The Good Luck Sister (Wildstone #1.5)(21)

He winced at the image. “Where’s Mick?”

“He had to run up to San Francisco for a client. He’ll be back before the show’s over so he can support Tilly.”

He led her inside and directly to a chair. Tilly rushed over from the back and dropped to her knees before Quinn. “What is it? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, the baby’s fine! Your boyfriend’s just overprotective.”

Tilly looked up at Dylan and he did his best to indeed look like a guy she might want as her boyfriend, as juvenile as the word sounded. Because he wanted a whole lot more than to be just her boyfriend. He wanted things he hadn’t been able to imagine wanting . . .

“I’m fine,” Quinn repeated and shooed the both of them away. “Go. Go enjoy your show. You look amazing.”

Tilly accepted Dylan’s hand and let him pull her upright. She tugged at the hem of her sexy little black dress that sparkled when she shifted, the material both clingy and yet somehow playing coy with her curves.

“You look beautiful,” he said. Actually she was eye-popping and heart-stopping and he wanted to say so, but Quinn was leaning forward to hear their every word and he didn’t want her to fall out of the chair.

Tilly smiled up at him, her gaze on his mouth. She wanted a kiss and he wanted to give her one. He turned her away from Quinn and leaned in. “That’s some dress,” he whispered, his lips ghosting hers.

She smiled and closed the distance, pressing her mouth to his. “Wore it for you,” she whispered back. “And to distract myself. I’m so nervous.”

“Don’t be.” He let his gaze move around the room, at the dizzying, colorful array of her art, which was just as eye-popping and heart-stopping as the woman. “It’s amazing.” He smiled down at her. “Like you.”

“You have to say that,” she said. “Because you’re hoping to get me naked later.”

Guilty. He was indeed hoping to get her naked later.

“What if no one comes?” she asked.

He took her hand and pulled her around the corner where she could see into the front room, which was packed.

“Oh my God.” She shook a disbelieving head. “Do you think Quinn paid them all to show up?”

“No one’s being paid to be here,” he said, pulling her out into the room, where one of the gallery owners was walking around with a tray of wineglasses and some hors d’oeuvres. Tilly took two glasses of wine and handed one to Dylan. “I need something for my hands to do,” she murmured.

He could think of more than a few ideas, but they weren’t suitable for the situation. The hors d’oeuvres weren’t exactly the burger and fries he’d have preferred but when Tilly handed him something that looked like a stuffed mushroom, he took it and kept his grimace to himself. On a normal day, he’d rather go back to war than eat a mushroom.

A few more of Tilly’s students immediately moved toward her to gush over her work and one said, “I wanted to tell you how much it’s meant to me to learn from someone like you, who trusted herself enough to follow her heart.”

Tilly looked flustered. And honored.

Dylan took a sip of wine—while wishing it was a beer—and stuffed another of the hors d’oeuvres into his mouth to keep from talking. The students were doing a great job of boosting Tilly’s confidence and he didn’t want to stop them. She deserved this. And more.

He was going to try to give her that more.



Flush from all the sweet compliments, Tilly looked around the room and saw that many of her works had discreet red stickers on the plaques next to each piece, meaning they’d been sold.

It was an incredibly surreal moment.

But more moving had been the visceral reaction of her students. Deep down, she’d known she was competent at what she did. But she hadn’t known that she would make a good teacher, and hadn’t known it would matter. She turned in a slow circle, taking it all in, and stopped when she found Dylan watching her. She smiled. “I thought I’d let myself down, but then you came along and saw me as a better version of myself.”

“Then see yourself through my eyes, Tee. You haven’t let yourself—or anyone—down.”

“And vice versa,” she told him, reaching for his hand. “Maybe neither of us turned out how we expected, but . . .” She lifted a shoulder and bumped it to his. “We did all right for a couple of street rats, didn’t we?”

He squeezed her hand, his eyes lit with affection and love. God, so much love. “Yeah, we did do pretty good. I’ve got something I want to do with you.”

She leaned in. “Does it involve getting out of this dress? Cuz I ate too many hors d’oeuvres and it’s too tight.”

His eyes were hot as he slid a hand around the nape of her neck and drew her in close to nuzzle at the sweet spot just beneath her ear. “That first. And then tomorrow morning, I take you away for the weekend to celebrate.”

She lifted her face to his. “What are we celebrating?”

“Your success.”

“And your new business venture,” she said.

“And that,” he agreed. “And us.”

Biting her lower lip, she knew she didn’t even have to think about it. She nodded. And an hour later when he brought her home, Leo greeted her with great enthusiasm, running in madman circles around her feet, yipping, letting her know that he felt she’d been gone way over their agreed upon limit.