Back Where She Belongs(21)

“Very cool.”

“Yeah. That project was the cover story of my professional association’s magazine, and got included in a feature in Business Week on innovative management. The publicity brought me customers.”

“Plus, you got a penthouse out of it. What’s it like?”

“It’s a showplace really. High ceilings, huge windows, warm wood floors, tons of built-ins, a chef-worthy kitchen.”

“You cook?”

She laughed. “I should learn, huh? I haven’t really settled in, I guess.” She paused, thinking that through. “It’s funny, but I’ve been there five months and I still feel like I’m in a pricey hotel, not my home, you know?”

“It’s probably all the travel.” He honed in on her, waiting for her to say more, letting her sort her thoughts.

“Maybe.” The truth was that no place she’d lived had ever felt like home. She used to blame it on the fact she’d always rented and never for long. “Now, here, your place, this feels like home. It feels...cared for, personal.”

“I like it. I don’t spend much time here, though. Juggling the two jobs has me keeping crazy hours.”

“I’ll bet.”

He looked at her for a few seconds, as if he wanted to say something, but wasn’t sure he should.

“What?” she said. “Tell me what you’re holding back.”

“It’s just that I plan to change that. The juggling.”

“Yeah?”

“Once the Wharton batteries hit the market and the demand increases, we’ll be in great shape. My plan is to quit the company and work for the town full-time.”

“Full-time? Wow. Can they pay you?”

“Not at first, no. But I plan to write development grants to increase our infrastructure. I want to bring in new businesses, more housing and tourism for the river area. It has untapped potential. It’ll take time and work, but I’ve got good people on the council and serving on commissions. A lot can be done and I plan to do it.”

New energy had come into his face, and his gestures were big; his whole body seemed lighter.

“I’m impressed. You really want this.” He looked the way he used to when he talked about college. It made her chest tight to think that he’d waited ten years to do what he really wanted with his life.

“I do. I figure within a year, I’ll be safe to leave Ryland Engineering.”

“How will your dad handle that?”

He shot her a look. “He’ll be fine. The company will be on solid ground. Victor Lansing, our factory manager, will take over for me. I’ve been briefing him.

“And your dad knows?”

“Of course,” he said, frowning, irritated, she could tell, that she kept bringing up his father, who she could imagine would be damned hard to convince of anything he didn’t want. “I’ve let a few key people know. The guy I want as my deputy director. Troy Waller. He’s vice mayor now. A couple of town council people.”

“Sounds like you’re prepared. You were into student government, I remember. You headed the social service club. You’ve always been a leader.”

“It’s what I want to do. It’s important. I like working for people. I’m good at solving problems, working out compromises. I’d like to see Wharton be more than it is.” He looked almost boyish with pride. Her heart squeezed with tenderness.

“They’re lucky to have you, Dylan.” She fought the feeling that he was wasting himself, that he could do so much more in a city, hell, in state government, maybe Congress.

“Who knows? In a few years, this place might be big and sophisticated enough you might actually like it.”

“Yeah, right.” She assumed he was joking. Then she caught the light in his smoky eyes, the quirk of his lips. He wanted her here. In Wharton. It was sweet, actually. Impossible, but sweet. “Anyway, I hope it all works out the way you want it to.”

“Thanks. I appreciate your good wishes, Tara. It means a lot.”

She felt a rush of affection for him and lurched forward to hug him. It wasn’t easy with the drink in one hand. She lifted her face to give him a quick kiss on the cheek before she backed away. Totally friendly and supportive. But his fingers pressed into her back, his chest against her breasts. He took a ragged breath. Her own pulse pounded in her ears. She backed away, unsteady on her feet. Her pulse pounded in her head. It felt so good to be in his arms, to touch him.

The glass in her hand sloshed some of her drink onto the tile. “Whoops. Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he said, looking at her, his eyes a little hazy.

She couldn’t keep staring at him, so she jerked her gaze to the left and noticed a sculpture on a stand beside the slate fireplace. “Wait...is that what I think it is?” She walked closer.

“The battle bot, yeah,” he said, clearly relieved by the shift in focus. “I had it repaired and painted afterward.”

“How cool.” It had been the night of Reed and the motorcycle, the night Dylan and Tara first got together. Dylan had staged a battle with a science club friend as part of the kegger in the desert. “I won fifty dollars that night,” she said. They’d all placed bets, turning it into a drinking game, which was how Reed got plastered.

“You never said you bet on me.”

“All the girls did. You were hot for a geek. Why would I give you the satisfaction of telling you? I was pissed. You had to jump in like Captain America and save the girl. Reed wasn’t that drunk.”

“He dropped his bike.”

“If I’d been on it he’d have driven more slowly. You embarrassed the hell out of me.” Her friends had stared wide-eyed when she let Dylan drive her home. Nobody told Tara Wharton what to do.

“Why did you go with me?”

“I’m still not sure.” But it had been the way he looked at her, like he was concerned and he didn’t care who knew, that he’d do anything to keep her from getting hurt, even risk her rage. No one had looked at her like that before—or since, for that matter. She’d never let anyone that close.

“The whole way home you yelled at me, said I was a macho *, a self-righteous jerk, a—”

“Stop!” She cringed. “I was awful to you. Why did you ask me out?”

“I knew you were showing off for your friends. We used to play Parcheesi when our parents had card parties, remember?”

“I do. And I used to cheat.”

“I remember.”

“I couldn’t stand to lose. What a brat I was.”

“I didn’t care. You made me laugh. You viewed the world so quirky. It was like you tickled my brain.”

“I tickled your brain. I think there were more parts involved than that.”

“That goes without saying.”

Zing. It hit again. That low, swooping charge through her body, zooming to the spot between her legs. When her knees gave way, she said, “Let’s sit down.” She barely made it to the overstuffed brown leather sofa. Dylan sat close to her, his knees turned toward hers, eyes on her face. They both set their drinks on the table.

“So that was why? You asked me out because I tickled your brain?”

“Also I’m a masochist.”

She gave him a playful slap, though she knew she hadn’t been easy to be with, restless, always pushing for more, testing his love, his patience. She’d been a pure mess.

“The truth is I asked you out because Reed Walker was an ass,” he said in a low, serious voice. “He didn’t get you. You were wasting your spark on him.”

“Oh.” She felt hot all over. “What a nice thing to say.”

“It’s true.”

“You were good to me, Dylan. I know I was...intense.”

“We were good to each other.” He paused. “When my parents were ripping into each other every night, you made me feel better.”

“You steadied me.” He still did. Since she’d returned, he’d had that effect on her. He’d cheered her, comforted her, made her feel like she belonged...at least for now and at least with him.

“We really had something,” he said.

“It was something, all right.”

“I keep thinking about us.” He smiled wistfully.

“Me, too. The good parts anyway.”

“The sex?” He grinned that wicked grin she’d always loved.

“Oh, yeah. The sex was great.” Why admit it? What was she doing?

“Yeah, it was.” His words sent a charge zooming along her nerves, lighting everything up like a pinball machine.

Tara could smell him. His cologne, laundry soap and that sweet tease that was just his skin. Sometimes, just smelling him would make her feel so light-headed she thought she might faint.