100 Proof Stud (The Darcy Walker Series) (55 page)

Ditto
…

Before I could protest, he lifted me up, taking my napkin out of my lap and depositing it in my seat. Kenny G’s “White Christmas” seeped into my bones, and once mingled with the other attendees, I sulkily realized Dylan was by far the best looking young man in attendance. He was insufferably beautiful and irritatingly…unforgettable. He’d ditched his jacket, and my eyes lazily slid over his perfectly knotted tie and white fitted shirt. I knew the person beneath the clothes, and I could say without a doubt, his heart was more beautiful than the outer package.

Peering into his eyes, I blinked, “You’re umm….”

Dylan inhaled in a sound of appreciation…even before the words left my lips. “You’re the beauty here, but thank you,” he murmured. “And I love the dress.”

If anything, the dress was practical. My body was stiff with the beating it took, and the dress thankfully covered the bruises. The song transitioned into Percy Sledge’s “When a Man Loves a Woman”
…
Rookie’s favorite song. Rookie and Red slid out from behind the table along with Colton and Susan Taylor.

Time for the real couples to remind themselves why they were couples.

Dylan murmured, “You’re quiet, Darc, and you’ve stopped moving your feet.”

I snuggled into him, wishing I could never leave. “I almost fell asleep.”

“Not the response Dylan Taylor was going for,” he chuckled.

As always, I had an irrefutable desire to be close to him and molded myself even closer. “I meant it as a compliment,” I exhaled. “You relax me, D. No one can seem to do that except you. When you’re around, I don’t worry about tomorrow.”

“Watch yourself, sweetheart. You’re going to make me fall in love with you.”

I shivered from head-to-toe, the temp slightly teetering above freezing. The temperature between Dylan and me, however, said we were minutes from third-degree burns. Murphy and Marjorie had plans to close down the mall. Something he never let the six-year-old do, but Murphy received his bonus and was feelin’ the love. During Rookie’s party, I hadn’t thought too much about being alone with Dylan, but considering the sexual tension between us, I should’ve. Add a lit Christmas tree and logs on the fire, and you’d tripled up on the trouble.

My hormones were waking up.

After Dylan got the fire raging, I immediately hit the sound system. Labrinth’s “Beneath Your Beautiful” popped on. Before I could get all hey-what-do-you-want-to-do, our eyes collided. A heat begging to consume us both was inside.

I stood about twenty feet away. When I felt the boiling emotion, I jumped even further back, scrambling up against the wall. I knocked over Murphy’s nativity scene, briefly wondering if the Good News Angel thought this a good thing or bad thing.

My God, that look…

First thing to come to mind was “lamb to the slaughter.” Dylan didn’t seem normal, like he vacillated somewhere between man and beast. He stalked forward…and kept coming…and coming.

His grin grew big and naughty as he ripped his tie from his neck and unbuttoned the top button, letting the black silk tie flutter to the hardwood in front of us.

“Dylan you need to start—stop it,” I swallowed. “You’re making me want to…”—I shook my head to clear it—“We can’t…” My God, did I need a stun gun? “D? Say something.” Next thing I knew, he closed the distance between us, backing me up against the wall. One leg slipped between my knees, successfully pinning me in the corner with no place to go but inside his arms.

Oh, rawr…rawr, rawr, rawr…

“Why are you doing this?” I whispered.

“You never begged.”

“What?” I asked, confused.

“I wanted to kiss you so badly at the dance, but I must not have shown you how much I cared because you never begged.”

My voice went MIA; my vocal chords shriveling up like a prune that needed to be trashed. My feelings ran deeper than the Mariana Trench, but by God, this wasn’t a good idea. I wanted it too much. “Oh,” I whispered as an answer. “This thing…between us…it can’t happen.”

Dylan looked at every part of my body except the eyes…up, down, side-to-side—lingering as if he tried to figure out which part he’d devour first. “Tell me why,” he demanded, finally catching my gaze.

By God, I couldn’t. “We’ve known each other too long,” I used as an excuse.

“I interpret that as you think we’d be boring together.”

“Yeah,” I whispered.

He rubbed his nose against mine. “Anything else?”

“I like blonds.” This made Dylan smile. “Geeky guys, not jocks,” I added.

He rubbed his nose up against mine again. “The opposite of me.”

“Totally un-alpha.”

“Is that right?”

“Right,” I breathed.

“Tell me why you think we
would
work,” he coaxed.

