Back Where She Belongs(24)

“What does that have to do with him stealing the files?” Her thought process seemed convoluted to him.

“He’s been handling things for Mom—insurance, our estate attorney, even the clothes for the funeral—so maybe he was afraid something incriminating was in the files.”

“You didn’t accuse him of any of that, did you?”

“No. I’m not an idiot. Well, despite picking a fight with Fallon and harassing Jim Crowley at a birthday party.” She smiled ruefully. “I simply asked if he’d seen them and he got excessively defensive.”

“You’re not thinking Joseph had something to do with the accident, are you?” That would be way over the top.

“No. But something’s up with him, for sure. I’ll see what I can find out when I’m at Wharton.”

“What are you going to do at Wharton?”

“Investigate a little, but mostly help out.” She pushed her plate forward and back, frowning, thinking hard, abruptly upset. She lifted her gaze to his. “Faye wanted to hire me. She called a few weeks ago and said she’d like my perspective on the transition Wharton’s going through.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She steadied her gaze on him, regret clouding the clear blue of her eyes. “But I didn’t take her seriously. I joked about Joseph being too cheap to pay my fees. I totally blew it. I should have dropped everything and come out. Maybe if I had...”

“What? You think you could have prevented the accident?”

Tara shrugged. “Faye started seeing a shrink around the time she called me. She was taking pills for depression and anxiety. She was worried, Dylan. Really worried. But I didn’t pick up on that. I let her down.”

He stayed quiet, knowing there was more she had to get out.

“Faye was always there for me. Always.” She swallowed. “And what did I do? I harassed her for trying to please our father instead of going to art school. I told her marrying Joseph was a mistake. Who does that to someone they love?” She looked so anguished he had to intervene.

“Someone with strong opinions and big feelings.”

“You mean a spoiled brat? Don’t you dare pity me. You’re supposed to give me hell.” She gave a twisted smile. “I can’t stop thinking that the last talk I had with Faye was her begging for my help and me blowing her off. Why didn’t I listen? That’s one of my strengths with clients. Faye is the dearest person in my life and I barely paid attention.”

“She wouldn’t see it that way.”

“That’s because she’s too kind.” Tara grimaced, then grabbed her neck, so he knew her muscles had gone tight.

“You’re knotting up.” He moved his chair beside her and motioned for her to turn so he could rub her shoulders. He gripped the muscles at the base of her neck. They twisted like snarled rope under his fingers.

“You haven’t lost your touch,” she breathed, relaxing under his hands.

He focused on easing the knots, not how right it felt to be touching her again, how much he wished he weren’t so damn adult, that he would just give up and go to bed with her. His gaze landed on the sweating drinks, both nearly full. Maybe Tara was right. Maybe vodka wasn’t such a bad idea after all.





CHAPTER NINE



THIS FEELS SO GOOD. Tara all but melted under Dylan’s skilled hands. She’d forgotten how good he was at this. Revealing her guilt over Faye, then this amazing massage, was making her distress slip away.

Such a relief. Her stomach let go of its clinch, her shoulders loosened, her headache faded. She noticed how silky and cool the night air felt on her skin. The lights tucked into the landscaping began to wink and glow, turning his yard into a wonderland.

This was way better than getting drunk. Good call, Dylan. He’d always been sensible.

She found herself doing what she used to do when he rubbed her shoulders. She turned into his arms for more comfort, rested her cheek against his collarbone, felt the steady bump of his heartbeat, breathed in the sweet, sweet smell of his skin. Mmm.

Dylan’s breathing hitched in surprise at her move, then he shifted his upper body so their curves fit just right. His massage slowed, as if he, too, were remembering this experience.

The best massages were in bed in his room, when they lay skin to skin, free to take the touching further. She would feel relaxed and aroused at the same time, anticipating the moment when Dylan’s hands would slide from her back to her butt and pull her tight against him, and they’d be lost in each other’s bodies for hours.

It was happening again, she noticed—the neural pathways lighting up as if they’d never gone dark. It would be so natural to go to bed together, so easy. Why was it a bad idea again?

Dylan froze, as if he’d had the same thought, and answered her question by patting her back. “Hope that helps.” He pushed his chair back hard, the scrape loud against the tile.

“It did,” she said, turning to look at him, to see if it had been tough to stop. Embers glowed beneath the smoky color of his eyes and he was breathing hard. Good. She wasn’t alone in the struggle.

If he could resist, so could she. She was bigger than her urges, bigger than her past. She had to focus on now. Now, they were friends. They were investigating the accident together. The past was the past. They’d even apologized to each other. Done and done.

Sex would only complicate things.

Right. Good. Check.

There was another reason...simmering below the surface.

What if the sex was amazing? What if it felt too good? What if it made her want more?

That would be bad. Wanting more meant wanting Dylan and Dylan was all about Wharton, now and forever. His dream was to fix the town the way he’d fixed his father’s company. He belonged in Wharton. He fit here.

She didn’t. She’d worked too hard to break free of the town and who she’d been here. If she stayed, she’d lose all the gains she’d fought for—her independence, her confidence, her pride. She’d fall back into her old ways, turn into the same lost, sad failure she’d been.

The problem that was eating at her now, the reason she was so tempted was that she was lonely. She had to correct that—make friends she trusted enough to confide in. Get a boyfriend for the physical part. Talking about it with Dylan she realized she was not only a guest in her condo, she was a guest in her life.

So that was the lesson of seeing Dylan again.

“I missed you,” he said. “A lot.”

Zing. His words flipped a switch inside, lighting her up all over again, reversing every sensible thought she’d just had. “I missed you, too. I was miserable that first year. It was all I could do to make it to class. I had had all these plans for us, how we’d study together, go on hikes, learn to snowboard and, hell, look at stars. I felt like I’d lost a limb.”

Dylan looked surprised. “I had no idea. You cut me off cold. I figured that was that for you.”

“I cut you off because it hurt too much to hope.” Her entire body felt electrified by the words they were sharing. Truths she’d never spoken aloud, not even to Faye. “Even then, I hoped you’d come sophomore year like you said. Instead you got married.”

He stared at her for a long moment. “Yeah. I did. And it was a mistake. And, the truth is, seeing you again, I realize Candee was right. I wasn’t over you.”

“That’s what happened?” she asked, shocked, but also reassured that she hadn’t been alone in her own misery.

“I thought I was over you. I wanted to be and I fought like hell to prove it to her, but once she got that idea in her head, she wouldn’t let go.” His eyes burned at her, his voice rough.

“I’m sorry, Dylan.”

“Me, too. More than I can say. I hurt Candee. I should have figured it out. I should have known.” He looked so troubled she wanted to cup his cheek, but she held back.

“Maybe if we’d talked back then...”

He shook his head. “Wouldn’t have worked. We needed perspective. We needed for what happened not to matter so much. We needed to be friends.”

He was right, though she got that panicked feeling again. She wanted to say. Wait. Don’t write us off. Maybe we’re not done.

Of course they were done. Weren’t they?

“It’s imprinting. That’s the trouble.”

“Excuse me?”

“Like with ducklings. They imprint on whatever creature they see when they hatch. A dog, a person, a goat. We were each other’s first love. We got imprinted.”

“Okay...”

“Plus we were young...drenched in hormones.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Tingly and shaky and floating on air,” she continued. “It felt like we’d invented sex.” Even as she was explaining it away, the feeling grew, fueled by the familiar look in Dylan’s eyes—the way he drank her in, every nuance—deciding the right moment to take her, kiss her, make her his own.