The Seduction of Dylan Acosta

by Nia Forrester

  “Good.” Mark picked her up, slung her over his shoulder and headed for the bedroom. Once there, he dropped her on the bed and stood over her, unfastening his belt and dropping his pants, and shuffling comically toward her, like a penguin. Dylan laughed as he fell forward on top of her. She cradled his head against her chest as he inhaled her.

  “You smell so good,” he said. “Much better than the hotel rooms, stinking locker room, disgusting dug-out with chewing tobacco everywhere. . .”

  “That’s a relief. To smell better than the dug-out,” Dylan pointed out, laughing.

  “I missed you is what I’m trying to say.” Mark raised her tank top and nibbled across her stomach.

  Dylan remembered in a rush what had been making her nervous. She still hadn’t told him about not going to law school in the fall. A couple weeks ago when she’d broken it to him that she’d quit her job, he hadn’t had much of a reaction. He didn’t like her working with Grant anyway. But law school would be something else entirely. He’d already lectured her in Montreal about focus and dedication and this pretty much proved she had neither. A knot formed in the pit of her stomach.

  Mark was tugging at the waistband of her jeans and she instinctively lifted her hips to allow him to take them off. With it he removed her underwear so she was naked from the waist down. He nuzzled her between the legs and Dylan felt a pulsing heat begin there as her body anticipated receiving him, but Mark was in no hurry and raised his head, resting it on her stomach.

  “I dream about this,” he said, running his fingers down her hip. “When I’m in some hotel room in some city far away from home. I dream about being with you, just like this.”

  “Are you telling me I’m a dream come true?” she teased.

  “Except for all the scheduling, you’re pretty damn perfect.”

  “What’re you talking about?” Dylan stiffened.

  To her disappointment, Mark sat up, so she did as well.

  “Dinner plans with guys from the team. The housewarming thing. All these events this week. I keep getting email and calls from Corey about you putting stuff on my schedule. What’s gotten into you lately?”

  “The other wives . . .”

  “I don’t care what the other wives do, Dylan. Just make sure you leave time for us. For family.”

  Maybe she had gone overboard a little bit. But Cindy Hernandez had explained to her that the big endorsements didn’t just fall from the sky. If you wanted your husband to get calls from the marquee names, you had to make sure he was out there, being photographed, seen attending events.

  “Are you upset about the housewarming?” she asked carefully.

  “I’m not upset, Dylan, but I haven’t even seen the house. And now I have to think about entertaining people there. How many did you invite anyway?”

  “I got a guest list from . . . “

  “Cindy Hernandez,” Mark finished for her.

  “Yes.”

  “What about my family? My friends.”

  “Of course, Mark. I asked Miri and we made sure we included everyone you would want there.” “How many people are we talking about?”

  “Three hundred and fifty or so.”

  Mark leaned in toward her, his eyes open wide in disbelief. “What?”

  “There was no way to get it down to less than that.”

  “Yes there was. Keep it to family only. Close friends.”

  “And no one from the Mets.”

  “I could’ve lived with that,” he nodded, his eyes searching hers. “Could you?”

  “Of course,” she said, looking away.

  Mark studied her for a moment and seemed to decide either that he believed her, or that he didn’t care anymore. He reached out and pulled her tank top over her head. He paused for moment, his eyes narrowing slightly.

  “You’ve lost weight,” he said.

  “I’ve been working out with a trainer,” Dylan said. “I told you that.”

  For a moment, Mark surveyed her naked frame and Dylan thought he looked troubled. She reached out to him and smoothed a hand over his face.

  “Baby, what is it?”

  She felt self-conscious, and fought the urge to cover herself. Mark ran a hand over her rib-cage, over her breasts, taking her in. He gave her a smile of reassurance, but she could tell that whatever it was that had initially disturbed him, was still not resolved in his mind.

  He finished undressing and pulled her against him, just holding her to his chest for a moment, then turning his head to kiss her. Dylan could feel his erection against her hip, and suddenly wanted nothing more than for him to be inside her. She moved astride him and without waiting for her own readiness, lowered herself onto him, pressing her hips into his, bearing the discomfort for the sake of driving away the doubt in his eyes.

