Guarding the Socialite

by Kimberly Van Meter

  And with that, Dillon let himself out. Crossing Gavin off the list of suspects only intensified the churning in his gut over the fact that the killer was out there, planning something terrible, and he had no clue how to stop him.

  Chapter 19

  Dillon returned to Iris House later that night, and as a force of habit, did a security check of the premises. Satisfied that there was no one lurking in hallways or broom closets, doors were locked and windows secured, he made his way to Emma’s floor.

  Emma answered the door, wearing a silken pajama set that was sexy and functional, much like Emma herself, and he lost the last bit of common sense he’d been holding on to.

  He didn’t waste time on pleasantries, just simply pulled her into his arms for a kiss that left no question as to what he wanted to do to her.

  “Hello to you, too,” she murmured against his lips. He shut the door with his foot and walked her to the sofa. He didn’t want to talk. He wanted to touch and be touched. They tumbled to the sofa and Dillon nearly groaned from the pain caused by his straining erection. Her scent called to him, drove him crazy with need, and he wanted to feel the little shudders as she clamped down around him, tensing with small whimpers as she came.

  There was an urgency riding him, perhaps it was fear, but he couldn’t get her clothes off fast enough. He pressed kisses on each bit of exposed skin as he slid the silken bit of material off her shoulders and onto the floor. His clothes soon followed and they were skin to skin.

  “So beautiful,” he whispered against her rounded shoulder. “You haunt my dreams, you know that? Very naughty of you but I like it.”

  She gave a low, throaty laugh that was cut off by a sharp, delighted gasp as he sucked a rose-hued nipple into his mouth and suckled the sweet flesh until she twisted beneath him, arching with a moan and pulling at his hair. “No fair. I can’t think when you do that,” she managed to say right before he plundered her mouth again.

  “Good. No thinking allowed at the moment,” he growled. He couldn’t wait much longer. He wanted to draw out her pleasure until she was mindless with it but he was fast losing control.

  He hooked her legs with his arms and slowly pushed himself inside her, the sound of her quickened breathing nearly sending him over the edge. She lifted her hips and he went all the way to the hilt, closing his eyes as a groan escaped him. Everything felt so right…so good.

  He slid in and out of her hot sheath, quaking with sensation as the tension built to a roaring need to spill inside her. He pumped harder and faster; sweat beaded their bodies as they worked each other, both moving unerringly closer to that final moment. He licked his thumb and found that tight, swollen nub nestled in the trimmed, dark blond thatch and helped her get there first. She shook beneath him, gasped his name and shuddered as she flew apart. He had little time before he came shortly after her, clenching sensation hurtling through his body as everything stopped—his heart included—and he collapsed against her.

  It was several moments before either could speak. He rolled off her and tucked her into his side as they lay on the sofa, their breathing slowly returning to normal.

  She gazed up at him and he gently traced the arch of her brows with his finger. Everything about her was delicate yet she was stronger than some men. “You’re like a drug,” she said softly.

  “Is that a compliment?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I just know that I don’t have room for you in my life, but the thought of watching you leave makes me feel things I don’t want to feel.”

  He nodded. “I take that as a compliment, then.”

  She laughed ruefully. “I don’t know about that but I’m willing to let it go for now. I don’t want to try and figure this out just yet.”

  That made two of them. Dillon gazed into her eyes and felt himself falling.

  He’d never been in love before. He didn’t know what it felt like, but if it felt like this he could imagine why so many people were always trying to find it. He’d fancied himself taken with Tana, but he realized there was a distinct difference between infatuation and that deeper emotion—the one that reached down into the marrow of your bones and imprinted itself in your very soul. Yeah…that was an accurate assessment of how he felt at the moment. But in spite of the warmth spreading from his heart to his entire body, he kept the revelation to himself. “You have the most beautiful breasts,” he said, admiring the firm flesh with a grin.

