Stealing Home by Tara Wyatt
Eleven
Dylan ran a hand over his hair, adjusted his bow tie, and shot his cuffs, then knocked on Maggie’s door. Ever since their phone conversation last night, he’d been feeling just left of center. Mostly okay, but also not really okay. He hadn’t meant to make her feel less than or like a charity case. God, he’d never want her to feel like that, like he saw her as somehow beholden to him or in his debt. He’d been trying to do something sweet for her. Something he’d hoped she’d find romantic. Apparently he’d blown that one, big time, because it had clearly upset her.
He’d also been able to tell that she’d been disappointed with his answer as to why he’d broken up with her. But telling her the deeper reason why would only push her away. It was in the past, and it was done. And shit, if the dress had made her feel like they were on unequal footing, finding out what he’d done would make her feel a million times worse. He regretted losing her, but he didn’t regret the opportunity he’d given her. And even though he wished he hadn’t walked away from her, he couldn’t change it. All he could do was move forward, and he wanted to move forward with Maggie.
Maggie’s door swung open, and there she was, looking like a goddamn goddess. His ego swelled and possessive satisfaction crashed through him when he saw the dress he’d picked out for her hugging her gorgeous body. Her hair hung over one shoulder in golden waves, highlighting the slender column of her neck and her delicate collarbone. Her eyes roved over him, devouring him, and when they finally met his gaze, he smiled, tilting up the corner of his mouth.
“You wore the dress,” he said, his tone heavy with approval. Her cheeks went pink, and she ran her hands over the fabric of the skirt, making it ripple and shimmer.
“Figured I shouldn’t let it go to waste. It’s not every day I come home to find a Chanel gown on my doorstep.”
He took a step closer and wrapped a shiny, golden lock of her hair around his finger. “And it’s not every day I get to see a Chanel gown on my bedroom floor, either. It’ll look fantastic there in, say…” He made a show of checking his watch. “About three and a half hours.”
She swatted at him, but she laughed, her eyes bright, and he felt the tension ease between them. “Hey, no advance planning. I know we’re breaking rules left, right, and center here, but let’s at least try.”
“You’re right, you’re right. My bad. Here.” He stepped away from her and held up a finger, pulling his phone out of his pocket. Fingers moving across the screen, after a few seconds, she heard her phone buzz.
Dylan: You up?
She laughed and texted him back.
Rule breaker.
“Never took you for a stickler, Jennings,” he said, unable to take his eyes off of her. She was glowing, radiant. So beautiful it almost hurt to look at her. And she was his. Maybe she didn’t know it yet, hadn’t accepted it yet, but she was.
“Well, we can’t just break every rule,” she said, looking up at him through her eyelashes. Fuck, just that look and he was half hard for her. He took a step closer, her sweet, warm scent hitting him like a punch in the gut, making every muscle in his body tighten.
“Why not?” Before she could answer, he dipped his head and started dropping kisses on her exposed neck. She shivered and let out a little sigh, letting her head fall to the side.
“Because I don’t wanna fall for you again.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, words he wasn’t even sure he was supposed to hear. He lifted his head and cupped her face, meeting her gaze.
“What if I promise to catch you?” I’m still in love with you, Maggie. Don’t think I ever fell out of love with you. The words echoed through his mind, loud and persistent and so fucking true.
Emotions flickered through her eyes, one after the other. Doubt, uncertainty, fear, and maybe, buried underneath it all, longing. Hope. Need. Slowly, she shook her head. “Don’t. Don’t complicate this, okay? It is what it is.”
“Doesn’t feel very complicated from where I’m standing.” He kissed her once, a soft, sweet kiss on the lips. And then, before she could argue, he stepped away and held out his arm for her. “Come on, let’s go.” She hesitated for the tiniest second before looping her arm through his and letting him escort her to his car.
Dylan navigated the BMW through the evening traffic, taking them downtown toward the Sheraton where the event was being held. His agent, Aerin, had floated the opportunity by him, and while he’d been reluctant, she’d given him a little speech about being a local celebrity and stepping up for the community that had convinced him. The fact that it had come with a bonus ticket had been the icing on the cake.