  12

  The house was beyond anything Dylan would ever have dreamt could belong to her. She walked through the rooms with Mark and Ava, taking it all in. The property was a six-bedroom colonial on four acres of land, surrounded by lush grounds with a pool out back in the shade of impeccably manicured foliage. The poolhouse had been converted to a gym to accommodate Mark’s workouts while he was home.

  “This. Is. Amazing,” Ava said taking in the family room.

  It was decorated in cool colors with Arts-and-Crafts era pieces that Dylan knew would be comfortable enough for the Acostas to feel at home. Everything was brand new but looked slightly worn and lived-in. Stephen had even taken the trouble of draping antique afghans over the back of the sofas in the reading room.

  Upstairs the bedrooms were all decorated with the perfect balance of comfort and opulence, but the master suite was the most impressive of all. It was stark white contrasted by an enormous, custom-made sleigh-bed in a honey-toned mahogany that was the complement to the dark wood floors. The fireplace opposite the bed was flanked by twin white armchairs between which there was a plush white rug that begged you to dive into it.

  The master bath was equally inviting. Stephen had extended the pale palate there as well, and everything, even the towels and fixtures were all white. Over the massive claw-foot tub, a picture window showcased the beauty of the grounds, and you could just see the poolhouse, covered on one side by Japanese clematis and flanked by white hollycocks and white tea-rose bushes.

  “You did an amazing job, Dylan,” Ava said, putting an arm about her. “Didn’t she, Mark?”

  Mark, who up until that point had appeared dumbfounded, nodded. “Yeah, she did.” He turned and pulled Dylan into a hug. “It’s beautiful, amorcita.”

  Dylan blushed. “We worked hard on it. I want you to meet Stephen tonight. He’ll be at the party.”

  “Tell him he did a great job,” Mark nodded. “I’m going to go check out that man cave you fixed up for me.”

  When he left the room, Dylan turned to Ava and let out a sigh of relief.

  “Okay, mission accomplished. Maybe now he won’t have a heart attack when the final bills come in.”

  Ava laughed. “Why? How much are we talking about?”

  “I’m too embarrassed to say,” Dylan admitted.

  “Well, you only do something like this once in a lifetime, right? So I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Ava said sitting on the edge of the tub and looking out into the backyard.

  Dylan noticed for the first time how tired her friend looked. They hadn’t been spending that much time together lately. Between this mammoth decorating project and Ava’s new boyfriend, they hadn’t had as many chances to catch up as they used to. That, plus the fact that Dylan had begun venturing out to various benefits around town with Cindy Hernandez, and to the occasional party with Stephanie Alfieri. It wasn’t that she’d deliberately excluded Ava, but somehow the two parts of her life seemed to be organically separate. They didn’t belong together somehow.

  “So,” Ava turned to face her again, her voice bright. “What do we need to do to set up for this party tonight?”

  “Nothing, really,” Dylan said. “Except l
ook cute. The party planners should be here soon and they’ll take care of everything. I have someone coming to do hair and make-up for us.”

  Ava looked disappointed. “But I like doing our hair and make-up.”

  “Yeah, but I can’t do an amateur job tonight. I need to . . .” she stopped at the look on Ava’s face and realized how what she’d said must have sounded. “I don’t mean . . .”

  “No,” Ava held up a hand to stop her. “I understand. I am an amateur. And this is like your first big party, so what the hell? Why not do it up?”

  Dylan nodded. “Exactly. And I thought it would be fun. Miri’s going to be getting ready here as well, so we’ll make a thing out of it. Have mimosas . . .”

  Ava nodded and smiled but Dylan sensed that she was trying hard to manufacture enthusiasm.

  “I have some outfits you can choose from,” she said, pressing ahead. “I didn’t know what to choose so I got a couple.”