  “And you have the most delightful ass,” Emma returned with a cheeky grin.

  He continued his exploration, his gaze traveling to her stomach. “Your belly button is adorable,” Dillon stated matter-of-factly. “And I get hard just thinking about those lips of yours and remembering all the things you can do with that mouth.”

  She blushed but she clearly enjoyed his perusal. “You’re no slouch yourself with that tongue,” she said in a husky whisper that sent sparks straight to his toes. He couldn’t stop himself—not that he wanted to—and kissed her. As his lips meshed with hers, tongues tangling in a tender caress, he poured every emotion that he couldn’t put to words into that kiss. The uncertainty, the exhilaration, the fear, the joy…he’d never known he could feel this way about another person, but with Emma wrapped in his arms, he knew it was real.

  When he drew back, there were tears glistening in her eyes. Alarmed, he asked, “What’s wrong, love?” She shook her head but her frown gave away her distress. “Have I hurt you somehow?”

  “No, it’s not you,” she said, wiping at the sudden moisture trailing down her temples. “I’m just overwhelmed. The last time I felt this out of control was when Elyse died. I’ve structured my life so that I don’t ever have to feel that way again, but now with you and everything happening around me, I’m lost and I hate it.”

  He understood, but it stung a little to be lumped up into the category of inconvenient and messy, particularly when he was poised to bare his soul. He shifted and gave her room to sit up and they both reached for their discarded clothing.

  She slipped into her pajamas and then tucked her feet under her, wrapping her knees tight against her chest. “I can’t choose between Iris House and you,” she said.

  “No one is asking you to,” he returned quietly, struck by the irony that at the moment he may have found the woman he was in love with, she may love someone—or something—more.

  “You’re not asking me but it would come down to that.”

  “Says who?”

  “Says me. Until you came along I was content to run Iris House and forgo a relationship. Iris House was all I needed. Now, I find myself yearning for things that are out of my reach as long as I have the house. I don’t have a forty-hour-a-week job I can walk away from at the end of the night. The job is my life. I put out fires, I solve problems, I constantly have to be vigilant about fundraising because we are kept afloat year after year by donations…. How am I supposed to do all that and not expect that something would have to give?”

  Dillon knew she was right. He’d seen it plenty of times in his career. To do great things, it took great sacrifice. He got it, and before now, he was a hearty supporter of the concept. But that was prior to suffering this infernal longing in his heart to have more with Emma. He wanted to tell her he’d never make her choose but eventually, he might. He knew that if it were in his power, he’d ask her to walk away now because of the danger she faced. He exhaled a long breath, hating the place they were in but not knowing a way out without causing damage to either of them. “You have to do what’s right for you,” he finally offered with a shrug, withdrawing. “I mean, only you know what that is.”

  She gave an unhappy sigh. “That’s just it…I don’t know. Iris House means everything to me. I don’t even know who I am without it. This is my purpose, my dream. I wouldn’t even know how to do anything different at this point.”

  “I get it,” Dillon said sharply, then instantly regretted his tone. He couldn’t fault her for her honesty, even if it hurt. But ther
e was something he had to say first. “Iris House is a good place and you do amazing work, but maybe you should ask yourself how much of your self-sacrifice is enough? When will you feel ready to do something for you? When are you going to stop using Iris House to punish yourself for something that was never your fault in the first place?”

  She glanced away, silent for a moment. When she did speak, her voice was strangled with tears. “She was my twin sister. It’s hard to explain that bond. I should’ve been able to help her somehow. I failed. Do you know what it feels like to carry that around day after day?”

  He did. It was crushing, but you had to keep on living unless you planned to climb into the grave with them. That was all he knew. Dillon’s chest ached at the raw pain in her voice but he knew there was nothing he could say that would take away her burden. “She made her choice,” he said. “And you have to make yours. That’s all there is in life. There are no do-overs, no matter how hard we might want one.”

