The Playboy's Baby

by Stewart, JM

  They’d slept for three hours now. The sight of the two of them tugged at her heart. Dillon appeared to take to fatherhood and he took it seriously, but seeing them didn’t soothe the worry. She wasn’t sure anything would. Since Janey’s death, she hadn’t left Annie for more than an hour or two. She didn’t know how to explain it to him either. Despite knowing Annie was perfectly safe, the thought of leaving her still wrenched at her gut. Emma had never been very good at letting go.

  Seeing Dillon with his daughter gave her hope for the two of them. He was a good father, attentive and patient, which made him all the more attractive.

  Her heart hammered, the memory of their bet sliding to mind. She shouldn’t have done it. She should have turned him down flat. It would have been the proper thing to do. While the very thought of leaving Annie alone with him rattled her nerves, she didn’t want him to fail. For Annie’s sake, she wanted him to succeed.

  So why had she accepted Dillon’s challenge?

  The temptation had been too much to resist. When she returned, she’d have to kiss him. A bet was a bet and she didn’t go back on a promise. Oh how she yearned for a taste of that man’s mouth, for the passion his eyes promised.

  She didn’t date much. Not like Janey. She wasn’t tall, leggy, and outgoing. No, she was short, brainy, and shy. Add Coke-bottle glasses and she’d make the perfect geek. Men didn’t notice her. Never had. The few that did usually only wanted one thing. She’d never gotten caught up in passion for the sake of getting caught up in it, the way Janey had far too often. Fear of repeating that awful night in high school always stopped her.

  It didn’t stop her from wanting it. From wanting to experience passion at a man’s touch. To make matters worse, she wanted that passion with Dillon. Being in his house the last few days, she ached for his touch. Watching him with Annie, she had a feeling his gentleness would transfer to the bedroom.

  This bet was reckless and wild and not like her at all, which provided a temptation she couldn’t to resist.

  Heaven help her if she actually lost this bet.

  Annie stirred and pushed upright on Dillon’s chest. She blinked sleepily and looked around in confusion. Catching sight of Emma, her mouth curled into a grin.

  “Hi, sweet girl.” Emma set her coffee cup on the table and padded across the room to smile down at Annie. “Did you have a good sleep?”

  Annie burbled a happy reply and then turned to stare down at Dillon for a moment. She patted his mouth and squealed. “Da!”

  Emma’s heart warmed. Technically that was Annie’s first word and she uttered it all the time, usually grinning with pleasure when it earned her a response. At this point, it was more an innocuous sound that she’d learned. Annie had yet to associate it with a person, but the first time she spoke it in Dillon’s presence, his entire face lit up.

  “Oh, sweetheart, be gentle. Daddy’s sleeping.” Annie patted his mouth again and squealed in what appeared to be an effort to get him to respond. Curious to know how he would respond, Emma stood back to watch.

  Dillon’s eyes finally fluttered open. When they focused, a grin slid across his mouth. “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

  Annie smiled, squealed, and patted his mouth again. “Da da da!”

  Seeming to understand, he stuck his tongue out of the side of his mouth and crossed his eyes. Annie rewarded him with a hearty giggle and his smile widened. Tenderness slid into his dark eyes, and the emotion hit Emma’s chest like a wayward arrow. Joy for Annie filled her. She deserved a good father, and Emma’s heart swelled with pride to see she and Janey had been right about Dillon.

  Yet seeing their closeness made Emma’s chest ache for all the things she might never have. Like a family of her own. Call her a hopeless romantic, but she wanted it all, the white picket fence, two kids, and a dog. Always had. She just wasn’t sure it was possible for her. Wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to put the past behind her enough to move into the future. So far, she hadn’t found a man patient enough. Once men figured out she wouldn’t sleep with them, they dropped her like a hot potato. Watching Dillon and Annie gave her a glimpse of what it could be like, and some part of her held tight to the hope blossoming inside of her like a flower in spring.

  Dillon’s head turned, his gaze locking on her. “I fell asleep.”