  “And we do wear the same size now,” Ava pointed out, looking her over. “I feel like you got really tiny since I saw you last. You’re not on some crazy new diet are you?”

  “No,” Dylan said, pleased. “The trainer. And just being careful, you know.”

  “You’re losing your ass,” Ava said dryly. “I would lay off for a little while, if I were you. Dominican men like asses.”

  Dylan rolled her eyes. “Shut up. Let’s go look at the outfits I got.”

  Later, when the house was bustling with the party planner’s staff the Acostas arrived and Dylan took them on the tour, taking pleasure in their exclamations as each room was revealed. Matt and Peter lost interest immediately when they saw Mark’s man-cave and only Mr. and Mrs. Acosta and Miri bothered to follow Dylan through the rest of the house. Then Dylan showed them to the room where they would be staying and hurried down to greet the caterers.

  The party was starting in less than three hours and she was beginning to get a fluttery, unsettled feeling in the pit of her stomach. Cindy said the first one was the most important, that it would set the tone for how people viewed you. Dylan had opted for a casual atmosphere, tables set up around the pool and on the lawn just beyond it, with white linens, buffet tables and an open bar. For entertainment, she had hired a Dominican band that Miri told her was popular, and for good measure, she also got a jazz singer. She hoped it wasn’t overkill, that it didn’t look as though she was trying too hard.

  Ava was in one of the extra bedrooms relaxing before the party, probably stretched out on the comfortable king-size bed, maybe watching television. It would have been the perfect time for them to catch up, but after an awkward twenty minutes looking over the outfits Dylan had bought, they’d gone their separate ways.

  Ava had fingered the delicate fabrics of the Marc Jacobs and D&G dresses Dylan had arranged to be sent over, and had glanced at the price tags. Then she’d smiled and said she thought she was fine wearing the dress she’d brought along. For a moment, Dylan was embarrassed. Was it thoughtless of her to have displayed her new wealth in this way? With someone else she may have considered that, but not with Ava. They’d never had to take precautions with each other before, never had to be so careful.

  Instead of going to Ava’s room, she went to find Mark. He was playing a football game on Wii with his brothers, and looked up when she came in.

  “Hey,” she said. “I need to see what you’re wearing.”

  At that Matt and Peter looked up.

  “You’re dressing him now?” Peter asked, laughing.

  “No,” Mark said pointedly, looking at Dylan. “She definitely is not.”

  “You’re not planning on wearing jeans are you?”

  “I’m not planning anything,” Mark said slowly. “I’ll open my closet and see what moves me. And that’s what I’ll wear. Same as I always do.”

  Dylan considered arguing for a moment, but Mark was definitely not the kind of man who was about to let her boss him around. And if she tried, he would only dig his heels in.

  “Okay. Well remember when you make your choice that you’re the host, not some guy who’s wandered in off the street,” she said.

  Mark nodded, clearly humoring her. “Okay. I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  Then she headed for the kitchen to make sure the catering staff had everything under control.

  Perfect .

  That was what Cindy Hernandez had said when she walked in and looked around. She’d taken in the backyard, the decorations and had turned to Dylan with a pleased look on her face. Her protégée had done her proud, her look seemed to say.

  “Thank you,” Dylan said. “It’s been a little nerve-wracking. But I think it’s coming together well.”

  “Where’s your handsome husband?” Cindy looked around.

  “Probably upstairs still getting ready. Yours?”

  Cindy’s smile faltered just a fraction. “He’s coming on his own later.”

  “Dylan, this is wonderful!”

  Cindy and Dylan turned simultaneously to see Stephanie Alfieri entering with her husband Tim. Tim Alfieri was tall, blonde and beefy, with forearms the size of Christmas hams and steely blue eyes. He looked as though he’d come to the party under duress, but managed a smile as Dylan came toward him.

  “Where’s the man of the house?” he asked.

  “He’ll be down any minute,” Dylan said giving Tim a quick hug. “Thank you both for coming. The bar’s just out back . . .”