  She watched him as she asked, “Do you ever wonder what you could’ve done differently the day Tana died?”

  His mouth tightened as bitterness washed over him. “Every day.”

  “So you know how it feels to live with regret.”

  “Intimately. But I can’t change a damn thing about what happened that day. Tana died and the world lost a fine woman. She was one of the best. But she’s gone. I deal with it, just like you have to deal with losing Elyse. The time is long past when you have to ask yourself ‘what’s it going to be?’ and then resolve to live with the choice you make.”

  “It’s not that easy, Dillon,” she said. “You make it sound like all you have to do is pick yourself up by your bootstraps and soldier on.”

  He shook his head. “No…it’s bloody hard, but it’s what you have to do unless you’re planning on checking out.”

  She inhaled a deep breath and dropped her head to rest on her knees. “All I feel is confused and scared,” she admitted softly. “I wish I knew what the right decision was…for me…for the house…. I don’t even know anymore. What I know is that there’s more at stake than just my feelings. But—” She gazed straight at him and the intensity seared a hole into his heart as she said, “If it were just me and you and nothing else to consider…”

  “Don’t give a lad false hope, love,” he said, turning away, hating how much it hurt to know that whether she knew it or not, she’d likely choose Iris House over anyone, including him. His mouth twisted in a sardonic grin. “It is what it is until it isn’t, right?”

  She bit her lip. “Yes, I suppose so.”

  Yeah…that’s what he figured.

  The night of the Winter Ball, Emma was a bundle of nerves. The guest list had dwindled and she had to wonder if her father had had something to do with it. He rarely made idle threats and if he meant to see Iris House shut down—on the pretense of protecting her—then he would find a way to do it. Especially since Ursula was found only days ago in the house. Emma suppressed a shudder and concentrated on being a gracious hostess on the outside even if she was a mess on the inside.

  She caught Dillon walking the perimeter, looking sharp in his tuxedo, and she relaxed just a little. She hadn’t realized a small smile had formed on her lips until someone commented on it.

  “Now there’s that beautiful smile I’m accustomed to seeing.”

  She startled and turned to see Isaac West standing with a warm smile on his face. Relief flooded her. “Isaac, I’m so glad you could come,” she said, leaning in for a buss on the cheek. “I was so worried that my father had managed to convince you to put some distance between yourself and Iris House.” She was still mortified Isaac had witnessed the scene with her parents. She glanced around with a frown. “It seems he may have been able to convince a few…attendance is down.”

  He waved away her concern. “It’s a down economy, but I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he said then added gravely, “How are you holding up under this nasty business?”

  She smiled nervously. “Fine, Isaac. It’s a strain but Iris House will survive. We’re made of strong stock.”

  “Of course. I heard about Ursula. Terrible shock, I’m sure,” he said.

  “Yes, it was,” Emma murmured but left it at that. She got the impression Isaac was hoping she’d elaborate but she wasn’t going to sully the night with talk of death and sadness. She forced a bright smile. “Tell me about your recent humanitarian mission? I didn’t get the chance to hear about your ride on the elephant. That must’ve been terribly uncomfortable. So tell me, last I heard you were traveling to Thailand for something involving at-risk girls. Of course, because of my own work, I’m very curious about how it went. I’ve always wanted to open more places like Iris House—perhaps going international—but I seem to have my hands full with one.”

  Something dark flitted across his features but it was gone in a flash. So fast, Emma was sure she imagined it.

  “Tonight is your night to shine, my dear,” he said, laying a heavy hand on her shoulder for a brief moment. His touch was hot and clammy and made her want to step into the cool night air to remove the imprint. “I plan to make an extra-generous donation for your troubles as of late. You deserve only the best.”

  “It’s all for the girls, Isaac. We appreciate your generosity. Please enjoy yourself,” she said, noting Dillon’s quiet stare her way. She sensed something was bothering him and offered a smooth lie to Isaac so that she could leave gracefully. “I see Chick trying to catch my attention. We’ll talk more later. I promise.”