  Shoving the emotions firmly away, Emma managed a smile. “I’m not surprised. You were pretty tired.”

  He turned back to Annie, concern creeping in his eyes. “That could be a problem, couldn’t it?”

  “It’s normal, actually. When she was born, Janey was up with her every two hours. I can’t tell you the number of times I’d get up in the morning to find the two of them asleep on the couch. That’s the thing about babies. You learn to sleep when they do.” Emma offered a reassuring smile. “You woke up when she did, and she didn’t wander away. That’s what counts.”

  One arm wrapped around Annie’s bottom, Dillon sat upright, shifting her onto his lap. He darted a glance at Emma and set his feet on the floor. “I keep expecting you to judge me.”

  She shook her head and crossed the room, taking a seat beside him. “This isn’t about me. It’s about her. She needs her father. Even Janey recognized that in the end. Who am I to keep that from her?”

  “You still don’t trust me.”

  Emma sighed and shook her head. “It’s not that I don’t trust you. It’s…old memories at war with what I see in you now. It’s been eight years. You’re different.”

  “I grew up.” He watched her with soft eyes.

  “Exactly. You’re nothing like I expected and it’s just…disconcerting. In a good way, but hard to get used to.” She drew in a deep breath, looked at her lap, and twisted her hands together. “That’s not really what bothers me.”

  “Then what is?” His voice drifted softly beside her, an encouraging tenderness that made her glance at him. The same emotion sat in his eyes, giving her the sudden sense of safety and warmth and pulled the admission from her mouth.

  “I’ve never left her before. Only for a couple hours here and there. Never for a whole day, let alone several. Not since Janey died.” Annie had been her lifeline. Without her, Emma didn’t know what would hold her up.

  “You’re not alone.” Seeming to read her mind, his hand settled over hers where it rested in her lap, warm and reassuring. “I’ll call you. Every day, the way I promised. You have my cell number. You can call me whenever you want. I mean that. Wake me up at six if you have to or call me at two in the morning. I’m here when you need me.”

  Touched by the sentiment and the genuine emotion staring back at her, tears flooded her eyes. More grateful than she had words, she squeezed his fingers. “Thank you.”

  One corner of his mouth quirked and his brows rose. “Thankful enough to go with me to see my parents?”

  Emma laughed softly. “Really, Dillon, how bad could they possibly be? They’re your parents. They love you.”

  “My goodness. You really are nervous, aren’t you?” Beside her on the front porch of his parents’ estate an hour later, Emma glanced over at Dillon. His shoulders were set a little too stiff and he’d been standing there with Annie’s car seat dangling from his right hand, staring at the red front door for a good minute now.

  His parents’ place hadn’t changed much over the years. The enormous Victorian style home had been painted a warm tan with red shutters. The covered porch ran the width of the house, supported by tall twisted pillars, Southern plantation style. The perfectly manicured landscaping and the large circular driveway that led up to the house screamed wealth. The house still held that warm, homey feel she remembered. The place swamped her small house in the city, but made her feel welcome all the same.

  Yet Dillon stared at that door like he loathed going inside and he grew up here.

  “I was sure you were joking when you said that yesterday.”

  Dillon expelled a heavy breath and turned to look at her, his expression solemn. “Ho
w many times did Janey and I get into trouble over the years?”

  Immediately catching his meaning, she offered a sympathetic smile and nodded. “A lot.”

  He nodded in Annie’s direction before turning back to the door. “Exactly. I have to go in there now and explain her.” He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter how old I get. Pop always manages to make me feel like I’m still that irresponsible sixteen-year-old kid.”

  She laid a hand on his arm. “Dillon, this isn’t your fault. It’s not like you knew about the baby and chose to ignore it.”

  He sighed. “Yeah, but I doubt Pop’s going to see it that way.”

  The frigid wind blew against her back. She shivered, and then reached out and punched the doorbell. “Well, we can’t stand out here forever. Annie will get cold.”

  He looked over at her, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You go in first. They like you.”

  At the image that filled her mind, she couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled out. “You’re a little big to hide behind me.”

