It wasn’t even his fault, she thought sadly. He was just trying to be a good guy and offer comfort. If wishes were horses and all that... But they weren’t. They were just wishes.
She straightened, then moved away. Dylan let her go, but when she looked at him, he seemed dazed.
“Molly?”
He sounded confused and slightly overwhelmed. If she hadn’t known about the lack of physical evidence of his desire, she would have sworn he had been as caught up in the moment as she had been.
“You don’t have to do this,” she said, and was pleased when her voice sounded normal. “I asked you for an adventure, but mercy kisses are not part of the deal. Compassion is fine. I can handle that, but pity really annoys me. So let’s just forget this ever happened, okay?”
For the second time that evening, she disappeared into the night. Dylan stared after her, wondering what had gone wrong. One minute he’d been kissing Molly and thinking that he might just explode right then and there, and the next she was pushing him away and talking about mercy kisses.
“Dammit, Molly, I kissed you because I wanted to, not out of some twisted sense of pity,” he called after her, but it was too late. She’d already gone into the house.
He cursed under his breath, then returned to the fire to collect their belongings. He wished it had been pity. Then he wouldn’t be so uncomfortable right now, with need pumping through his groin. He started stacking plates. Why would she think he was just pretending? What would be the point?
He couldn’t come up with any answers, not for her behavior or his. He told himself it was no big deal. But it was. Why would he want Molly? She wasn’t his type, at least not physically. She was Janet’s little sister. Nothing more.
But she hadn’t felt like anyone’s little sister in his arms.
His arms full of their belongings, he headed back for the house. One thing was sure, he told himself, he wasn’t going to apologize. First, he hadn’t broken any rules. Second, he’d liked kissing her way too much to want to forget it had ever happened.
* * *
Molly was still awake at midnight. She had heard Dylan come in a couple hours ago after making several trips to pick up their things from the beach. She’d felt badly about him doing all the work, but there was no way she could have faced him. She wasn’t sure she would ever be able to do that. Maybe it would be better for everyone if she just left.
Except she didn’t want to go. She didn’t want to have to find another place to hide out and she didn’t want to leave Dylan. Which meant she had to make peace with what had happened between them.
Was it really so terrible? she asked herself. When she thought about it logically, or tried to, she could almost convince herself it was no big deal. They’d talked about her life and how everything had fallen apart. He’d tried to tease her and she’d overreacted. He’d come after her to make sure she was all right, then when he’d seen she wasn’t, he’d offered comfort.
That was really the extent of his crimes. He hadn’t been turned on when he’d kissed her, but that was hardly against the law. It wasn’t his fault that her crush had returned in full force, leaving her no way to save face after what had been—for her, at least—an incredibly passionate experience.
Dylan had actually been very sweet. Running away now would be cowardly. She liked being with him. For the next couple of weeks she was going to need a distraction and he was a much better distraction than Christmas shopping. Besides, she liked him.
Molly crossed to the window and stared out into the darkness. So what if her foolish pride had been a little battered? She’d survived worse. Pray God she would live to survive worse again. The trick was to get over it and move on. Because in her heart of hearts, she knew she didn’t want to leave. Not now.
“I promised myself no regrets,” she whispered into the darkness. “No what-ifs, no second guessing. I promised myself that I was going to live my life, instead of always taking the safe route.”
The words hung in the air like an accusation. She hadn’t really forgotten her promise to herself; she’d just misplaced the message. Well, she’d remembered now, and she was going to keep that promise, no matter what.
In the morning she would make peace with Dylan, apologize for her behavior and put the whole thing behind her. She would continue to enjoy her crush on him in the privacy of her own mind and she would stop expecting him to participate in any way. No regrets, she promised herself. Just living.
* * *
When Dylan stepped out of the shower, he smelled cooking. His stomach growled, which didn’t make sense. He normally made do with some coffee and maybe a donut if Evie brought them into the office. But suddenly, breakfast sounded great.
He hurried through dressing and shaving, then combed his damp hair and made his way to the kitchen. He paused in the doorway and watched Molly.
She was stirring something in a large bowl. A pot of coffee was already sitting on their small table and bacon sizzled on the stove. The domestic scene should have made him want to run for cover. After all, if any of his bed partners dared to start the day this way, he was usually out the door before they could manage a quick “Good morning.” Of course he rarely spent the night with them, thereby avoiding the whole issue.
With Molly he didn’t want to run. Instead he found himself thinking about walking up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist. He wanted to inhale the scent of her soft skin, brush his lips against her nape, then trail kisses down her spine until her skin broke out in gooseflesh.
He thought about taking the bowl from her and setting it down, then turning her toward him and kissing her. The counter looked a little high, but he would bet the table was the right height. He imaged her sitting in just a shirt, her legs spread, welcoming him as he—
“Good morning.”
He heard the words, then had to consciously drag himself back from his very pleasant daydream.
“Uh, hi,” he managed, his voice sounding slightly thick and husky.
