The Good Luck Sister (Wildstone #1.5)(22)

When Dylan stepped inside behind her, Leo stopped to give him a sideways stink eye and actually huffed out a sigh that made her laugh. “He’s warming up to you.”

Man and dog stared at each other in a standoff, neither looking thrilled.

Dylan took a few steps inside and Leo did what Leo did best. He clamped onto the back of Dylan’s pants leg and tried to prevent him from getting any closer to Tilly.

Dylan didn’t exhibit any annoyance or frustration. He merely crouched down before the dog. “Look, man,” he said. “We both love our girl, right?”

Leo stopped growling.

“Right,” Dylan said. “So I don’t know what your plans are, but I’m just going to remind you that I saw her first. And I’m happy to share her with you, though that offer’s for you and only you. It’s a good deal, I’d take it if I was you. Think about it.”

Unbearably moved by his kindness to her silly dog, Tilly felt her throat grow tight. Maybe it’d been the show and the emotions it had evoked. And having Dylan fit so effortlessly into her life like he’d never left. Maybe it was all of it, everything, including the sensation of being so happy that it scared her.

God knew she wasn’t used to that feeling . . .

She turned away to gather herself and dropped her wrap and purse to the couch. Then she grabbed the bottle of wine she’d taken from the gallery and poured them each a glass to give her something to do with her hands.

What happened now? she wondered. Could they keep this momentum going and really make something work between them? Was she grown up enough to finally handle him and all the demands a relationship would put on her?

Yes. She knew she could. The question was, could he?

Dylan took her glass and set it aside, leaning into her with another soft kiss. “You’re thinking so hard that I smell something burning,” he said.

She gnawed on her lower lip. It was true. She had a question. Except the last time she’d asked something close to it, she hadn’t gotten an answer out of him. Granted, that had been a lot of years ago . . .

Dylan waited her out, gently teasing her lips with his and the rest of her by just being as close as he was. She could feel the warmth of him, the strength in his leanly muscled body pressing into hers.

“Tee.”

He wanted her to put words to her thoughts, something she’d never found easy to do with him right in front of her. She took a deep breath. “Suppose for some reason that you decide not to do this anymore.”

“This . . . ?”

“Us.”

He looked at her, his deep dark eyes holding hers with an intensity that made breathing all but impossible. He stroked a stray strand of her hair from her forehead. “Tee, I love you. Deciding not to do us would be like me deciding to stop sucking air into my lungs. Not going to happen.”

The tightness in her chest eased and she felt a warm glow slide into its place. Her throat tightened as well, and her eyes felt misty. “I love you,” she said.

He went utterly still for a beat, his eyes going nearly black. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She drew in another deep breath, shocked to find she hadn’t choked on the words. “And to be honest, I think I always have—” Before she could finish that sentence, he yanked her into him and kissed her.

And kissed her.

She let it all wash over her, the feel of him this close, the way he was holding her as if she was his entire life, and her heart took over the rulership from her brain. She pressed closer still, apparently needing to climb him like a tree. She had a fistful of his hair in one hand and his shirt in the other. “Off,” she muttered against his mouth, desperate for the feel of his bare skin to hers.

He broke the kiss long enough to yank his shirt over his head and toss it aside. He had all the strength and muscle, but he didn’t take the lead from her, instead leaving her in the driver’s seat. She unbuttoned his pants and he shucked them off and stood there wearing nothing but his birthday suit and a half smile as he watched her take in the sight of him.

She did her best not to drool, but the truth was she never had been able to get over how beautiful he was, then or now. Although there was something to the life he’d led that had turned a rough and tumble teenager into a badass man that was drop dead sexy. He knew who and what he was and he made no apology for it.

And he loved her.

She took his hand and led him into the bedroom. Nudged him until he sat on the edge of the bed. Standing between his spread legs, she began to pull off her dress. He put his hands on her waist, helping to guide the material up her body and over her head.

“Pretty,” he said of her plain black bra and urged the straps down her arms. When he unhooked it, it slipped away from her body. Leaning in, he kissed a breast. She opened her eyes and met his gaze as his thumbs hooked into her panties and swept them away like everything else.

And still he let her drive. Happy to have the wheel, she climbed into his lap and explored first with her hands and then her mouth. There was little doubt about how much he liked everything she did—he let her know with sexy rough male sounds and caresses that had her own breath catching, but still he didn’t take control.

So it was she who climbed over him to reach into his nightstand for a condom. She who drove them both crazy as she slowly rolled it on. She who finally lifted up and brought him inside her. “I love you,” she whispered again.