she really hadn’t expected to feel this surge of attraction to a man who’d always been prickly and standoffish with her, and sometimes downright rude.
Then again, she had a rubbish choice in men. She’d picked loser after loser who’d let her down and made her feel like the most unattractive woman in the universe. OK, Dylan wasn’t a loser, and he wasn’t the stuffy killjoy she’d also thought him; but he was the last person she could get into a relationship with. Her relationships never lasted, and Tyler would be the one who paid the price when it all went wrong. She couldn’t do that to the baby, especially as he’d already lost so much. So instead she made a light, anodyne comment, let Dylan put Tyler to bed, and fled to the safety of her workbench. Working on an intricate piece would take all of her mental energy, and she wouldn’t have enough space left to think about Dylan. To dream about something that just couldn’t happen.
* * *
The next night, Tyler woke an hour after she put him to bed, and started crying.
She groaned. ‘I’m rubbish at this parenting business. He’s never going to sleep again.’
Dylan followed her up to his room. ‘The book said babies cry because they need a nappy change, they’re hungry, they’re tired, they’re bored, or they want a cuddle.’
‘I’ve fed him, and he’s had more solids today, so I don’t think he’s hungry. He’s clean and dry, so it’s not that. I don’t think he’s bored. But this isn’t the same cry as when he’s tired or wants a cuddle.’ She bit her lip. ‘I think I might need to call Mum.’
‘Wait a second. Do you think he’s teething?’ Dylan asked. ‘Didn’t the health visitor say something about that?’
Emmy frowned. ‘His face is red, so he might be. Give him a cuddle for a second, will you, while I wash my hands? Then I can check his mouth.’
Dylan held the baby until she came back with clean hands. She put her finger into Tyler’s mouth and rubbed it gently over his gums. ‘I can’t feel anything—but, ow, his jaws are strong.’
Tyler was still crying.
‘What are we going to do, Dylan?’
He grimaced. ‘I was reading something the other day about you have to let them lie there and cry so they get used to falling asleep on their own.’
She shook her head. ‘I hate that idea. He’s upset about something or he wouldn’t be crying.’
‘Let me try something.’ Dylan rocked the baby and seemed to be talking to him, but his voice was so soft that Emmy couldn’t quite catch what Dylan was saying. But the amazing thing was that the baby actually settled and went back to sleep.
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