Maggie was quiet on the drive, her attention focused out the window, watching the buildings and early evening lights slide by. “Only You Can Love Me This Way” by Keith Urban played softly on the radio, and Dylan smiled when he recognized the song.
“This song always makes me think of you, you know,” he said, keeping his eyes on the road. In his peripheral vision, he saw her head whip around in his direction. She stared at him as she listened to the lyrics about love and regret and never forgetting the woman you love. She didn’t say anything, just listened to the song, and before it was over, Dylan was pulling up to the hotel’s valet stand. He handed his keys off to the attendant and then jogged around to Maggie’s side to hold her door for her. She took his hand, her eyes bright and shining up at him, and a warmth filled him when he saw that some of the doubt and uncertainty so obvious before were fading, like the sun chasing away clouds.
“I never said thank you,” she said as they moved toward the hotel’s doors. “For the dress.”
“It was my pleasure. You look incredible. So incredible that I don’t think I’ll last that three and a half hours.”
She laughed, clearly pleased with his flirting. Arm in arm, they headed inside and were directed toward a ballroom where the event was taking place. The spacious room had been transformed into a glamorous casino, with blackjack and poker tables, a bar, and other games, with all proceeds benefiting the Dallas Children’s Health Foundation. Gold and cream fabric swagged down from the ceiling, twisted elegantly with sparkling lights. Frank Sinatra played through the speakers, mixing with the sound of conversation, shouts and cheers, and tinkling glasses. Servers circulated through the crowd with trays of champagne and hors d’oeuvres.
Maggie gave his arm a gentle squeeze. “I’m going to go use the ladies’ room. Be right back.” She gestured in the direction of the restrooms, and he nodded, watching her weave gracefully through the crowd. A few other men in the room noticed her too, and a possessive satisfaction settled in Dylan’s chest.
“Didn’t think I’d see you here.”
Dylan closed his eyes and groaned inwardly at the familiar voice. Wishing he’d had the chance to order a drink already, he turned slowly, steeling himself and schooling his expression into something neutral and practiced. His father stood a few feet away, tux on, scotch in hand.
“Same. Otherwise, I probably wouldn’t have come,” said Dylan, shoving his hands in his pockets.
“I see you went dumpster diving for your date this evening.” His father’s tone was cool, casual, but it didn’t matter because his words had Dylan seeing red. He clenched his fists in his pockets, trying to get a grip on his rising temper. Getting a reaction was exactly what the man wanted, tugging on Dylan’s puppet strings as always, and fuck if he’d give him the satisfaction. So instead of reacting, Dylan simply stared him down with one eyebrow arched. He wasn’t taking the bait. Undeterred, his father took a sip of his drink, rocked back on his heels, and surveyed the room. “Guess you’ll have to float her some fun money tonight. I hope she’s at least earning it. I assume you bought her that dress she’s wearing?” Each word was like the pull of a saw, fraying the rope of Dylan’s self-control one fiber at a time.
Dylan forced himself to smile, the muscles in his face tight to the point of aching. “I’m not playing this game with you. I’m here with Maggie. You don’t like it? Newsflash: I don’t give a fuck. You don’t get to call the shots anymore.”
His father’s grin faltered and shook his head. “Don’t be cute. I’ll always call the shots.”
“I’m not bein’ cute. I’m just telling you how it is.” He took a step closer, his eyes narrowing as he studied his father. “What do you have against her, anyway? You don’t even know her.”
“I know enough. I know her mother was a tramp who got pregnant in high school. I know she probably looks at you with dollar signs in her eyes. I know I expect you to do better than Maggie Jennings.” His father blew out a breath and shook his head. “You’ve always had a blind spot when it comes to her.”
“You know, once upon a time, I actually believed that you did what you did to help her. But really, you just wanted her out of my life because you knew how much I loved her. You played both of us, and to tell you the truth, I resent the hell out of you for it.”
