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  He broke off the kiss, their breaths intermingling. Something significant had just happened and he couldn’t put his finger on it. Erica’s glazed look revealed how deeply the kiss affected her also. The song ended and he pulled away from her. He cleared his throat and checked his watch. It was still a while before she had to return to the stall, but he knew with all certainty that if he stayed he would take her in the grass, somewhere beyond the blazing lights. She didn’t deserve that. Not a woman who was passionate about children and their education. He couldn’t defile her like that.

  “I better take you back to Ramona.”

  She glanced at her watch and her shoulders drooped. “All right.”

  They ambled back to the front of the carnival, the air thick with unspoken questions. Questions he didn’t know the answer to. Finally they stopped several feet from the stall and Erica hugged her dog to her, chin on its head. “Thank you for coming.”

  “You’re welcome. I had a good time.”

  “I’ll… I’ll probably see you around?”

  “Yeah. I’ll be back to pick you up after your shift ends.”

  She nodded then returned to the stall. Dylan watched her go, wanting desperately to pull her to him and lay claim upon her body. His fist clenched and he whirled around. He really needed to curb this fixation on her. With a growl, he decided to try out the arm wrestling competition. If anything he’d wear out his arm and his dick could just go to hell.

  * * * * *

  The following evening, Erica sat on her couch, tucked under her comforter, reading her book. Caught up in Lady Emily’s luscious tryst, she shrieked when her cell vibrated. She picked it up. “Hello.”

  “Erica?”

  Her stomach pitched at the sound of his voice. “Greg?”

  The sexy chuckle she knew so well rumbled over the line. It used to make her heart flutter, but now it reminded her of the smooth lies he told her. “Who else would it be, sugar?”

  “What are you doing calling me?”

  “I just missed you. I was hoping you had calmed down enough so we can discuss what happened.”

  Anger fired through her veins and started a buzz in her ears. “Discuss what? You cheated on me, Greg, and lied about it.”

  “It wasn’t like that.”

  “You slept with a girl named Sparkle. Sparkle, Greg! Did you even once think about the hurt you caused me?”

  “It didn’t mean anything, you know that,” he implored.

  Erica straightened, nails digging into the armchair. “It didn’t mean anything to you? It meant everything to me.”

  “But I love—”

  “No! Don’t call me again!” She hung up with a shriek.

  Heart racing, she glared at the opposite wall. How dare he think to even contact her? She blew out a breath through her nose, furious Beverly had opened her mouth. Erica didn’t doubt for one minute that Greg called simply to remind her he existed and to ensure, mistakenly, that she would be too wrapped up in him to find another man. Overgrown ego much?

  Fuming in silence, she gave in and called Tammy.

  “Yo.”

  Erica rolled her eyes. “Who does that? I mean really?”

  “I do. I’m hip and into it.”

  “You try too hard to keep up with your kids. It’s just lame.”

  “Yeah I know. They said nobody says ‘cool’ anymore. Can you believe it? So, to what do I owe this honor to?”

  “Greg.”

  Silence stretched over the line. “He’s not there, is he?”

  “No, but he better be damn glad he’s not. He called me to tell me that he misses me and loves me.”

  “Oh don’t make me gag.”

  Erica growled, venting part of her anger. “I know, right? I knew this would happen. I knew it. Beverly and her big mouth.”

  Tammy sighed. “Beverly doesn’t want to acknowledge her son is a self-absorbed pig, destined for nowhere fast.”

  “I thought I’d gotten over what he’d done to me…but I just haven’t. I feel used and just vile.”

  “Oh honey. I know what would make you feel better.”

  “What?”

  “There’s a smokin’ hot man next door! Go over there.”

  Erica grimaced. “I’m not going to use him like that, Tammy.”

  Tammy snorted. “It was hot news that you were dancing with him last night. I’m sure he’d enjoy the company. Look, I’m not saying to sleep with him, just to bask in feeling beautiful for a change.”

  Erica pondered the idea. It would certainly take her mind off Greg, that was for sure. “All right. I think I’m calmer now. I’ll speak to you later.”