  Dylan dashed upstairs to the master suite where Mark was still sitting on the edge of the bed in his boxer briefs, playing with the remote that was supposed to open the panel above the fireplace and reveal the state-of-art flat screen television. He had dropped a wet towel on the floor at the foot of the bed, which she forced herself not to pick up immediately.

  “Mark!”

  He turned at the sound of her voice.

  “Hey,” he said, sounding perfectly relaxed. “How does this thing work? I can’t get it open.”

  Dylan grabbed the remote from him and tossed it aside. “I’ll show it to you later. C’mon, we have people downstairs.”

  Mark grabbed her wrist, yanked her toward him, and in one swift movement had her pinned beneath him on the bed. His eyelashes were still wet from his shower and he had that look on his face, the look that said he wanted her naked and underneath him; the one that meant he was going to take more time than a little bit to be done with her.

  “Mark, no,” she said, with finality. “We are not . . .”

  He heaved a sigh. “They’ve got drinks, they’ve got food . . . we don’t need to babysit them too, do we?”

  “You promised me you’d be a gracious host . . .”

  “And what are you prepared to promise me?” Mark asked, kissing her along the length of her neck.

  Dylan felt her breath quickening. She loved him kissing her like this. She loved him kissing her every way he kissed her. She loved the way he touched her, and the way he looked when she touched him. She felt his hand slide down her thigh and up again, under the hem of the six-hundred and fiftydollar Philip Lim dress that was probably being crumpled beyond recognition as he lay atop her.

  “Mark,” she protested weakly.

  “What?” he slipped a hand along the seam of her underwear—La Perla Misaki briefs, onehundred and fifty dollars—and paused at the crotch. Just as he slid a finger beneath it, and she decided she could probably spare a half hour before going back downstairs, someone shrieked.

  “Oh my god! I am so sorry!”

  Mark rolled lazily away from Dylan and onto his back, looking up at the ceiling for a moment, sighing in defeat, then sitting up and heading into his closet.

  “Knock next time, Miri,” he said.

  “Hey.” Dylan smoothed her skirt and sat up. “What’s up?”

  “Nothing. Just checking to see whether you needed help with anything.”

  “Nope. Not unless you want to wrestle your brother into coming downstairs with me.”
<
br />   “Looked like you were doing a pretty good job wrestling him all by yourself,” Miri stifled a laugh.

  She was wearing one of the dresses Dylan had bought with Ava in mind, and she looked beautiful. Dylan would have to remember to keep an eye on her with all the Mets players wandering around, some of them single and looking for trouble. Hopefully they would all be smart enough not to try to make a move on Mark’s baby sister.

  “Let’s head down,” Dylan said ignoring the comment. She paused at the door of the suite. “Ten minutes, Mark. I mean it.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” he said from the closet.

  It was true what people said: enjoying a party if you were the host was just about impossible. Everyone seemed to be having a great time, the food was hot and the drinks cold, but Dylan remained hyper-aware. She walked through the crowd, smiling the same smile, trying to look relaxed, making small talk and keeping her ears peeled for snippets of conversation that would tell her a little of what people thought of the house, the food, her skills as a hostess.

  Mark was apparently untroubled by the same concerns. She’d seen him about with a beer in hand talking and laughing with some of his teammates, sitting with his parents and once, dancing with his sister. Despite his reluctance to have the party, he had more than lived up to Dylan’s demands of him, and was the very picture of the gracious host. In the end he’d chosen to wear jeans despite her asking him not to, but with a pale blue dress shirt, open at the neck and brown loafers. He looked amazing as always; far and away the hottest man there as far as she was concerned.

  Once, when she’d taken a moment to watch him as he was deep in debate with a man Dylan didn’t recognize, he’d looked up as though he felt her eyes on him. It only took him a moment to spot her, and he smiled and winked at her across the sea of people between them. She’d felt her stomach tighten, and another, lower part of her anatomy twitched in response as well. When the party was over, she would show him just how happy she was with how well he performed his hosting duties this evening.

  “Great party,” a voice next to her ear said.

  Dylan recognized it right away.