His father tipped his head. “I paid for her college on the stipulation you end things with her because it was what was best for both of you. If she’d known, she wouldn’t have accepted it, and would’ve kept following you around like a puppy dog. You went to Vanderbilt without any dead weight, and she got an education she never would’ve been able to afford. It was a two birds, one stone, win-win scenario.”
Dylan rubbed a hand over his mouth, the weight of the past crashing down on him. The weight of what he’d walked away from, and the price he’d paid for letting his father manipulate him. “I shouldn’t have done it,” he said, shaking his head slowly. “I shouldn’t have let you play me like that.”
“She wouldn’t have gotten a free education if you hadn’t. She’d probably still be pouring coffee at that diner.”
He couldn’t think. Everything was so twisted. Walking away from Maggie had been a colossal mistake, but it had given her a chance at a good life. How was it possible to regret something and be grateful for it at the same time?
“I’m done letting you control my life,” said Dylan, and he started to walk away, but his father’s statement stopped him.
“I don’t understand what you see in her. Besides the obvious, anyway.”
Dylan wheeled on him, his control slipping through his fingers. “Maggie Jennings is the warmest, kindest person I’ve ever met. She’s sweet, and thoughtful, and smart, and hardworking. She doesn’t judge people. When I’m with her, I feel like the man I want to be, not the man everyone expects me to be. She’s beautiful and amazing and I’m so in love with her I can barely think straight, so either you get used to that, or this is the end of the line for us.”
His father smiled in a way that sent a chill rippling down Dylan’s spine. “You have a good night, son.” And with that, he turned and disappeared into the crowd. Dylan shook his head and tugged at his bowtie, feeling too hot and like he couldn’t get enough air. Once, he’d worshipped his father, wanting nothing more than to be like him. To please him and win his hard-earned praise and respect. He’d let him manipulate him because he’d tried so hard to be what his father wanted. But he knew now that he never would be. No one ever would, because then Caleb wouldn’t have any games to play. Over time, Dylan had come to see all those aspects of his father—the God complex, the phony kindness, the need to control everyone and everything in his life. And sometimes, when he looked in the mirror and saw a younger version of his father’s face looking back at him, he wondered if he was much different, especially with the way he’d manipulated Maggie. Then, and maybe even now.
* * *
Maggie emerged from the ladies’ room and started making her way through the humming crowd and back to where she’d left Dylan. She hadn’t needed to use the facilities; she’d just needed a little space after his admission about the song in the car. Could it really be true that he’d never stopped thinking about her? That he’d missed her and regretted leaving her? God, she wanted to believe it. Wanted to believe him, and trust him, but it wasn’t easy. She’d put her heart in his hands ten years ago and he’d crushed it, but it wouldn’t be fair to assume he was still the same immature kid he’d been then who hadn’t wanted to be tied down to a girlfriend back home.
Her eyes landed on Dylan, who was in a heated conversation with…oh, holy shit. Dylan’s father. She approached slowly, cautiously, not sure if she wanted to intervene, but with the tension radiating off of Dylan, she felt the need to go to him.
“Maggie Jennings is the warmest, kindest person I’ve ever met. She’s sweet, and thoughtful, and smart, and hardworking. She doesn’t judge people. When I’m with her, I feel like the man I want to be, not the man everyone expects me to be. She’s beautiful and amazing and I’m so in love with her I can barely think straight, so either you get used to that, or this is the end of the line for us.”
Maggie’s mouth fell open, and she quickly moved away, snagging a glass of champagne from a passing server’s tray and chugging it down. Her brain went fuzzy as her skin tingled, shock cascading over her.
Dylan was in love with her. Dylan was in love with her. Dylan was in love with her.
“Holy shit,” she whispered, her heart racing in her chest.
The fact that he’d been telling off his father and seemingly defending her confirmed her suspicions that he’d broken up with her before because of his father’s intense dislike of anyone who wasn’t rich. She hadn’t been good enough for Dylan—she knew now that that was true. But it wasn’t true now, with the way Dylan had told his father that he’d choose Maggie over him.