  “Bye.”

  Throwing aside her comforter, she peered down at her track pants and shirt. Not at all sexy, but she shrugged it off. She checked the side window that faced Dylan’s. The lights were on. She put on her slippers and walked over to his house. Despite the darkness, she managed to make her way over the moist grass without too much trouble. Once at the door, she knocked and waited. After a while she knocked again. Music blasted from somewhere inside, but no one answered the door. Maybe he wasn’t home.

  Despondent, she trudged back down the steps and started back to her house only to pause at the light in his backyard. Her hesitation lasted for a split second before she entered through the side gate. The door clanged shut and Bud didn’t zoom around the corner to terrorize her. Odd. She walked deeper into the backyard and listened to the radio blare out a rock ballad. Turning the corner, she stopped dead in her tracks. Dylan sat on his back porch, his shoulder on the frame and Bud at his feet. In his hand, he clasped a beer, his head canted forward as though he were asleep. The only thing that gave note to his consciousness was the slow sweep of his hand over Bud’s fur. Next to his hip were several bottles of beer. Empty bottles. An uneasy thought niggled at her. Whatever brought him out to drink alone, it wasn’t pretty.

  “Hello?” she murmured.

  Dylan’s head jerked up, his bleary gaze struggled to focus on her. “Erica?”

  She stepped into the circle of light. “Yes, it’s me.”

  He lurched forward, snatched for her arm and missed. He straightened, wavered, then stiffened his shoulders. His attempt to appear in control of his faculties was both utterly cute and saddening. What drove a virile man such as him to get drunk alone?

  “Come sit down with me,” he slurred.

  Erica eased down beside him, her back against the stair banister. She watched him, unsure what to say.

  He reached behind him, pulled out a fresh beer from a pack and held it out to her. “Have a drink with me. We’re celebrating.”

  Cautiously she took the drink. “What are we celebrating?”

  He clinked the bottles. “Cheers. My birthday.”

  Erica’s heart just about broke at the barely concealed agony painted across his face. “Happy birthday, Dylan.”

  He nodded imperiously. “Thank you.”

  It hurt her chest to watch him drown his sorrows and she was at a loss as to how she could help.

  “You know what I got today?” he asked.

  “No.”

  He peered at her as though he couldn’t quite remember why she sat next to him. “I got a call from Bryce and Max. I didn’t get a call from Becks but…” His chin wobbled and then he took a gulp of his beer. “People love what I did. I was good at it. But I didn’t give a shit about that. I worked my ass off to give her a better life and she couldn’t give a damn.”

  Pain stabbed through her chest. Dylan was still in love with someone named Becks. Could this be the reason he left LA?

  “You know, I paid for her college tuition. All of it. And what do I get for all my trouble?”

  He stared at her as if expecting her to answer. “Um, nothing?”

  “Nothing. Why does everything have to be black and white? Why can’t there be shades of gray?”

  Erica couldn’t make sense of his words and instead chose to make commiserating sounds.

&
nbsp; Dylan pressed the bottle against his forehead and sighed raggedly. “She is never going to forgive me, is she?”

  Did he cheat on her just as Greg did? Ice prickled over her skin at the thought.

  “She’s the only family I have left and she wants nothing to do with me.”

  Erica registered part of what he said. “Becks is family?”

  “Sister. She’s angry at me for leaving her to get more money.”

  It didn’t sound like a good enough reason to get mad at someone. Sometimes people left towns to find a bigger, brighter future. She rubbed his back and he groaned. He tipped toward her and she allowed him to rest his head on her shoulder. Alcohol-infused breath wafted upward.

  “You’re too good for me,” he muttered.

  Erica paused in mid-motion. “Why do you think that?”

  “You are so innocent. So pure and giving. I’m not any of those things.”

  “You’re giving too,” she pointed out.

  He didn’t answer and Erica continued to hold him, her hand trailing up and down his back. After a while, she grew convinced that he might’ve passed out.

