Daring Dylan (The Billionaire Brotherhood Book 2) (16 page)

“Because
the last time I saw him, he tried to punch my lights out.”

She lifted
her eyes to meet his. The impact nearly knocked her backward. His gaze hit her
in the solar plexus like a force field. But his attention pulled her closer,
enveloped her. Confused her. “You want to talk to Clay?”

“Mmhmm,”
Dylan confirmed, apparently more concerned with the texture of her earlobe
between his thumb and forefinger than with the conversation.

“Oh, boy,
you really do need my help, don’t you?”

He leaned
into her personal space, much, much closer than necessary. His breath teased
her ear. His chuckle washed over her like a warm, sensual bath. “Do I have to
admit that?”

She
shivered and braced herself, making one last stab at detachment. “That’s the
price for my assistance.”

“I’ll admit
it. I need you, Gracie. I really, really need you. More than I would’ve ever
thought possible.”

His hands
settled on her shoulders. Time stood still as he pulled her closer. An inch…
two inches. She became more aware than ever that only one person in the room
had clothes on, and that one person wasn’t Dylan. Her breasts, primly covered
in a T-shirt and bra, felt his heat through both layers.

He aligned
his hips with hers. Her body had never fit so precisely with anyone’s before,
and they were still standing. How much better would their pieces fit if they
were horizontal? The four-poster bed behind them seemed to be calling her name.

He pressed
his mouth to hers in a potent kiss that was more playful than romantic, more
teasing than erotic, but Gracie felt the buzz of it all the way to her toes.
His lips grazed hers, and she wanted more. She wanted those firm, sensual lips
to settle on hers and tempt and taste and tantalize her.

She lifted
her hands to the back of his head, eager to encourage and escalate the
sensations rippling through her from the light touch of his kiss. Metal clunked
against bone.

“Ow.”
Clutching his skull at the nape of his neck, he pulled away. “What was that?”

“A bracket.
Sorry, I forgot I had it in my hand.” She tossed the hardware aside and probed
beneath his thick, blond hair for lumps. “Are you all right?”

“You don’t
need to examine me.” He pulled away from her inspection. “After last night,
what’s one more bump?”

“Oh, well,
in that case...” Talk about a mood breaker. She was in a class by herself.
Hadn’t Baxter always said so? Her shoulder’s slumped with disappointment. “I
should finish this.” She climbed up the ladder.

“Why are
you hanging curtains?” Sinking into a chair, he leaned his head back. “Don’t
you have a decorator for that?”

“Of course,
we do. She’s over at the church, supervising ice cream production for the
festival tomorrow.”

“Your
grandmother made these?” He lifted up a corner and rubbed the material between
two fingers. “Nice.”

“Yep, and
in a little while, I’m going to meet her at the hospital, and hopefully, bring
Granddad home.”

“Can you
get in touch with Clayton and see if he’ll join us for lunch? I wasn’t kidding
about trying to talk to him.”

“Are you
buying? You owe me for last night, remember?”

“I won’t
forget my wallet, I promise.”

“Okay, but
first, fill me in on what you’ve found out. From the conversation I overheard a
few minutes ago, you know something about the house on Cordial Street.”

She thought
he’d balk at confiding in her. He hesitated and then shrugged. “All right, you
finish what you’re working on while I get dressed, and then we’ll talk.”

Darn, why did everything good in life demand a
trade-off?

Just before
noon, Dylan met Gracie in the hospital lobby. A shot of sheer pleasure at the
sight of her hit him with a one-two punch square between his eyes and groin.
Those legs… flashing eyes… lush mouth… all swamped him with a staggering rush
of desire.

Thoughts
about her had tantalized him all morning. No matter how often he’d tried to
steer clear of her and keep his feelings in line, she reappeared and pushed her
busy nose and luscious body into his life.

He’d been
within licking distance of kissing her the last three times they’d been
together. The first time had been a spur-of-the-moment temptation. The
second—he convinced himself—lay squarely on rampaging adrenaline after the
fight. But this morning, pure physical attraction was the culprit. Mixed with
something as heady as brandy and as complicated as quantum physics.

He wasn’t
ready to explore anything but the physical aspect, but he was determined to
follow through with a kiss soon or die trying. Which—with the way things were
going whenever he got too close to Gracie—seemed like a definite possibility.

“Did you
just get here?” A warm and welcoming smile drew his attention to her mouth. “I
was afraid I was late.”

Just to
have an excuse to touch her, he cupped her elbow when she got within reach and
turned her in the opposite direction. “Right on time. How’s your grandfather?”

She
grimaced. “Clay delayed Grandad’s release until tomorrow, and he’s in a bit of
a temper.”

“Do you
need more time with him?” God, Dylan hoped not. His rising anticipation of
completing the unfinished business between them made another postponement
unacceptable.

“No,
thanks. Gran’s really the only one he’ll listen to. Would you like to meet him?
He knew your father pretty well through Old Maine Furniture. We can check back
with them after we talk to Clay.”