  He laughed, and Emma smiled again in spite of herself. When she turned back to the door, it opened. His mother stood on the other side, wearing a lilac pantsuit. She looked older than the last time Emma had seen her, the lines on her face more pronounced, but her short curly hair remained the exact same shade of dark brown it had always been. Dillon had obviously gotten his hair from his mother. She looked perfect too. Not a hair out of place.

  “Emma. It’s so good to see you.” Mrs. James smiled, polite, but warm before turning to Dillon. Her eyes darted to Annie in the car seat, her brows knitting together in confusion, before she met his gaze. “Why on earth did you ring the doorbell?”

  Emma raised her hand. “That was me.”

  “Well, no need to ring the bell, sweetheart, you’re welcome anytime. Come in, come in. It’s freezing out there.” His mother stepped back, pulling the door open wide, then closed it behind them.

  The cheeriness of the house enveloped Emma. Where the exterior had been done in warm colors, the interior had been done in soothing pastels—soft yellow walls with white trim, lavender and gold accents and oak floors. The large, open foyer led to a sweeping staircase, on either side of which were tall archways that led to the rest of house.

  “Emma.” His mother stepped forward, enveloping her in a huge, motherly hug, encompassing her in a cloud of strong, flowery perfume. Then she leaned back, holding Emma away from her. Sympathy etched her brow. “Dillon told us about your sister. I’m so sorry.”

  Emma frowned, the pain slipping up to wrap around her. “I’m sorry I didn’t contact you about the funeral. I’m afraid it slipped my mind.”

  “I told you it’s fine, Em. I know where she’s buried. That’s enough for me.” Setting Annie’s car seat on the floor, Dillon moved to stand behind her, resting his hands lightly on her shoulders. “Give me your coat.”

  When she shrugged out of her jacket, Mrs. James cupped her face in soft, warm hands. “It must have been so hard on you, after losing your mother.”

  Something about the empathy on the woman’s face wanted to pull Emma in. His mother had a way about her that always drew her in and wrapped her in warmth. The woman had been a godsend at her mother’s funeral.

  Emma managed a brave smile. “I got lost for a while, but I’m all right.”

  “Well, you’re here now. That’s all that matters.” Turning to Annie on the floor, Mrs. James’s face lit up like a child on Christmas morning. “So, who’s this little sweetheart?”

  Emma smiled. “Her name is Annabelle.”

  Mrs. James unbuckled the restraining strap, unzipped Annie from the snowsuit, and then lifted the baby. She gave a soft laugh and ran a hand over Annie’s head. “Would you look at that hair? There’s no denying who she belongs to, is there?”

  Emma managed a smile and shook her head, but her heart lurched, the pain seeping around her. “She’s not mine.”

  “She’s Janey’s.” Dillon appeared at her side, his hand coming to rest at the small of her back, warm and reassuring. She allowed herself the luxury of leaning into him, into his warm, comforting presence. In response, he slid his hand to the opposite hip and tugged her against his side.

  His mother’s smile melted, and she turned to Annie, concern etching her brow. “Oh the poor little thing.”

  “She’s the reason we’re here, Ma.”

  Mrs. James turned a puzzled expression on her son, and then understanding dawned in her eyes. “She’s yours.”

  “Well, at least I think so.” Dillon nodded.

  His mother frowned. “You think?”

  “Janey never told me about the pregnancy.”

  “I found a letter a couple of weeks ago, in her diary,” Emma added.

  His mother studied him for a long moment, then pursed her lips and gave a curt nod. “You leave your father to me.”

  “Where exactly is Pop?” Dillon turned his head, clearly searching.

  “In the sitting room with Logan.” Mrs. James turned and moved farther into the house, taking Annie with her. “Your brother actually comes to see his mother.”

  “Sorry, Ma. The club’s been busy.”

  “Too busy to come and see your mother every once in a while?”

  When his mother disappeared into the arched doorway to the right of the stairwell, Dillon looked at Emma. “Told you she’d take to Annie. We may never get her back.”