Molly wore a long-sleeved white shirt rolled up to her elbows. The tails hung to about mid-thigh. Her feet were bare, as was her face. Her hair had been pulled back into a braid that hung down her back. She had to be about twenty-seven or twenty-eight, but she looked the way she had at fourteen. He thought about how she’d been then, with braces and bad skin. Okay, he amended, maybe she looked a little different now, but not much.
She gave him a quick smile, then nodded at the bowl. “I’m making pancakes. I hope you like them.”
“They’re my favorite and I’m suddenly starved.”
“Good. Have a seat.”
He moved into the kitchen. “Can I help?”
“No, I’ve got everything under control.” She bit on her lower lip. “Dylan, about last night—”
He held up a hand to stop her. “You don’t have to explain.”
“Good, because I’m not going to, but I am going to apologize. I can’t take away my overreaction, but I can try to make amends.” She held out the bowl. “Hence the pancakes. They’re supposed to fix everything.”
He didn’t mind that she was keeping a few secrets from him. Lord knew he had a bunch of his own. But he liked that she was willing to admit she’d acted a little strange.
“Apology pancakes, huh?” he said as he settled into one of the metal chairs at the small table. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea. You’re putting them under a lot of pressure. You think they’ll be able to perform now? I would guess you’ve scarred those little suckers for life. They’re going to be in pancake therapy for a long time.”
She stared at him for a full two seconds, then she started to laugh. “If we eat them, the problem is solved, right?” she said.
“I hadn’t thought of that. It seems extreme, but it would probably work.”
“And here I worried
that I was the crazy one,” she told him as she set to work, pouring the batter into a frying pan.
A few minutes later, she set a stack of pancakes in front of him, then brought over a plate of bacon, as well. After pouring coffee, she joined him.
“These look great,” he said.
“Let’s hope they taste great, too.”
“They will.”
He said the words easily, but he knew in his heart it didn’t matter. Right now he couldn’t taste anything. He could only look at her and remember what it had been like last night to hold her in his arms and kiss her. He wanted her—again. That was getting to be a common problem. The thing was, he wasn’t going to do anything about it.
He filled a plate for her, then took food for himself. “Thanks, Molly. You didn’t have to do this, but I appreciate it. Tell you what. Let’s start over and be friends. I like you. I think we could have a lot of fun together.”
Her smile made her pretty. Funny how all those years ago, he’d never noticed she had a great smile. Maybe he’d been too young and too into himself and appearances. Maybe he’d never taken the time to look.
“I’d like that,” she told him. “I like you, too, Dylan. We always had fun together before. There’s no reason to think that’s changed.”
“My thoughts exactly.” He was a grown-up. There was no reason he couldn’t keep his libido under control. Or he would just start wearing looser jeans.
She chewed on her pancakes for a minute, then swallowed. “But I’m still sorry about last night. I completely lost it. I’ve been under a lot of pressure lately what with my job and Grant.”
“Hey, thanks for the apology, but it’s time to let it go. Anyone would have reacted to all that. Bad enough to have a company turn on you, but when you’re also dealing with an incredible jerk like that, what can you do but get annoyed?”
She stared at him. There was a faint flush on her face, probably from the cooking. He liked the color in her cheeks.
“Grant isn’t really a jerk,” she said.
Dylan set down his fork. “Explain that to me. Women always do that. Some guy treats them like dirt, then when someone calls him a name, the woman defends him.”
Molly opened her mouth, then closed it, then shook her head. “You’re right. I can’t believe it. Women do that. Why? Training, maybe? I don’t know why I said that. He is a jerk. At times I’ve wished I could find him and just beat him up. I plan to forget him as soon as I can, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have the right to be furious.”
“Good. Because if you really had anything decent to say about him. I would lose all respect for you.”
“If you catch me defending him again, tell me, okay?”
“Sure.” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. “I mean that, Molly. I will say something. I don’t think people should stay in a relationship if they’re not happy, but there are plenty of less cowardly ways to leave. What Grant did was pure slime. You’re lucky to be rid of him. I’m sure it doesn’t feel that way now, but it’s true.”
“I appreciate what you’re telling me. Oddly enough, you’d be surprised by how little I miss him. Which just goes to show I should never have agreed to marry him. It’s just that I thought...” Her voice trailed off. Some of the light faded from her eyes.
“What did you think?” he prompted.
“That he was safe. He’s a lawyer with a well-respected firm. Just the kind of guy my mother would have picked. I don’t know. I keep coming up against my choices and not liking what I see.”
“Better that you found out now. Guys like him spend their lives being slime. If he ran around with some woman before the wedding, imagine what he would have done afterward.”
“Is that anger I hear in your voice?” she asked. “This is something you feel strongly about?”
“Absolutely. I’m a firm believer in monogamy. I might not be able to sustain a relationship for very long, but while I’m in it, I’m there. Okay, as a kid in my late teens I was more interested in quantity, but everybody grows up. Grant’s a loser and you’re better off without him. If it would make you feel better, I’d be happy to beat him up for you.”
