Dylan put him down gently in the cot, and Tyler started crying again.
‘What did you do before?’ Emmy asked.
He flushed. ‘I sang to him.’
Emmy was surprised; she hadn’t thought Dylan was the type to sing. ‘Do it again—but don’t pick him up, because maybe it was putting him back down that woke him.’
Dylan shrugged, and sang ‘Summertime’ in a rich baritone.
And she was mesmerised. OK, so she’d heard him sing in church at the funeral, but she’d been preoccupied then. She’d had no idea he could sing like this. Like melted chocolate, rich and smooth and incredibly...
She stopped herself. Not sexy. It would be a bad move to think of that word in conjunction with Dylan Harper.
The baby yawned, and finally his hands flopped down and his eyes closed.
Dylan stopped singing and leaned over the edge of the cot. ‘How can they sleep like that? He looks a bit like a frog—and I’m sure that can’t be comfortable.’
‘It’s probably a lot more comfortable than it looks, or he’d lie in a different position,’ she pointed out. ‘I think he looks cute.’ She shared a glance with Dylan. ‘You have a good voice, Dylan.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Was that grudging or surprised?’
‘Surprised,’ she admitted. ‘I didn’t think you’d—well, be a singer. Or know a song like that.’
‘My grandmother used to sing it to me when I was little.’
She smiled. ‘It’s a beautiful song.’
‘Yes.’ And it was weird how much that compliment from her had warmed him. Nobody had ever commented on his singing before. Then again, he’d never really sung in front of anyone, except in church at a wedding or christening. His throat tightened: or at a funeral. ‘We’d better leave him to sleep,’ he said gruffly, and left the room abruptly before he did anything stupid, like asking Emmy to spend time with him. They were co-guardians, and that was all.
* * *
A couple of days later, Dylan came home early to find Emmy in tears. His stomach clenched. What was wrong?
‘Is something wrong with Tyler?’ he asked.
She shook her head. ‘I would’ve called you if there was a problem.’
‘What’s the matter?’
‘I just—’ she gulped ‘—I just miss Ally. Tyler...She’s missing out on all his firsts. He’s getting his first tooth—you can actually see a little bit of white on the edge of his gums now.’
‘That must be why he was crying the other night.’
She nodded. ‘And he said “dada” today.’ She dragged in a breath. ‘Ally would’ve called me to talk about all this. And I’m the one seeing it, when it should be her, and I can’t even talk to her about it. This is all so wrong.’
Tears would normally send Dylan running a mile. He’d hated it when Nadine cried. He’d always found an excuse to back away. But he couldn’t just walk away and leave Emmy distressed like this.
‘I miss them, too,’ he said, and wrapped his arms round her.
Big mistake.
She was warm and soft in his arms. Her hair smelled of spring flowers, and felt like silk against his cheek, smooth and soft and shiny.
* * *
Emmy froze. This was bad. Dylan was holding her. And she was holding him right back.
Comfort. This was all this was, she told herself.
But then she pulled back and looked up at him.
His eyes were a dark, stormy blue.
And his mouth—since when had Dylan had such a lush mouth? She wasn’t sure whether she wanted to stroke it first, or kiss it, or what. Just that she wanted him.
She glanced back up to his eyes and realised he was staring at her mouth, too.
No. No. This was a seriously bad idea.
But her mouth was already parting, her head tipping back slightly in offering.
His mouth was parting, too.
And slowly—oh, so slowly—he lowered his head to hers. His mouth skimmed against hers, the touch as light as a butterfly’s wing. It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t anywhere near enough. She wanted more. Needed more.
Even though her common sense was screaming at her to stop, her libido was doing the equivalent of sticking fingers in ears and saying, ‘La, la, la, I can’t hear you.’ And she found herself reaching up on tiptoe to kiss him back, her lips brushing against his. It was like some kind of exquisite torture; close, yet not close enough.
His arms tightened round her, and then he was really kissing her. His mouth moved against hers, tentative and unsure at first, then more demanding. And she was kissing him all the way back, matching him touch for touch.
She’d never, ever felt like this before. Even the guy she’d once thought she’d end up marrying hadn’t made her feel like this when he kissed her. What on earth was going on?
Dylan untucked her shirt from the waistband of her jeans and slid his fingers underneath the cotton, splaying his palms against her back. He moved his fingertips in tiny circles against her skin; his touch aroused her still more, near to fever pitch.
If he asked her, she knew she’d go to bed with him right now and to hell with the consequences. She wanted Dylan more than she’d ever wanted anyone in her entire life.
She made a tiny sound of longing, and he stopped.
He looked utterly shocked. His mouth was reddened and swollen, and she was pretty sure hers was in the same state.
This was bad. Really bad.
‘Emmy, we—I—’ He looked dazed.
‘I know. We shouldn’t have done this,’ she said quickly, and pulled away from him. She needed to do some serious damage limitation, and fast. ‘Let’s pretend this didn’t happen. I was upset and you were comforting me, and you’re missing Ally and Pete as much as I am, and it just got a bit out of hand.’
His face was suddenly inscrutable. ‘Yes, you’re right. It didn’t happen.’
‘I—um—I’d better start making dinner. I’m running a bit late. Sorry, I know you hate it when things aren’t on time.’ Flustered, she rushed out to the kitchen before he could say anything else. She really didn’t want to humiliate herself any further.
* * *
Dylan watched her go, not stopping her. Oh, help. He really shouldn’t have kissed her like that. Now he knew what Emmy tasted like, it was going to haunt his dreams.
But he knew she was right. They couldn’t do this. It would make things way too complicated because of Tyler.
They’d just have to be firmer with themselves in future. A lot firmer.
EMMY PUT THE phone down, beaming and hugging herself. She wanted to leap up and cheer and do a mad dance all through the house, but she knew she couldn’t or else she’d wake the baby.
This was the best promotional opportunity she’d ever been offered. It could lead to a real expansion of her business; and it could be the making of her name.
Her