“I’d be
happy to meet your grandfather, but...” He dreaded meeting with his supposed
half-brother, but he had to do it. “First, there’s something we need to get
straight.”

Adorable
little lines crinkled between her eyebrows. “You mean about working together?”

He smoothed
the furrows with a fingertip. “No.”

Dylan had
the neck-prickling sensation of eyes watching him and turned to notice their
audience. The volunteer at the reception desk, a custodian changing a light
bulb, and an octogenarian creeping through the lobby with a cane all watched
with undisguised curiosity. Gracie smiled and waved to them.

He opened a
door to a stairwell on the left and pulled her inside. The steps were narrow and
the landing was small. Smelling of disinfectant, it didn’t lend itself to
romance in any way but privacy.

“Let’s not
take any chances.” With exaggerated caution, he picked up her hands and
examined them. His thumbs circled her palms. “You’re not holding anything,
right?”

“My purse.”
She indicated the strap lodged on her shoulder.

He removed
it, set it down, and then looked overhead. “Nothing’s likely to fall on us.” He
bounced up and down on the balls of his feet. “The floor probably won’t
collapse.”

“Dylan,
what is it?” Her gaze darted around the confined space. “You’re making me
nervous.”

“It’s
this.” Placing his hands on her shoulders, he eased her forward. His mouth
lowered to within a breath of hers. “We need to get this out of the way before
the suspense kills me.”

In perfect
synchronization, with no awkward maneuvering, clinking teeth, or bodily
injuries, his lips claimed hers. Their mouths met and nothing in the world
mattered to him but Gracie. Sweet, delicious, wonderful Gracie. The first
gentle exploration escalated into open-mouthed desire. His hot, biting passion
made demands that Gracie matched with dizzying speed.

The kiss
kicked him in the gut and became so much more than a mere meeting of lips and
tongues. So much more than any other kiss he’d ever experienced. He hoped this
kiss would never end.

His hands
cupped her ass. He pulled her close, closer, but not close enough. If their
clothes disappeared and their bodies fused together, they wouldn’t be close
enough. Not until he was wrapped around her, inside her, part of her, feeling
her every breath, sharing her every thought. Not until then, would they be
close enough.

But that
would have to wait for another time, another place, maybe another lifetime. For
now, he concentrated on the intoxicating texture of her lips, the teasing bite
of her teeth, and the sensual mating of her tongue with his.

She had so
much sass to her, he’d half expected her to taste tart and tangy. But she was
undeniably delicious. Sweet, with a spicy undertone. His tongue delved deeper.

“What do
you taste like?” He devoured her again before freeing her mouth to answer.

“Cinnamon?”
She let him taste her, tasted him back, and smiled with satisfaction. “I was
taste-testing snickerdoodles at the church earlier.”

“Cookies?”
He marveled over the thought. “Perfect.” So Gracie. And now he loved cinnamon.
He knew he’d never sample it again without thinking of her and this perfect
kiss.

The rap of
footsteps hammered the stairs from several floors above. Slowly, he released
her, but she didn’t move. From the boneless drape of her body, he doubted if
she could stand on her own. He’d have a tough time walking.

Gracie’s
forehead dropped to his shoulder. “
That
was what we needed to get settled between us? Is it settled now?”

“Not
nearly.” He nuzzled her neck and breathed in her scent. Fresh, sexy. “But the
rest can wait until later.”

“Later?”
Her voice held wistful disappointment.

“Later.” He
turned the word into a promise. His hands on her waist encouraged her to step
back, but she clung to him like ivy on a chimney. “We have an appointment to
keep.”

A fake
cough drew their attention. Clayton stood midway down the flight of stairs,
wearing a thunderous expression. “Looks like you started the meeting without
me.” He brushed past them and stalked on down the stairs.

“Oh, good
grief.” She left Dylan holding nothing but air as she hurried after her friend.
“Clay!”

A sharp but
indistinct exchange floated back to Dylan. He waited several necessary minutes
before following. He didn’t regret the kiss for a moment, but he wished he
hadn’t set Clayton off again before they had a chance to talk.

When he
joined Clayton and Gracie in the cafeteria, she tapped her fingers in an edgy
staccato against a plastic tray. Clayton stood stiff and sullen in the line
behind her. While waiting for the cashier to return his credit card, Dylan eyed
the other two. Tension swarmed around them like gnats. They all wove their way
to an empty table.

Dylan
half-expected Clayton to refuse to sit with them, but a quick command from
Gracie persuaded the man. He placed his tray on the table and robotically took
a seat. Dylan took the space on the other side of her and realized too late the
significance of putting her in the middle.

Anger
rolled off of Clayton in waves. Palpable disapproval, along with the black eye
from their fight the night before, added to his forbidding appearance. But his
expression contained something else, too. Something secretive.

“Looks like
you need stitches.” Clayton waved toward Dylan’s face with a dinner roll.

Dylan
snorted. “So do you.”