She burst out laughing. “Dylan, you say the sweetest things, but no, thanks. I believe that fate or whatever you want to call it will catch up with Grant in time.” She tilted her head. “I wouldn’t have guessed that about you. The monogamy thing.”
“Because I’m the type who runs around?”
“No.” She frowned. “How strange. I wouldn’t think of you as running around, but I haven’t thought of you as faithful, either.”
“It pretty much has to be one or the other.” He kept his tone light, not wanting her to know how her good opinion of him had suddenly become very important.
“I guess I figured you were so attractive to women that you were constantly tempted. But I don’t think I’m saying it wouldn’t be your fault. This is complicated. I suppose the bottom line is, I’m impressed.”
He took a sip of coffee. “I don’t know that I’ve said anything that special.”
“Philosophy over pancakes,” she said, and smiled. “Whatever will I get if I make waffles?”
“French poetry,” he teased.
“Really?” She made a show of looking around the kitchen. “I must check to see if we have a waffle iron.”
Chapter Six
The small Dutch town of Solvang was designed for tourists, a European-like hamlet in the heart of California. For the Christmas season—Julefest—the town had placed a hundred live, decorated fir trees in containers around downtown. The twinkling lights must look stunning at night, Molly thought. Even in the midday sun, they were festive. The decorations on the many shops and restaurants were mostly Old World, in keeping with the town’s theme.
Molly raised her face toward the warm sunshine and smiled. Life was very nice. She’d thought she might have a good time with Dylan, but she hadn’t expected to enjoy herself as much as she was. The past four days had been filled with fun and pleasant conversation. He was someone she found she liked spending time with, and not just because he was so easy to look at.
They were taking their vacation one day at a time. This morning, they’d decided to drive about an hour north of their beach house, to Solvang, to do some Christmas shopping. This afternoon, they were going to explore the local wine country.
“Autumn would love that!” Molly said, pointing to a wooden dump truck in a shop window. “Let’s go in.”
“A dump truck?”
“What can I say? The girl likes trucks. Tatum and Lilly are both very girlie, but Autumn has a mind of her own.”
Dylan put the handmade toy upside down in his palm and spun the wheels. “Moving parts. Well made.”
“Would you like me to hold that for you at the front while you look around?” the clerk asked.
“Please,” Molly agreed. “That’ll be a great stocking stuffer.”
“You spend a lot of time with your nieces?” Dylan asked.
“As much as I can. They’re great girls. I go up there at least a couple times a year. Usually for Thanksgiving, always for Christmas. I go up a few days early so Janet and Thomas can have a date night for their anniversary.”
She found a doll for Lilly, a tiny raccoon for Tatum and books for all three girls.
As they stood at the register so she could pay for her purchases, Dylan’s arm brushed against hers. She’d grown used to the casual touches that were a part of their day. Used to, but not unmindful of. It didn’t matter what she was thinking about. If Dylan touched her in any way, her entire body went on alert. At times it was a very nice distraction. If she could get him to touch her whenever she was worried or feeling anxious, she would never have to deal with personal trauma again.
They stepped back out into the sunshine.
From down the street came the scent of fresh baked bread.
“The pastries here are heaven,” she said.
“You’ve been here before?”
She nodded. “But not since I was a kid. I came over one weekend with a girlfriend and her family. It was a lot of fun. I’ve never been here at Christmastime, though. It’s so pretty.”
He checked his watch. “Want to help me find a gift for Evie, then lunch?”
“I’d love to.”
They moved to the next shop window. This one sold crystal. Behind the kitschy snowmen, Santas and reindeer were stunning pitchers, vases and glasses.
“Don’t fall in love with anything big,” Dylan warned. “Whatever you buy still has to fit in your duffel bag. The motorcycle doesn’t have any extra storage.”
“I could always have it shipped,” she reminded him.
“Good point.”
She thought about his bike. She’d grown to like riding it. While she would prefer to keep her car for everyday transportation, she wouldn’t mind having a motorcycle around for weekends.
“How’d you get into racing?” she asked as they strolled down the street. On their left was a large park with a towering Christmas tree, on their right more shops. Although it was Thursday, a group of carolers stood at the base of the tree, facing the strolling shoppers. They were singing “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen” in beautiful harmony.
At the end of the street was a restaurant she remembered as being excellent. Maybe they would have lunch there.
“Through the back door,” Dylan said. “I left town with about twenty bucks in my pocket. When I got stuck up in the mountains during the snowstorm, I got a job at a bike repair shop. I was pretty good, especially at modifications, so after the snow thawed, my boss recommended me to a friend in the desert. One of my regular customers, Bill Jensen, raced a string of bikes. He offered to let me ride for him on weekends.”
“How’d you do?”
He shrugged. “Regionally I did okay, but when I went national, I struggled. I was great at making changes on my bikes, but the actual racing got to be more of a job.”
The Christmas Wedding Ring (Hqn) Page 8
