of their encounter had hit home. Instead, she put one foot in front of the other and headed for the door.
“Are you okay to drive?” he asked, a small frown of concern causing parallel lines to form between his brows. “I don’t mind dropping you home. I can always bring your car to you tomorrow.”
“No, I’ll be all right. Thank you.”
“You know, independence is fine and all that, but accepting help every now and then is okay, too.”
“I know, and when I need help, I’ll ask for it,” she answered firmly.
She could feel the heat rolling gently from his body, bringing with it the leather and spicy wood scent of his cologne. It made her want to do something crazy, like nibble on the hard line of his jaw, or bury her nose in the hollow at the base of his throat. Man, she really needed to get out of here before she acted on those irrational thoughts.
“Thanks again for tonight,” she said.
“You’re welcome. We still have plenty more to discuss. Okay if I get in touch?”
She hesitated, wishing she could say no, and knowing she needed to say yes. Given the way he tugged at her, emotionally and mentally, she knew it wasn’t going to be easy sharing a baby with him. Jenna settled for a quick nod and all but fled down the stairs. But he was right at her side, so that when she got to her car it was his hand that opened the door for her. He leaned down once she was settled inside.
“Red fluffy dice?” he asked with a chuckle when he saw the things dangling from the rearview mirror of her ever-so-practical station wagon.
“I have dreams of owning a red convertible one day. Had dreams,” she corrected.
With the baby on the way, that was one dream that would have to be shelved for a while. Maybe even forever.
“Classic or new?” Dylan persisted.
“Classic, of course.”
He gave her a wink. “That’s my girl.”
She felt an almost ridiculous sense of pride in his obvious approval, and forced herself to quash it. It didn’t matter whether he approved of her dreams or not. They weren’t going to happen, not now. She was doing her best to hold everything else together. Luxury items were exactly that: luxury. An extravagance that was definitely not in her current budget.
“Well, good night,” she said, staring pointedly at his hand on the door.
To her surprise he leaned down and reached for her chin, turning her head to face him, before capturing her lips in an all too short, entirely too sweet kiss.
“Good night. Drive safe,” he instructed as he swung her door closed.
Her hands were shaking as she started the car and then placed them on the wheel. As she drove around the turning loop to head down the driveway, she sought refuge in anger. He’d done it on purpose, just to prove his point about compatibility. The thing was, she knew they were compatible sexually. Now they had to be compatible as parents. Seemed to her they’d definitely missed a few steps along the way, and now there was no going back.
His proposal of marriage was preposterous. She sneaked a glance in her rearview mirror at the two-story house, fully lit up from the outside and looking as unattainable as she knew a long-term relationship with a man like Dylan Lassiter was, too. Jenna forced her eyes forward, to focus on the road ahead, and her future. One where she’d have to fight to keep Dylan Lassiter on the periphery if she hoped to keep her sanity.
By the time she rolled her car into her garage and hit the remote to make the door close behind her, she felt no better. Seeing Dylan again had just put her well-ordered world into turmoil. She’d had enough chaos to last a lifetime. It was why, when she’d been placed with Margaret Connell after her father was jailed, she’d put her head down and worked her butt off to fit in and to do things right. Mrs. Connell’s firm but steady presence had been a rock to a fifteen-year-old teetering on the rails of a very unsteady life.
Mrs. Connell had not only provided a home for her, she’d provided a compass—one Jenna could live by for the rest of her life. The woman had also provided a sense of accountability, paying Jenna a wage for the hours she spent cleaning up in the florist shop after school and learning how to put together basic bouquets for people who came in off the street and wanted something quick and simple.
By the time Jenna had finished high school, she’d known exactly what she wanted to do. She’d put herself through business school, spending every spare hour she wasn’t studying working in the flower store, which she’d eventually bought and made her own. Mrs. Connell was now enjoying a well-earned retirement in Palm Springs, secure in the knowledge that all her hard work, both with Jenna and the business, hadn’t been in vain.
Jenna calculated the time difference between here and Palm Springs. It probably still wasn’t too late to call Mrs. Connell, and she so desperately needed the guidance of someone else right now. Someone older and wiser. Someone stronger than she was. But that would mean disclosing how she’d gotten herself into this situation. Telling someone else about behavior that she wasn’t terribly proud of. The last thing Jenna wanted to hear in her mentor’s voice was disappointment.
She climbed out of her car, went inside the house and got ready for bed. For all that Dylan had said about wanting to be a part of everything, she’d never felt so alone in her life, nor so confused.
Would he be so keen, she wondered, if he knew exactly who she was and what her life had been like? It was hardly the stuff of Disney movies. Her father had come home from work one day when she was nine, to find Jenna alone after school—her mother having abandoned them to sail, from New Zealand and her family, with the outgoing tide and pursue her dream of being a singer on a cruise ship. He’d pulled up stakes by the time Jenna was ten, and taken her to his native U.S.A., where he’d told her again and again that they’d strike it lucky any time, and that happily-ever-after was just around the corner for them both.
Unfortunately, his idea of luck had been inextricably linked to fleecing older, vulnerable women of their wealth, and using his looks and charm to get away with it. Until one day he’d gone a step too far.
Jenna pushed the memory to the back of her mind, where it belonged. She’d learned the hard way what it meant to be an unwitting public figure, and how cruel the media could be. Given the Lassiter family profile, any relationship between her and Dylan would be bound to garner attention—attention she didn’t want or need. For her own sake, and that of her unborn baby, she would do whatever it took to keep a low profile.
She slid between the 800-thread-count bed linens she’d happily picked up in a clearance sale, and smoothed her feet and legs over the silky soft surface. She might not be in his league financially, but she didn’t do so badly. She could provide for her baby, who certainly wouldn’t want for anything. So what if some of their possessions were a little care-worn or threadbare or—Jenna grimaced in the dark, remembering Dylan’s reaction—secondhand. She would manage, and her private life would remain that way: private.
* * *
Dylan whistled cheerfully as he drove away from the classic car dealer, relishing the sensation of the wind ruffling his hair. The thrum of the V8 engine under the shiny red hood before him set up an answering beat in his blood. Today was a perfect day for a picnic and he had just the partner in mind to share it.
After swinging
