  So was Dylan.

  And she wasn’t supposed to be thinking about that.

  She played with the baby when they got home; both of them thoroughly enjoyed the bubble-blowing. Tyler was grabbing toys now and rattling them. It was amazing how a little one could take over your life like this. Emmy could see entirely why Ally hadn’t wanted to go back to the job she’d once loved, not once Tyler was around.

  Then her phone beeped. She checked it to find a text message from Dylan. Sorry, emergency project meeting. Will be late home. Let me know if problem.

  Normally, Emmy would’ve been a bit cross at the late notice of a rota change; but today she was relieved, as it would mean that Dylan would come home feeling slightly in her debt and he might be more amenable to what she wanted to ask.

  And then she felt horrible and manipulative. That really wasn’t fair of her. It was an emergency meeting, after all, so he must be up to his eyes.

  She fed Tyler some puréed apple—his food repertoire was expanding beautifully now—then gave him a bath, not minding that he kept banging his toy duck into the foamy water and splashing her. She put him to bed, sang to him and put his light show on, then changed into dry clothes and headed downstairs to the kitchen.

  There was another text from Dylan on her phone. On way no
w. Sorry.

  Oh, help. He’d be here before dinner was ready, at this rate.

  She prepared the monkfish hastily and put it in the oven, then finished laying the table in the dining room.

  Dylan walked in holding a bouquet of bright pink gerberas and deep blue irises, the kind of flowers she loved and bought herself as an occasional treat. ‘For you,’ he said, and handed it to her.

  She stared at him, surprised. Why on earth would Dylan buy her flowers? It wasn’t her birthday, and they weren’t in the kind of relationship where he’d buy her flowers. ‘Thank you. They’re, um, lovely.’

  ‘But?’

  Obviously it was written all over her face. She gave him a rueful smile. ‘I was just wondering why you’d bought me flowers.’

  ‘Because I’m feeling guilty about being late,’ he said.

  Even if he said no to helping her, at least this late meeting had thawed the ice between them. And she was grateful for that.

  ‘I bought them from the supermarket on the way home from the office. Sorry I’m late,’ he said again.

  ‘It’s not a problem. You gave me as much notice as you could. Come and sit down in the dining room; dinner’s almost ready. You’ve obviously had a tough day.’

  ‘You could say that.’ He didn’t elaborate, and Emmy wasn’t sure enough of herself to push him.

  She poured him a glass of wine, then served dinner.

  He frowned. ‘This is a bit posh. And we normally eat in the kitchen. Is it some sort of special occasion? Your birthday?’

  ‘No-o,’ she hedged. ‘I just wanted to make a bit of an effort, that was all.’

  Except the second she took her first mouthful she realised that something had gone wrong. Really, really wrong. Instead of the nice, tender fish she’d expected, it was rubbery and tough, and the potato cakes she’d made were a bit too crisp at the edges.

  ‘Oh, no—I’m sure I followed the recipe to the letter. I must’ve had the oven up too high or something.’

  But Dylan didn’t look annoyed, just rueful. ‘Well, it looked nice.’