  “I look forward to it.”

  Emma moved as quickly as her clinging dress would allow and went to the hors d’oeuvres table, ostensibly to survey the selection, and Dillon followed suit as she knew he would.

  He selected a plate and started mulling the choices of gourmet tidbits. “Who was that?” he asked.

  “A friend of my father’s, Isaac West. He’s very generous and I’m relieved to see him here.”

  “I don’t recall his name on the list of donors.”

  “Because he wasn’t. He prefers his donations to be very private. You have to understand he’s incredibly wealthy but he’s very particular about where he chooses to share his money. He doesn’t enjoy publicity, preferring to help in silence.” Dillon’s shrewd expression caused her to ask, “What? Surely you’re not suspicious of Isaac West? I’ve known him for years. He comes from very old money. He’s the kindest soul. He could never do the things that were done to the victims. Never. I’d bet my life on it.”

  “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Dillon said darkly and she swallowed. “People rarely show their true selves to other people—particularly so of those who are psychopaths.”

  “This is supposed to be a grand social event but it feels like a funeral,” she muttered, mostly to herself. “And please no talk of psychopaths. Someone might overhear you.”

  “You look stunning,” he said abruptly, startling her with the change. Neither had had the courage to bring up the conversation they’d broached the other night, but the topic sat between them like a houseguest who had overstayed his welcome. She offered him a tremulous smile as she smoothed the black satin evening dress that slid along her curves to dust the tops of her sequined shoes. The snug halter top made the most of her breasts, which for the evening made her feel as if she were actually larger than a modest B cup. And that made her feel incredibly sexy. Well, that and the fact that Dillon’s eyes were practically glued to her body. “That dress should be illegal,” he said in a husky murmur that caressed her entire body.

  “You don’t look half-bad yourself,” she said, pleased to note that her voice remained calm when inside she was starting to simmer with the desire to find a private, secluded spot with the sexy agent. She drew a short breath and smiled. “I had a feeling you’d clean up well,” she said.

  His mouth toyed with a grin as he said, “It’s the accent. Goes well with a penguin suit.” Sobering, he added, “Listen, I know you think I’m going
overboard with the whole suspicious thinking but until I check out this friend of yours, I’d like you to keep your distance.”

  A spurt of exasperation almost had her arguing, but she recognized that he was just doing what was second nature to him and nodded. “Okay, that shouldn’t be too hard. I spend most of my time circulating, anyway. But perhaps you could try looking a little less austere and a little more like you’re having a good time.”

  He moved closer and she almost thought she could feel the heat from his body warming hers. “When you’re safe, I’ll relax. Until then…this is what you get,” he said in a soft voice as his lips brushed the shell of her ear. Then he melted away into the crowd and she was left holding an empty plate and a heart full of aching desire that she could do nothing about at the moment but push it aside.

  Dillon wished he could appreciate the sumptuous surroundings Emma had created for the upscale event. For all the bad things happening in the background of her life, Emma put on a seemingly flawless event. The caterers had outdone themselves on the food, the decorators had created an elegant theme and a jazz band kept the crowd with their toes tapping. Overall gorgeous—yet understated—and still, Dillon’s skin itched with trepidation. He couldn’t explain it. Kara used to call it her “gut” and she was never wrong. Dillon had never leaned too heavily on intuition, preferring cold hard facts to woo-woo rubbish but in the absence of evidence…he’d take anything he could get.

  His cell phone vibrated in his inside jacket pocket and he found a quiet corner to answer it.

  It was D’Marcus. “Hey man, I wanted to let you know that I found nothing of interest on that Gavin guy you had me run. Just your average high-society stiff with a secret penchant for seedy hotels and I’m guessing a little action on the dirty side.”

  “Perfect snapshot of Robert Gavin,” he said. “All right. Thanks for the intel.”