Love Emerged (Love Surfaced #3)

by Michelle Lynn

  “Hello,” I say, backing up from her before any villainousness wears off on me.

  “Bea.” My uncle nods his head in a hello.

  I do the same with a tight smile. “Uncle Len.”

  I take the last open seat between Xavier and the arm of the couch.

  “Has the doctor been here yet?” I try to whisper to my father.

  “No, not yet,” my grandmother answers.

  “So, Bea, where do you work now?” Uncle Len asks.

  “Deacon Advertising,” I answer, wondering why he wants to make small talk.

  “Oh, I heard they were thinking about moving out here,” he says.

  I tilt my head, perplexed how he knows something so internal.

  He must see my confusion. “There are a few floors open in the Tribune Tower. Some of your execs had a look a few weeks back.”

  I forgot Uncle Len dabbles in real estate along with his responsibilities to Vitron’s.

  “Oh.”

  “Well, that’d be nice to have you here.” My grandmother’s sincerity doesn’t meet her eyes.

  We both know she likes me farther than arms distance. I’ve just never figured out why.

  My dad reaches his hand out and grips mine. “I’d like that,” says the dying man. The man willing to leave me.

  I smile, sharing a raw emotion with my father—love.

  We all sit in uncomfortable silence for a few minutes, and my leg starts bouncing. Xavier reaches over and holds it still, but the urge just buzzes through me, like I’m a coke addict waiting for her next fix.

  “So, when is the doctor supposed to be here?” I ask my dad.

  “He should be here any minute. Usually, he doesn’t make house calls,” my grandmother again speaks for my dad.

  Annoyance gnaws at my throat, begging to allow me to unleash my voice. Instead, I quietly sit there.

  “Do you have a boyfriend?” my grandmother asks, like stabbing a knife in my heart.

  I don’t answer at first, too busy thinking about what Dylan is exactly and what he will be. For sure, I’ll self-destruct it. I mean, come on, I’m Bea Zanders, the pass-around.

  All their faces are focused on me. My dad’s general curiosity, my uncle’s uncaring, Xavier’s indifference, and my grandmother’s smug face. The one I got seven years ago when she told me I was a slut who’d never secure a guy to take me seriously.

  “I do,” the two words slip out of my mouth before I register they did. Crap. Where did that come from? I quickly force my lips to smile, so my face matches my words.

  “You do? Who is he?” My dad sits up a little straighter.

  If his smile wasn’t so full, I might have downplayed my relationship, even made it seem like it’s running its course. But I sit up a little straighter, too, showing how eager I am to share details of my life.

  “Yes, do tell us,” my grandmother sneers.

  I catch my dad narrow his eyes in her direction.

  “I mean, I can’t wait to hear about him.” Her tone changes faster than a light switch.

  I glance from her back to my dad. “His name is Dylan McCain. He’s a nice guy, truly talented in advertising.”

  “So, you work together?”

  I hear the question she really wants to ask, so I clarify, “We’re coworkers.” I make sure she knows he isn’t my boss.

  “Can I meet him?” my dad asks.

  A rush of fear runs rapid through my veins.

  “Um . . . sure,” I say, knowing it will never happen.

  “Is he in Chicago with you?” my grandmother asks, that smug look playing games that I might be lying about him, as if I’d make up a boyfriend.

  “Yes.” There goes that damn slip of the tongue, as though I’m sticking it to her in some way by proving her wrong.

  “Great. I’ll set up a dinner here tonight, and we can all meet him.” She digs into her oversize purse, revealing her phone a second later. “We’ll have it catered.” She’s already pressing buttons on her phone.

  “Oh, um . . . let me check with him first.” I reach over Xavier, covering her phone with my hand.

  She looks up at me, pursing her lips, that smugness appearing again. Hell, truthfully, it never even disappeared.

  “You know what? He’ll be happy to join us, I’m sure.”

  She tests me with those evil blue eyes, and I hold them, not backing down from her.

  “Great. I’ll arrange it.” She stands up and walks away to make the phone call.