Clayton
shrugged and dove into his meat loaf and mashed potatoes. An uneasy silence
surrounded them. The drab green walls closed in, suffocating Dylan with a sense
of hopelessness. The medicinal smells combined with the odors of steamed and
fried foods to ruin his appetite. While he could still draw an even breath, he
turned to Gracie.

He wanted
to caress her cheek or say something to make her smile, but neither gesture was
in the cards with Clayton glowering at them between bites.

Dylan’s
grilled chicken stuck in his throat like sawdust. He washed it down with a
swallow of iced tea. “I wanted to ask you—”

“I have new
infor—” Clayton said at the same time.

“What?”
they both asked.

“You first,”
Clayton insisted.

“I’ve
learned a couple of things that weren’t in the report your attorney sent us.”
Before continuing, Dylan checked on how many of the nearby diners had their
ears tilted in his direction. All of them.

Clayton’s
eyebrows shot upward. “What?”

Leaning
forward, Dylan spoke softly. “Did you know your mother owned the house you
lived in on Cordial?”

Clayton
nodded and relaxed back in his chair. “When I was about fourteen and determined
to go to med school, David explained my full financial picture. I guess he
wanted to reassure me that I would be taken care of if something happened to
him.”

“What did
he tell you about the house?”

“Just that
when Mom’s estate was settled, he sold it and invested the money for me.”

“Didn’t you
wonder how your mother came to own a house?”

“I assumed
she had a mortgage and insurance like everyone else. Didn’t she?” Clayton
frowned as Dylan shook his head. “How do you know?”

“David told
me.”

“David told
you.
My
David?” Clayton took his time
crossing his fork and knife over his empty plate. His lips disappeared into a
thin line. “Why would he tell you something like that?”

“I guess he
thought it would strengthen your claim.”

Gracie took
an impatient swat at his arm. “Would you tell him what you know and quit acting
like Midas dispensing gold coins?” She took over the story. “Your mother had
the deed in a safety deposit box along with a letter from a big-time Hartford
attorney who worked for the Bradfords.”

Even in the
taut atmosphere, Dylan had to suppress a smile. He’d known she wouldn’t remain
a silent partner for long.

“And you
knew about this, too?” Clayton accused Gracie.

“Not until
this morning, but don’t you see what this means? It’s another link between you
and the Bradfords.”

His
negligent wave swept the information aside. “Is that all you’ve got?”

Clayton’s
lack of enthusiasm surprised Dylan. “I talked to the realtor who negotiated the
sale. He said your mother paid for the house with a cashier’s check.”

“And she
didn’t borrow the money from a bank?”

“Nope. The
realtor remembered because he wondered where someone so young and ‘feisty,’ as
he put it, could’ve gotten that kind of money.”

“That does
seem like a possible link,” Clayton admitted. “And here’s another one for you.”
He face gave him away like a novice poker player with a royal flush. “David
told me this morning that someone has been depositing money in a trust account
for me ever since my mother’s disappearance.”

“Who?”
Gracie asked.

“An
anonymous benefactor.” Clay turned pointedly toward Dylan. “Any guesses?”

Now Dylan
understood Clayton’s odd mood. As angry as the young doctor had been about
discovering Gracie in his arms, he’d also been savoring his anticipation of
dropping this little bombshell. And it did succeed in sending a few tremors
through the foundation of Dylan’s already shaky world.

“There’s
nothing in that to indicate my father.” He hoped. “There wouldn’t have been
time for him to set up something that intricate. He died right after your
mother disappeared.”

“The
details of the trust could have been established any time after Clay’s birth,”
Gracie pointed out.

“Maybe, but
I’d need to see some proof linking that to my father before I’d believe it.”

“Do you
have a copy of his will?” she asked.

“What law
firm handled his personal affairs?” Clayton smirked at his word choice. “Was it
the same one that transferred the house to my mother?”

“Yes.” He’d
recently looked over his mother’s and father’s wills to see if his mother had
neglected to reveal any surprises besides the cabin. Clayton had not been
referenced, but Dylan’s father could have made separate arrangements for any
number of outside interests. “I’ve already got someone working on getting more
information about the house.”

Even if
Uncle Arthur came up empty on that score, Dylan had set his personal assistant
to work on the situation. Gilmore was a wizard when it came to hacking, and
deeds and trusts were the kind of tangible transactions that left a clear trail
for someone with the patience to follow it. An attribute that Dylan clearly
lacked.

“This could
be it.” Gracie reached over to squeeze her friend’s hand. “This is the kind of
evidence you’ve needed all along.”

“This or
DNA testing,” Clayton said. “That would have settled the issue when I raised
it. Are you still opposed to that?”

Dylan had
known since he’d seen the picture of Lana at Gracie’s that he couldn’t deny the
possible any longer. He still didn’t believe his father would fail to
acknowledge a child of his own, no matter what the circumstances surrounding
the birth. But there were too many coincidences piling up to ignore.