My traitorous heart fell woefully short in its argument. I tentatively brought my hands up to his waist, my mouth opened, and against my better judgment, I released my soul. “Your smile is killer, but your heart is what makes mine beat every day. You’re the concrete I stand on, Dylan. Always have been…always will be.”

Dylan pulled back like he’d been scorched in a flame, giving one slow blink. “Jesus,” he prayed, leaning his forehead into mine. “Conversations like this are what would make me lie down and die for you, Darcy. You’re funny. Your face is gorgeous, but your soul…your soul is what slays me.”

I thought he was done. In fact, I wished he were done when the brevity of his next words hit me.

“Sweetheart, listen,” he murmured softly. “Don’t overthink us. For once, just fricking feel.”

I shook like a leaf in the wind. “I’m afraid to feel,” I gasped.

“Why?” he asked tenderly.

“Because of who I am. I’m not so sure you can handle…who I truly am.”

At this Dylan stiffened, immediately going for eye contact. Something dark sparked in his gaze I didn’t understand. “I know everything about you.”

I could barely look him in the face—let alone say the truth. But here we were again. Me truly being one way; him thinking I could be someone else. He placed his index finger under my chin, tipping it upward. “Not really,” I shrugged, forced to look at him. “I use people, D. I used Ben as a science experiment to hold you off. I used Kyd Knoblecker last summer. I used Liam Woods last spring. They helped me in what I was trying to do at the time, but I also used them to see if I could make you jealous. Did I think they were cute? Sure, I’d be lying if I said they weren’t, but I used their attraction to me for my own end.”

Wow, talk about ripping off the Band-Aid. It felt good, but I wasn’t so sure it felt good for Dylan. He took a good thirty seconds to mull over the admission. “So you think that makes you incapable of having a relationship?” he frowned.

Well, yeah.

I mean, shouldn’t it?

Dylan moved in for the kill. “That excuse isn’t good enough, sweetheart. I know full well who you are, and I wouldn’t change one single thing. In fact, it would bore the life out of me if you’d change. Don’t you want to experience what is yet unwritten?”

Um, wow…one heckuva pickup line. Trouble was, I knew he meant it.

A deadpan stare. “Maybe,” I conceded.

Dylan’s predator smile returned. “Give me a chance, Darc.
Please
,” he added, whispering out the
please
.

My hands traveled up to explore the planes of his chest, circling around behind his shoulder blades and back down to where they rested at his hips. I stared for a darn long time, enjoying each beautiful curve of his face. A strong yet tender jaw. Chiseled cheeks that grew more defined with a deep smile. Lips that only spoke words of encouragement. With a body that would rock anyone’s world. Everything about him was intoxicating. Dylan Taylor left me breathless, and I wondered how in the world I could’ve missed what had been standing beside me for years.

I couldn’t believe I was going to do this…

…say this.

Yet my mouth took over and unloaded the truth.

“When you got hurt,” I winced, “in the car accident,” I paused, “I only saw reasons why this wouldn’t work. Reasons that nearly got you and two of my best friends killed. I live with a lot of guilt, D. Guilt that comes from my mother and guilt over just…breathing. Guilt I prefer to not give power over me because if I do, I can’t function. But even though I build up walls, I’m still not right. Not really. I bite my nails. I’m an insomniac. I count crap when I’m nervous. But if I have a chance of being the person you think I am or I want to be, I know the chance only exists with you. I’m sorry I hurt you, Dylan—with anything I’ve done here lately or in the past. I want to apologize for the future because more is destined to come. I’ve given you my heart,” I exhaled. “Can you live with that?”

Dylan was on me so fast every ounce of air left my body.

His strong arms encased my waist, pulling us so close we toppled over as one body—spilling onto the floor. I felt his legs, chest, and hips straining against mine as though he literally tried to step inside my body.

Then he kissed me…

Oh. My. Word.

I’m making out with Dylan Taylor.

From the moment our lips met, I knew this wasn’t a best friend thing. It felt carnal and powerful and awakened something I’d never felt possible.

Especially not with Dylan.

But then again…
only
with Dylan.

The kiss was tentative at first—as if I’d break—but then his mouth grew more fevered. He grabbed a handful of my hair and explored my cheeks…first the left, the right…and thank you Lord, found his way back to my lips. Dylan’s kiss was the type that left no doubt as to what he wanted.

Me.

Any time. Any place.

Whenever he snapped his gorgeous, cocky fingers.

I gasped for air, attempting to crab walk backward in the search for O2.