  “I can’t wait to meet him.” My dad taps my hand a few times.

  “Sorry, Bea, I’m leaving for California this afternoon,” Xavier says next to me.

  I am upset that he won’t be there to help me with the family.

  “That’s okay. Maybe next time.”

  My uncle’s hands clapping shocks me. “Well, I’ll be here. Let me go call your aunt.”

  Shit, I’m going to walk Dylan into a family reunion after I practically ran out on him this morning. What the hell was I thinking? Revenge on my grandmother’s satanic words from seven years ago—that’s what. I really need to grow up one of these days.

  In the interim, I pull my phone out and hammer a text to Dylan.

  Me: Hey, do you mind coming to a family dinner?

  He doesn’t respond right away—or during the doctor’s visit or on my way back to the hotel. I half-wonder if he’ll be at the hotel when I return. A nightmare situation flicks to my mind. What if I have to call some escort service or snatch a guy off the street? Surely, I could pick up a guy at a bar, if I was desperate enough. But none of those guys are Dylan. I know, from one of his dimpled smiles, he’d win them over as fast as he did me.

  What did I just say? Did he win me over? Yeah, he did. I sigh with a calmness I haven’t felt until this moment.

  In truth, I know he did—if only I could trust enough to allow him in.

  I’m stepping out of the taxi when my phone buzzes in my pocket.

  Dylan: I’d love to.

  I feel the cheesy cheek-heightened smile plaster onto my face as I read his text. This man pulls emotions I never knew existed out of me.

  Me: Great. Meet me in the lobby at five.

  Dylan: I’ll be the dashing gentleman waiting.

  Me: You’re a lifesaver. Thank you.

  Dylan: You want to have some fun before then? ;)

  Me: Nope. We cannot be late.

  Dylan: I’m fast, promise.

  Me: Well then, as long as you get off.

  Dylan: I meant, you. I can get you off faster than any other guy.

  Me: Hmm . . . we’ll have to test that theory.

  Dylan: I’m in my room.

  Me: Another time.

  Dylan: LOL . . . okay, okay, see you at five.

  Me: :)

  I stopped at Water Tower Place to grab a dress for tonight since I only brought casual clothes. Not to mention, the last thing I need is for my grandmother to make fun of my clothes. I can practically imagine her rubbing the fabric between her two fingers with a look of disgust on her face. That might have been the reason I spent an ungodly amount on the dress, but surely, I can wear it again at some point. Maybe when I accept my promotion after the Nike campaign.

  With my full face of makeup on, my more conservative dress that flares out after a snug top, heels, and my hair wavy in curls, I exit the elevator, searching for my dashing gentleman. I immediately spot him, talking to the desk clerk. He’s smiling, laughing, as he hands her something that she accepts with a flirtatious smile. A twinge of jealousy rushes through my body.

  I’m not sure if he senses me or not, but he looks over, finding me there. With a tap on the desk and a good-bye, he swaggers my way. As much as I hate to admit it, he is dashing in dark slacks and a gray button-down shirt adorned with cufflinks. The stripes on his shirt define his broad shoulders as they slink down to his tapered waist. All of his tattoos are completely covered, and that doesn’t sit well with me, but at the same time, he resembles the boy next door wh
o grew up into a handsome man. From what he’s told me, that analogy is correct.

  “Hey, my dashing gentleman,” I say when he approaches.

  A slow grin teases his lips. “Hey, my gorgeous lady.” He twists on his heels, so we’re facing the same way, and he holds his arm out for me.

  I link my arm through his, and he guides us toward the front door. We file out into the summer night that’s growing cold with fall approaching, making me wish I’d grabbed my coat. But since it doesn’t go with this outfit and I wasn’t about to buy a new one, I resort to Dylan’s warmth.

  The doorman calls a taxi over, Dylan tips him, and soon, we’re on the way to my father’s. That knot in my stomach emerges again.

  He leans in toward me, his lips pressing on my bare skin. “You look breathtaking tonight,” he says.

  I melt like hot fudge from his words. “Thank you,” I whisper.

