I Love How You Love Me: The Sullivans (9 page)

“I’ve seen how great you are with Mason,” she said instead, “but you’re also quite a trouper around so many other little kids.”

Not all of the children in the aquarium had been as thrilled to be there as Mason was. In fact, Dylan’s left ear was still ringing from one girl’s high-pitched screams. “I like kids. Even if that one did split a hole in my eardrum.”

Grace laughed. “I thank God every day that Mason is so easygoing. Your mom said you were, too.”

He raised his eyebrows. “What else did she tell you?”

“We didn’t get a chance to talk for very long. Though I wish we had, because I would have liked to know more about your childhood.”

He enjoyed seeing her skin flush as she admitted to wanting to know more about him, and he had to forcibly rein in the urge to reach out to stroke its softness. Especially when her eyes met his and he knew that she was thinking exactly the same thing.

* * *

Grace had reminded herself a dozen times that last night’s kiss with Dylan had been a one-time aberration. She couldn’t repeat it, couldn’t give in to the temptation to start anything with him that went beyond her magazine story and maybe becoming friends. But that had been before she’d seen him with Mason again. The two of them had been absolutely adorable together all night, and more than one woman had looked at her with envy when they’d seen Dylan and Mason playing together.

It would have been so easy to let herself pretend that they were actually a family, that Mason had a father who loved him. But Grace knew better, knew that giving in to fantasies like that would only make it harder to go back to being just the two of them. Still, it wasn’t at all easy to keep her walls up during one of the most enjoyable evenings out in a very long time.

“I was thinking we could get something to eat nearby,” Dylan said, “but Mason is probably going to hit the wall soon, isn’t he?”

Her son wasn’t giving any indication that he was at all tired—in fact, just the opposite, as being with Dylan had made him more bright-eyed and excited than ever—but Grace knew firsthand just how quickly smiles could change to tears when Mason was overtired. Clearly, Dylan had a sixth sense for kids. Women, too, given how well he’d done with her tonight. He hadn’t tried to kiss her, hadn’t tried to pressure her in any way into feeling that this was a date. And with nothing to push against, she’d ended up relaxing more and more into the evening.

At this point, her guard had pretty much come down all the way. Which was precisely why she knew she should take the easy out and cut off their evening there. They’d all had fun, and if she and Mason headed home now from their perfectly friendly aquarium trip, there wouldn’t be a chance for another kiss like the one she and Dylan had shared last night.

But when she opened her mouth to thank him for a great evening and say good night, what came out instead was, “I could make us something to eat back at my place.”

Both Dylan
and
Mason smiled, already two peas in a pod. “Sounds good to me,” Dylan said as he gave her son’s little hand a high five.

The first thing Grace did when they got back to her apartment was open a bottle of wine and pour them each a glass. Before Dylan could take a sip, Mason crawled over with a toy car in each hand and tugged on his leg.

“You want to race? I was going to help your mommy with dinner, but if you need a playmate...”

She laughed, easily guessing Dylan wasn’t much for working in the kitchen. “I’m making the easiest, quickest dinner in history, so I don’t need any help. Go play. I hope you like spaghetti and salad.”

“Love it.” He grinned down at her son. “And I love racing cars, too.”

As he went to sit in the middle of the living room rug where Mason gleefully crashed their cars together, she was struck by how easy this was. The one time she’d made dinner for her ex, desperate not to disappoint him, she’d spent days planning the menu and then hours that night putting it all together. And even then, she hadn’t gotten the sense he was particularly impressed, not when Michelin-starred chefs were much more his speed. Plus, he’d been far more interested in getting her into bed than in eating dinner together.

Tonight, however, it was really nice to have company while she worked in the kitchen, listening to Mason and Dylan drive toy cars on the living room floor.

When Mason crawled off to gather up more cars to share with his new best friend, Dylan asked, “When did you decide you wanted to be a writer?”

“To be honest, I don’t think I really gave anything else a chance. I always loved to read anything I could get my hands on, and English was my favorite subject at school.”