  The glimmer in his eyes and the lilt in his voice said he teased, but she couldn’t muster a smile beneath the weight of the worry that seized her chest. “I still don’t like the thought of leaving her.”

  Annie may not be her child, but Emma’s heart had long ago claimed her. Leaving her felt wrong, like she’d broken a promise to Janey.

  “I won’t let anything happen to her.” Dillon turned to face her. His scent enveloped her and the warmth of his body radiated to her.

  She should have taken a step back, except the soft honesty in his eyes caught and held her attention. His gentle smile wrapped itself around her heart, soothing the frazzled worry deep in the pit of her stomach.

  “I promise.”

  “I tell you, I’m not having it!”

  Dillon’s father pounded a furious fist into the arm of the chair and Emma sighed. Dillon had been right. His mother jumped at the chance to watch her new granddaughter. His father wasn’t so easily convinced. The old man took one look at Annie and demanded a paternity test.

  He then proceeded to run down a war path against what he assumed was the enemy. Dillon sat on the couch with his head in his hands, looking very much like a sixteen-year-old kid getting a scolding.

  “Ethan, hush!” His mother’s tone strained with irritation.

  His father’s head snapped in his wife’s direction, fury in his eyes. “I will not hush! This has happened once too often and I’m putting a stop to it this time. Janey was trouble, and she will not get away with this!”

  “Pop, we’ve known Emma almost all our lives.” Logan, standing behind the sofa with his arms folded across his chest, rolled his eyes. “She’s not the enemy.”

  Emma appreciated the sentiment, but it didn’t appear to do any good. Mr. James went on like he hadn’t heard a word.

  “It wouldn’t surprise me in the least if that girl got herself pregnant and tried to pin it on you. She was trouble, with a capital T, and she had a well-known track record the size of this state.” Mr. James rolled his eyes. “I cannot believe you got yourself tangled up with the likes of her.”

  Dillon’s head snapped in his father’s direction, dark eyes blazing. “Have a little respect, Pop.”

  His father shook his head. “We’ve been down this road one too many times, Dillon, and I won’t allow it to happen again.”

  Emma bit her lip and managed to hold her tongue, but the look of self-righteous indignation on the old man’s face irritated like the relentless drip, drip, drip of a leaky faucet. The man had never hid his dislike for her sister, never bother
ed to hide the fact he considered their family second-class citizens because they struggled financially. He didn’t make any attempt to hide his contempt now either.

  She should never have come. To hear him talk that way about Janey niggled at the raw aching pain that still gripped her heart and every word out of his mouth only fueled the anger burning like hot coals in her gut.

  His mother rose from the couch, Annie clutched to her chest. Her voice amazingly low and calm, she glared at her husband. “I’ve heard enough. This is not Emma’s fault and I refuse to allow you to talk about her sister that way. In this house, we have respect for the dead. It doesn’t matter how this baby came to be. The fact is she’s here, and you’re just going to have to deal with it.”

  His father glanced at Annie, his gaze softening a bit. A breath later, he turned an icy glare on Emma, leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. “If it’s money you want, I’m afraid you’ve failed. I’m not fooled in the least by this little ploy of yours.”

  That was the second time a James had said those words to her. Unable to bear it any longer, Emma surged to her feet and returned the old man’s glare. “I came back to town to tell him—” she jabbed a finger in Dillon’s direction “—because I thought he deserved to know. I could care less what you think. If you’ll excuse me, I need some air.”

  She turned to Mrs. James and asked the silent question. When Mrs. James gave a small nod, Emma pivoted on her heel and stormed from the room. She trusted Dillon’s mother. She’d make sure Annie was safe until she got back. Right now, she needed air and space, and she wanted it before the tears burning behind her eyelids made their way to the surface. She would not give that old buzzard the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

  Shaking with a mixture of nerves and pent-up anger and pain, she shoved her feet into her boots, grabbed her coat, and left the house. She marched across the lawn and down the driveway, the knot of pain and anger in her stomach carrying her forward.