  He rests back on his side of the cab, but he entwines our fingers. It feels nice, nicer than I deserve after I ran out on him this morning. We both look out of the windows.

  I wonder what it will be like if Deacon moves here. The Vitrons would have to share a city with me, and I’m not sure how much some of them would like that. For some reason, although I was born in a wedded relationship, I was stamped undeserving or dirty to them. As hard as I’ve tried to rub it off, it’s always there, as visible as a neon sign in a bar window.

  The cab pulls along my dad’s condo building curb, and I practically shake from how sickened I am to have dinner with the whole family. We go to the desk clerk to announce our arrival, and then we shuffle to the elevator, all with Dylan’s hand glued to mine.

  “So, who am I here as?” Dylan asks after I press the penthouse button on the elevator.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Am I the boyfriend, the friend, the coworker, or the fuck buddy?”

  I sense he’s asking more for himself.

  “I told them you were my boyfriend.”

  He steps up to me, and my eyes glance at the elevator.

  Tenth floor.

  My back hits the elevator wall, and he cages me in, his hands gripping my hips.

  “Am I?” He stares directly into my eyes, assessing and testing.

  My heart stutters, my voice catching in my throat.

  Yes. Say yes, my insides scream. But, for some reason, there’s a huge lump in my throat, blocking my words.

  Dylan’s hands leave my hips, and he starts to back away, but before he can escape too far, I grab his hand.

  “Yes. Is that what you want?”

  He moves back to me, and I check again.

  Twenty-fifth floor.

  “I thought I was clear last night.”

  I nod. “You were, but in the light of day—”

  “Damn it, Bea.” He releases his hold again, his right hand going through his hair.

  The bell rings to alert that we’re at my father’s, but Dylan reaches over and presses the button to close the doors.

  “Do you want to date me or not?” His eyes burn with a fury I’ve never seen before. A fury mixed with sadness.

  “I’m not good at these things,” I argue an exhausting point.

  He’s so close that my nipples are touching his chest, and it sets off a tingle of excitement that flushes my body. There’s something about seeing him angry that turns me on.

  How sick is that?

  “I know, but I like you, Bea. I’ve tried to deny my feelings for you, but I can’t. I want to explore them. I’m not asking for you to move in with me or marry me.”

  He’s growing impatient, and I’m growing hotter. Damn, his one vein is bulging in that edible neck.

  “I like you, too, but—”

  His lips capture mine, and I fall into the hard wall, allowing him to silence me.

  The tip of his tongue teases the parting of my lips, and soon, we’re frantic to have more of one another. My one leg winds around his thigh, needing to feel his erection against my clit. As if he knows it, he presses into me harder, and I whimper at the same time my hips grind his.

  Ding.

  The doors open, and we break apart to find my grandmother standing there. I look to the elevator panel to notice Dylan’s two hands are up my dress, gripping my ass.

  Fuck, fuck. Fuck a duck. This is the last thing I need right now.

  Dylan releases his hands, and I unhook my leg from around him. He straightens my dress out and holds the door open for me to exit first.

  “June,” I say, my cheeks on fire, “this is my boyfriend, Dylan McCain.”

  Dylan looks over to me, winks, and then holds his hand out. “I’m very sorry you had to witness that, but I just can’t seem to keep my hands off your granddaughter. Nonetheless, it was inappropriate, and I apologize.”

  My grandmother nods and glances back to me before shaking his hand. “Hello, Dylan. Yes, it was disturbing to witness that act. Bea is rash on occasion.”

  She pins me with the blame, and I want to scream like a grade-schooler that he kissed me first. But I stand there, like I always do, silencing myself in front of her.

  “If you mean, she’s irresistible, I couldn’t agree more. She’s a unique creature that I’ve fallen for.” Dylan comes to my side, his arm extending across the small of my back.

  “Well then, shall we?” She turns to walk to the door in front of us.

  Dylan squeezes my ass, making me jump. She sharply turns around. I smile, and she looks me up and down before opening the door. I wonder why she was standing by the elevator.

  Was she going somewhere or waiting for me? On alert to knock me down with her insults before I enter the condo?