  His hot breath skittered over her neck. “I dream about you,” he mumbled. “Stay out of my dreams, all right? I’m sick of carrying around a hard-on.”

  Erica choked on shocked laughter. To know she affected him in such a way made her heart flutter. From his ramblings, Erica started to understand his hot-and-cold behavior.

  “I know how to make women come over and over again, but I just can’t get anyone to love me.”

  I love you, Erica wanted to say, but held it back. She didn’t know if the random thought came from empathy or genuine emotion. “Shh, it’s all right. Everything will work out. How about we take you to bed?”

  Dylan straightened when she pushed on his shoulders. She stood and helped him up, and struggled against his sheer weight. Leg muscles strained to hold him upright and they trudged into the house and up to his bedroom. He tumbled forward onto the bed, his face pressed into the mattress. Erica moved his head so he could breathe better. “Good night, Dylan.”

  “I don’t want to go to bed alone,” he pouted, then grabbed blindly for her.

  Evading him, she stepped back. “Everything will look better tomorrow. I promise.”

  Dylan flattened his palms against the mattress and struggled to push himself up, a failed effort. “The room is spinning.”

  “It’ll pass if you just close your eyes and go to sleep.”

  He mumbled something, but it quickly became apparent he was falling asleep. After a few minutes he began to snore. Erica tiptoed from the room and switched out the lights. As she walked back to her house, she pondered the recent revelations. Her heart hurt for all the pain he seemed to carry around with him. Dylan was far more family orientated than he would have anyone believe. He wanted love and acceptance and for some reason, he didn’t get it. She sniffled, humbled by his agony. Now Greg seemed like a mere thorn in her side rather than the spear through Dylan’s heart.

  Chapter Six

  Dylan’s head pounded like a damn jackhammer. His stomach lurched and he wanted to roll over and die. Jesus, what possessed him to drink himself into oblivion? Oh that’s right. He went all sissified. Rather than doing the manly thing and bottle it away he wallowed in self-pity. He’d left most of his friendships in the industry behind but for a bare few and his decision to move accentuated his loneliness and isolation. His job in LA had insulated him and hid the deep, dark loneliness that lay beneath the surface. Now without exhaustion pulling him into oblivion and living within the slow cadence of the town, he became starkly aware of it.

  He rubbed at the grit in his eyes and levered himself up on one arm. His tongue felt hairy and he grimaced. Legs swung over the edge of the bed and he shuffled into the bathroom. Hand on the green porcelain, he made a mental note to change the entire bathroom. The Hawaiian motif damn near hurt his tired eyes.

  He brushed his teeth, abrading the bitter taste from his mouth and replacing it with minty freshness. A bleary, worn-out face stared back at him from the mirror and he ran his hand over the stubble. He didn’t have the energy nor the inclination to shave, so he switched on the shower. Near scalding water seared his back and he welcomed it. He washed efficiently, ignoring the ache in his balls and the urge to rub one out. Jesus, it never ended for him. He’d dreamed about Erica again. She’d come to him and he’d taken her to his bed. Hot, animal sex ensued and damn if he wasn’t disappointed to wake and find his bed vacant.

  With a flick of his wrist he switched off the water then stepped out onto the cold tiles. He wiped himself down, found a pair of track pants and pulled them on. Towel around his neck, he trudged down the stairs and faltered the moment the smell of bacon filled his senses. His heart did a weird double beat and he started forward. In the kitchen, Erica stood by the stove working over a couple of frying pans.

  Shock froze his feet. Was last night real? He cursed his alcohol-saturated mind that could only recall bits and pieces. As though she sensed his turmoil, she turned her head and beamed at him. “Good morning. Have a good sleep?”

  Dylan winced, a hand pressed to his temple. She was too God damn perky.

  The toaster popped up and Erica moved to retrieve the bread. “Why don’t you take a seat? I made you breakfast. Greasy, fatty goodness that’ll help you with your hangover.”

