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 smile faded as she thought about it. The deadline was tight. She was going to have to work crazy hours to get the pieces made on time. Which meant that she was going to have to ask Dylan to help her out.
And things had been awkward between them since—well, since she’d wept all over him and he’d held her and they’d ended up kissing. He’d kept out of her way as much as possible, and they only stayed in each other’s company for as long as it took to update each other about Tyler or to eat dinner. And dinner meant no talking, because Dylan had retreated into reading journals at the table. It was horribly rude and she knew he knew it; but it was an excuse to avoid her, and there was nothing she could do about it.
They’d agreed early on that they’d work as a team and support each other when they needed it. But had their kiss cancelled out that agreement?
Maybe if she made something really special for dinner, it would knock Dylan off balance and he’d talk to her. And then she could ask him.
She browsed through Ally’s cookery books and found a fabulous recipe for monkfish wrapped in parma ham. It seemed pretty simple to cook but it looked really swish. That would have to do the trick, surely? She made a list of what she needed and took Tyler out in his pram to the parade of shops round the corner. After the fishmonger’s, she went to the deli, the baker’s and the greengrocer’s.
She chatted to the baby on the way. ‘This could be my big career break. Clap your hands and wish Aunty Emmy good luck, Ty.’
Tyler clapped his hands and giggled. She laughed back at him. ‘You’re just gorgeous—you know that?’
So was Dylan.
And she wasn’t supposed to be thinking about that.
She played with the baby when they got home; both of them thoroughly enjoyed the bubble-blowing. Tyler was grabbing toys now and rattling them. It was amazing how a little one could take over your life like this. Emmy could see entirely why Ally hadn’t wanted to go back to the job she’d once loved, not once Tyler was around.
Then her phone beeped. She checked it to find a text message from Dylan. Sorry, emergency project meeting. Will be late home. Let me know if problem.
Normally, Emmy would’ve been a bit cross at the late notice of a rota change; but today she was relieved, as it would mean that Dylan would come home feeling slightly in her debt and he might be more amenable to what she wanted to ask.
And then she felt horrible and manipulative. That really wasn’t fair of her. It was an emergency meeting, after all, so he must be up to his eyes.
She fed Tyler some puréed apple—his food repertoire was expanding beautifully now—then gave him a bath, not minding that he kept banging his toy duck into the foamy water and splashing her. She put him to bed, sang to him and put his light show on, then changed into dry clothes and headed downstairs to the kitchen.
There was another text from Dylan on her phone. On way now. Sorry.
Oh, help. He’d be here before dinner was ready, at this rate.
She prepared the monkfish hastily and put it in the oven, then finished laying the table in the dining room.
Dylan walked in holding a bouquet of bright pink gerberas and deep blue irises, the kind of flowers she loved and bought herself as an occasional treat. ‘For you,’ he said, and handed it to her.
She stared at him, surprised. Why on earth would Dylan buy her flowers? It wasn’t her birthday, and they weren’t in the kind of relationship where he’d buy her flowers. ‘Thank you. They’re, um, lovely.’
‘But?’
Obviously it was written all over her face. She gave him a rueful smile. ‘I was just wondering why