  Dylan’s hand lies on the small of my back, leading me into the room, and I swallow down the bile rising up my throat. Not only am I not comfortable in this part of my life, but Dylan is also a new addition, and I’m not sure where he fits.

  Do I want him to be my boyfriend?

  Yes. I meant my answer, but there are obstacles in our lives that I’m not sure we can ignore. One being the fact that he was hung up on someone else when he returned home for Brad’s wedding. He thinks I don’t know, but I’m not blind. He had heartbreak written all over him from the minute he stepped out onto the Ashby’s porch. I guarantee we were different, and I worry how I’ll compare.

  Dylan

  BEA AND I FOLLOW HER grandmother through a foyer adorned with a small round table with an overfilling vase of flowers situated in the middle. Seems like a waste of valuable square footage in Chicago to have a room that people pass through. Then again, I’m on a different level here, standing in a penthouse of one of the most sought-after condo buildings.

  We walk into the room, Bea breaking away from me to greet her dad. From what she’s told me, I assumed their relationship was estranged, but she’s practically running over to him.

  His thin arms wrap around her, and she kisses his cheek, but the entire time, his eyes are on me. In all the confusion of whether Bea and I are more, I forgot that I’m meeting her father tonight. I swallow down a sizable gulp as the pressure builds inside me.

  Bea turns around after greeting her dad and smiles over to me. “Dad, this is Dylan. Dylan, this is my dad, Hugh Vitron.”

  Panic erupts up my throat, drying my mouth. For fuck’s sake, the name Vitron finally dings in my head. Her family owns the restaurant empire.

  Gaining as much confidence in myself as I can, I step forward with my hand held out in front of me the entire way. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.” I put on my best charm even if I haven’t met very many parents in my past.

  “Please, call me Hugh.” He shakes my hand, his grip more lifeless than years prior, I’m guessing.

  I show no sign of him being sick. “Hugh then.” I nod.

  We release hands, and there are several conversations around us, but I try to focus solely on Hugh until he’s satisfied we’ve shared enough time.

  “Have a seat. Would you like a drink?”

 
A nice brunette comes by and hands a drink to the grandmother.

  What do I say? It seems oddly inappropriate to drink an alcoholic beverage in front of someone with liver failure. Like, Hey, looky-look, my liver is in tip-top shape. Nah, I don’t think so.

  “I’ll just have a water. Thank you,” I say directly to the lady.

  “I’m good, Gretchen. Thank you.” Bea and I sit down on the couch.

  I instantly place my hand on her knee. Weird how that appeared to be instinctual.

  “So, how long have you two been dating?” the grandmother asks.

  I glance at Bea to judge if she’s told them more than I know, but she’s biting her lip.

  “Not too long, but I’ve had my eye on her for a while.” I squeeze her knee, remembering how soft her skin was last night, making my dick grow slightly.

  “Oh, I thought you guys were an item for longer,” the nosy grandmother continues.

  I already feel the animosity between the two because Bea’s body stiffens every time her grandmother speaks.

  “Bea was a tough one to catch.” I smile at Bea, and she rolls her eyes at my dramatics. “Not to mention, her career means a great deal to her.”

  “Well, it’s not exactly like she has a high-level job.”

  “Mother,” the dad finally speaks up.

  Took him long enough.

  “You know what I mean. She could have worked with us, but she declined.” She raises her hands in quotes. “‘Wanting to make it on her own.’”

  “I don’t really remember being welcomed to come work for Vitron’s. Quite the opposite,” Bea sneers.

  A tingle of excitement flitters to life in me because her spunky side is coming out to play. I wondered why she was being so quiet.

  “You know you’re always welcome.”

  “Do I?” Bea asks.

  Her dad sits up and places his hands up in the air, one in the direction of his mother and the other one to Bea. “Enough, ladies. Let’s have a nice dinner. Or do I need to throw the card out there that I don’t have many dinners left?”

  “Dad,” Bea sighs.

  “Hugh,” the grandmother argues.

  But he’s too busy laughing.