  Obediently he found a seat at the breakfast bench, forearms propped on the top. He watched her work, admiring the way the dress she wore cinched around her waist. He never noticed how sexy a silhouette could be until now. He liked her shape, it curved sensually and rounded in all the right places.

  She picked up a plate and scooped up the eggs, bacon and grits. Dylan didn’t think he could stomach the food, but was willing to give it a go for all the effort she put in. The plate slid along the surface, the egg yolks wobbling as it stopped. He picked up the fork to dig in.

  “U-u-uh, I’m not finished,” Erica warned as she returned to the stove.

  Dylan straightened and waited as she worked over something beyond his eyesight. Finally she turned around and Dylan’s heart stopped. Stacked pancakes topped with ice cream, maple syrup and…candles. Erica softly sang him happy birthday, a shy smile on her face. She placed the makeshift cake before him. “Go on, make a wish.”

  Touched by the gesture, he blew out the candles. Erica clapped. “Yay! Now you can eat.”

  She returned to the other side of the kitchen to pour some coffee. Dylan cut into a slice of bacon, topped it with eggs and toast. As he chewed, he watched her, knowing something significant had happened. Discomfort tightened his chest and he struggled to swallow his food. She returned with two steaming cups and handed one to him. Gratefully, he washed his unease down. His mouth pinched together as the sweetness flooded his mouth. He raised the cup. “It’s sweet.”

  A pink flush ran across her face. “I didn’t know how you took it, so I settled for two.”

  Must’ve been two massive scoops. Dylan kept that particular thought to himself and flicked aside her words. “It doesn’t matter. The fact you made me coffee and breakfast is just…sweet.”

  She shrugged, her long white fingers clutching the cup to her. “You…you remember anything about last night?”

  Dylan paused, fork midway to his mouth. The million-dollar question. “Honestly?”

  She nodded, nibbling on her lower lip. Damn, were her lips always that beautiful peach color? He wiped a hand over the back of his neck and straightened, the fork hit the plate with a soft clatter. “Not much.”

  He tensed in wait for the firestorm to begin, but she didn’t even bat an eyelash. In fact, her shoulders slumped in relief. What the hell happened last night? He cleared his throat. “Uh, did we… Did I…?” Damn, he didn’t think it was that hard to ask if he was a bad lay.

  Her eyes widened and a pert little mouth dropped open. “No, no, no. We didn’t do anything if that’s what you’re worried about.”

 
Thank fuck for that. “I gathered I told you about my birthday?”

  “Yes. We just sat on your back porch and listened to the crickets.”

  Somehow he doubted that. “Did I…say anything?”

  Her gaze flickered about the kitchen before settling on him, a grimace on her face. Dylan braced himself for it. “You might’ve…said to, um, for me to stay out of your dreams because you were sick of hard-ons.”

  A sound caught between a groan and a chuckle burst from him. “Did I really?”

  Eyes twinkling with mischief, she leaned onto the bench, a move which afforded him a front-row view of her luscious cleavage. Chin propped on her hand, she scrutinized him. “What do I do in these dreams of yours anyway?”

  He shifted in his seat and cursed his decision to go commando. An erection was a little too hard to conceal when it stood straight up underneath jersey like a misaligned tent pole. “Um, I really don’t remember.”

  Erica laughed, taking his discomfort as a great source of amusement. “Oh come on. Was there whipped cream and chocolate? Did I wear a nun outfit so you could defile my wholesome body?”

  Images swirled through his mind of him tying her down and having his way with her. Of her screams of ecstasy as he tasted her tender flesh. His dick throbbed with desire. Even the fabric rubbed erotically against his despicable cock. Jesus Christ, she was going to kill him. “Nothing like that.”

  “No?” She paused, the smile slowly left her face, her kitty-cat playfulness replaced by sensuality.

  Her tongue flicked out to wet her lips and he longed to lean over the expanse that separated them and taste her. Instead he chose to focus on his food. The crisp bacon and fluffy pancake failed to register on his palate, all his focus on Erica.

  “I fantasize you’re a viscount from the eighteen hundreds and you make love to me up against a gazebo in the night.”