Dylan grabbed my right shoe and yanked me toward him, his voice coming out in a lusty growl. “Oh, no, you don’t.”

“I’m just trying to breathe,” I shakily inhaled.

“Oxygen is overrated,” he murmured, his voice convulsing more than mine.

I wasn’t so sure.

With Dylan’s lips now at my neck, after a couple more minutes of holding hands with death, I made another fruitless move to sit up. We’d somehow worked our way from the edge of the stairs to the dining room table. I toppled over a chair. Dylan caught it in one hand, tossing it off to the side with a smacking crash. It nipped the base of the Christmas tree. The tree teetered like the Leaning Tower of Pisa and then came down in a tinging crash. The lights blinked off in two zaps; the star on the top flew across the room…a gingerbread man landed face down…the gingerbread girl landed on top of him. The boom rattled a glass reindeer on a shelf. We both watched as it wobbled and fell to the hardwood, shattering into tiny little pieces.

“I’ll replace that,” he breathed.

I’d been on all fours when I dove for the reindeer. Now I collapsed face down like I’d been shot with a rifle. My word, is this what a relationship with him would be like? We’d practically wrecked the place. I was worn out. Confused. Hormonally activated. Scared out of my ever lovin’ mind. Dylan flipped me over, both arms in a push-up by my head, his eyes daring me to move.

His lips found mine again.

After several breathtaking minutes working at my lips, he moved to my hair and trailed down my neck to my collarbone until I moaned in complete and utter ecstasy. All right. I’m a woman of opportunity, and it would be a crime to not take advantage of the situation.

At first I was nervous, thinking I’d do something that would turn him off, but then I figured I should YOLO the experience because it might be my last. My hands found his black hair and pulled and twisted to the point it had to have hurt. Tenderly moving my lips over his, I stopped searching for an answer to our muddied relationship. I didn’t overthink the what-ifs and maybe-we-shouldn’ts. All I thought was how unbelievably forbidden and predestined he tasted. I arched at every move his mouth made and answered each caress with equal passion. When Dylan kissed, he was freaking thorough…I didn’t know where he began, and I ended. All at once, he backed off and let me take more of the sweet taste he offered. And girl, did I make sure to take my fair share. I’d never really been given the reins to kiss someone…but when Dylan gave them to me, I took over in a horrifyingly violent manner. And yes, I apologize to anyone that has heart problems for that vivid description.

He murmured, “You’re beautiful” and sucked my bottom lip into his, gently nibbling on its edge.

When I hooked my right leg around his hip and moaned, “Don’t stop…”

He. Did.

Duuuuuuuude….

That was just wroooooonnnnnnng.

He fisted a handful of my hair in his hand, burying his face in my neck. Leaving my left hand at the small of his back, I put two fingers on my lips as if to cool them. “D,” I mumbled, speaking behind them.

Dylan’s entire body shook. “Hey,” I breathed, “Are you all right?”

His passion slowly harnessed. And my heart took a free fall. Had he changed his mind so quickly? I recoiled defensively. Ah, shoot. He thinks I’m a goodtime girl when frankly, I didn’t even understand the good time. I did understand why-buy-the-cow-when-you-can-get-the-milk-for-free better than anyone in the country. Murphy was from Kentucky. That was the unsaid slogan amongst parents and farmers. But now I might understand why some cultures worshipped it.

I metaphorically placed my hand over my heart in a pledge. “D, I promise I’m not a milking cow, and I don’t worship them either. I know that’s bovine ignorance.”

Dylan finally mumbled into my neck. “Sweetheart, give me a sec. I honestly wasn’t prepared for your enthusiasm.”

Oh. Okay. I could deal with that. Longing to touch him, I forced myself to remain still, afraid one quick move one way or another would erase what went down here. Regardless of what he thought, I thought it was beautiful.

I sighed.

After a quick peck under my chin, he lifted his head with a gaze that I couldn’t quite describe. It was somewhere else. When his eyes bled back into focus, he was drunk and drowsy on…
holy crap
.

It was desire.

He hadn’t shaken because he was scared…or changed his mind. He’d shaken because he was holding himself back.

Dylan shakily set us both up and took my palm in his hand, placing it over his heart. It moved so hard and fast I could see his shirt jump up and down with each beat. “Feel this,” he murmured. “This is why I waited so long for you, Darcy. I knew it would feel like this, and I wasn’t going to let it slip away. Seriously, sweetheart, your kissing skills are off the charts. Some can’t handle that sort of passion…I crave it.”