“You probably turned in your book reports early, didn’t you?”

“I know, I was a weird kid,” she said with a laugh. “What about you? What was your favorite class?”

“Summer.”

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed so much in one night. “After that? No,” she said as she turned from the stove, “let me guess. Physics. Math, probably, too. Because both subjects would help you make sense of the way a boat moves and how it’s put together.”

Dylan reached for Mason and pulled him onto his lap. “Your mommy knows stuff, kid. Which means you’re never going to get away with anything.” Mason was rubbing his eyes and yawning as Dylan stood up with him. “You’re one hell of a writer, Grace.”

She was plating their spaghetti and nearly spilled it onto the counter in her surprise. “You’ve read my work?”

“I’m not surprised you won an award for your coverage of that huge earthquake in Chile a few years back. Your love for writing well-researched and compassionate stories comes through on every page.”

Her flush, she decided, could be explained by standing over a hot stove, although they both knew it had far more to do with how much his compliment meant to her.

“Thanks.” She brought their plates over to the table. “I can take him while we eat.”

“We’re good,” Dylan said, making it seem like the most natural thing to eat his dinner with a ten-month-old on his lap, just as he had last night at his parents’ house.

“He’s usually already sacked out by this time in the evening. I think he was just so excited by having you here that he wanted to squeeze every ounce of playtime out of you.”

“I know exactly how he feels,” Dylan said as Mason nuzzled his head closer against his shoulder and closed his eyes. He looked up from her son, his gaze quickly shifting from affection for the baby to heat for her. “It’s been a good night, hasn’t it?”

“It has.” She made herself pick up her fork and twirl spaghetti onto it even though she didn’t think she’d be able to eat much with Dylan so close…and so
male
. “It’s nice having a friend to spend time with.”

She half-expected him to point out that by now they had clearly transitioned from just friends. But Dylan, she was learning, rarely did what people expected him to. So after telling her that her spaghetti dinner might very well rival his Aunt Mary’s, he said, “Tell me about your folks.”

She couldn’t stop the rush of anguish. “They’re both gone.”

He put his fork down and reached across the table to cover her hand. “I’m sorry.”

“I am, too.” The warmth, the strength of his hand over hers helped to ground her. “My mother got sick with lung cancer when I was in elementary school. She had never smoked, but her father had been a heavy smoker during her childhood. My father and I, we were both devastated, but he never missed a beat. He was there for me every single second. We had always been close, but we became an even tighter unit after my mom died.” She turned her hand palm up so that she could grip Dylan’s. “Two years ago, he was coming home from a baseball game when someone who had been drinking heavily at the same game drove through a red light. The paramedics said he died instantly, that he probably felt no pain.” But she had. Pain that could still spear her from out of the blue. “I miss him every day, so much, just the way I still miss my mom. But never more than when Mason does something new, like his first smile, or when he started to crawl. My father, my mother—they will never get to see those things. And Mason will never get to know his grandparents.”

She didn’t know when Dylan moved close enough to pull her against him so that the baby was leaning against one broad shoulder and she was in the crook of the other.

“They raised one hell of a woman, Grace. And you’re doing just as great a job with Mason.”

“He looks like my father. The same eyes. The same silly grin.”

Mason blinked bleary eyes open and reached for her then, and she knew she was going to pay the next morning for keeping him up so far past his bedtime, but she hadn’t wanted the evening with Dylan to end, either. Not when it truly had been a perfect night.

So perfect that she didn’t think she could live with herself if she didn’t explain precisely why she was so intent on them being “just friends” after a kiss that had proved they could be so much more.

“I know we’ve only just started to eat, but I need to put Mason to bed. But, please, stay and finish dinner. And if you wouldn’t mind staying a little longer, I’d like to answer the question you asked me last night.”

“Of course I’ll wait, Grace. As long as you need me to.” He gave Mason a kiss on the forehead. “Good night, little guy. Sweet dreams.”

Mason’s eyes fluttered open again, and when he puckered up his lips to give Dylan a good-night kiss—something he’d only ever given her before tonight—Grace’s heart flip-flopped inside her chest.

From the look on Dylan’s face, she knew his had, too.

CHAPTER TEN

Regardless of how difficult or crazy a day Grace might have had, Mason’s bedtime ritual always settled her down. Tonight, however, she had a feeling nothing was going to stop the flutters in her belly. Because even though she was about to tell Dylan about her past so that he’d understand why she couldn’t date him, it didn’t change the fact that she was still going to be alone in her living room with the sexiest man alive.

She resisted the urge to fix her hair or makeup before going back out to see him, just as she hadn’t allowed herself to stress over her outfit. Jeans and a T-shirt had been perfect for a visit to the aquarium, and they would still be perfect for an honest discussion between friends.

She was surprised to find that Dylan had cleaned up the dining room and kitchen. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“You’ve met my mother, so you should know that no Sullivan ever shirks on cleanup. Are you sure you don’t want me to heat yours back up?”

She shook her head, but picked up her glass of wine before going to sit on the couch. As soon as he sat beside her, she said, “Last night, you asked me why I didn’t want to date you. I know it sounds like a cliché, but it’s not you, it’s me. I met Mason’s—” She shook her head, unable to use the word
father
. Not when Richard had never been, not for one single second. “I was researching a story about charitable foundations. He is one of the leading experts in family-run charities because he comes from an influential Washington family with legacy money.” The irony still killed her that the family everyone thought was so good, so charitable, had been anything but when they’d learned she was pregnant. “I thought that just because he spent his days giving away money, it meant he was a good person, too. So even though I know how to do really good background research on people, I let the fact that he worked for an organization that helps people in need take the place of actually looking deeper.” She wasn’t proud of it, but she needed Dylan to know something else. “He was so good at sweeping me off my feet, taking me on his private plane and to rooftop dinners just for the two of us that after things ended with him, I swore I wouldn’t let that happen to me again—falling for a pretty face and slick words just because I might be feeling lonely.”

“I’m glad you think my face is pretty,” Dylan said with a small upturn of his lips, “but nothing I’ve said to you has been slick.”

She wanted to believe him, wished it was easy for her to take all the nice things he’d said at face value. “I was never one of those daughters who had to rebel. But once my parents were both gone, I felt so lost—” She stopped herself. “It sounds like I’m making an excuse for what I did, for the choices I made.”

“No, it sounds like you’re human. Like you were hurting and needed someone to comfort you. But he hurt you instead.” Anger flashed in Dylan’s eyes. “What did he do when you told him you were pregnant?”

She hadn’t been planning to go into the nitty-gritty details tonight. Even though she hadn’t given any names, she’d probably already said too much. But after having a glass of wine on an empty stomach, she couldn’t seem to stop. Especially not when Dylan was such a good listener…and the only person she’d ever told about any of this.

“He acted like I’d tricked him. Like I’d done it on purpose to get his money, to force his hand to marry me so that I could live off his family fortune.”

“How could he not know how much you love your work, and that you would never do something like that? That you could never even have it in you to think of it?”

“Probably because he didn’t care about what I did. He didn’t respect my career, or me, either. I would never in a million years want to become a kept woman. Never. But since he didn’t believe that, he told me my trick of getting pregnant wasn’t going to work. When I swore to him that it was an accident, that he knew we had used protection, he didn’t want to listen. And he told me...” Her stomach twisted. “He told me to undo it.”

Dylan’s curse was soft, but powerful nonetheless. “The bastard didn’t deserve you.”

“I know he didn’t. I think I knew it long before that night, actually. We were always alone, just the two of us on a yacht or in a fancy hotel suite or my apartment. I thought it was because he wanted to get to know me better before he introduced me to his friends and family. But what he was really doing was hiding me from them and from the other woman he was actually going to marry—one who was infinitely more appropriate in his world. But I didn’t want to be alone, so I didn’t stop seeing him even though I should have.”