“Holy shit,” she whispered again. She glanced over at Dylan, and her stomach exploded into a thousand butterflies, all flapping madly and stealing her breath. Something dissolved inside her, and she realized it was that tether to the heartbreak of the past. He’d hurt her before, but for the first time, she knew things could be different now. Her heart pounded in her ears as she moved toward him and laid a hand on his arm. He spun and then smiled at her. Her legs felt weak, so she leaned into him, looping her arm through his.
“Come on, let’s go play,” she said. Now that she knew how he felt about her, everything was different. Easier. Clearer.
He gestured at a blackjack table. “I have a proposition for you.”
“Oh yeah? What’s that?”
“Best three out of five. I win, you go on a date with me. An actual date.”
“And if I win?” she asked, already knowing she’d say yes to a date with him. After hearing what he’d said, she’d say yes to just about anything. How could she not?
He pointed at the large table where guests could donate money directly to the charity. “I’ll donate one game’s salary.”
“How much is that?”
“About $50,000.”
“I dunno. Seems like a pretty lopsided bet.”
“You’re right. Better make it $60,000.”
Her heart banged against her ribs, and she couldn’t stop the wide smile from spreading across her face. God, this man. They sat down at the table to play.
Maggie lost on purpose, and Dylan donated the money anyway.
* * *
Dylan proved himself a man of his word, because almost exactly three hours later, Maggie found herself riding up the elevator in the posh Museum Tower to Dylan’s new apartment. Her fingers were laced through his; ever since she’d heard what he’d said back at the Sheraton, she hadn’t been able to stop touching him. Hadn’t been able to stop smiling. A part of her was curious what his dad had said to provoke Dylan’s admission, but it didn’t really matter. She didn’t give a fig what Caleb McCormick thought of her. He could go to hell for all she cared.
Dylan’s apartment was on the thirty-sixth floor, and she had to admit, she was curious to see it. The elevator doors opened, and he led her to the second door to the right. The lights came on automatically as he opened it, and she gasped. The place was massive, with an entire wall of floor-to-ceiling windows giving a breathtaking view of the twinkling downtown Dallas skyline.
She took a few steps forward, taking it all in. The kitchen lined the far back wall, with dark wood cabinets and sleek, modern appliances. A gigantic island with a breakfast bar separated it from the main living space, the large open area she was standing in. To the left sat a couple of gray sofas, a coffee table, and a rug, still rolled up and sealed in plastic. A large flat screen TV leaned against the wall, waiting to be installed. On the other end of the space was a big round table piled high with moving boxes. Boxes also littered the floor, some open, some still sealed, all with labels like “Kitchen—Plates,” and “Living Room—Misc.” Past the table, a set of double doors led to a wide, circular balcony.
“This place is amazing,” she said, her eyes roving back to the city skyline in front of her. “I think you could fit four of my apartments in here.”
He chuckled softly. “Come on, I’ll show you the rest.” He took her hand and led her down a hallway to her left, off of the living area. The first bedroom held a desk, a computer, a couch, and another TV, along with a few framed pictures standing against the wall. “I’m still getting settled,” he said. “I haven’t had much time to get organized.”
The second bedroom contained workout equipment—a treadmill, a rowing machine, a weight bench, and a rack of free weights—along with Dylan’s baseball memorabilia. Slowly, she perused the items, and one by one, Dylan told her the story behind each one. The case of baseballs containing his first major league hit, his first major league home run, his first major league grand slam, his 500th career hit. The jersey from his first game. His two gold glove awards. His all-star jersey from two years ago. As he spoke, she could see what it all meant to him. Baseball wasn’t just a job. It was his life. It was part of who he was.
“It must be incredible to look at all of this and see what you’ve accomplished so far,” she said.
“Yeah, but no one is indispensable. Everyone’s job is up for grabs. There’s always someone younger, faster, hungrier, shinier than you. It doesn’t matter how many awards you’ve won, how many balls you’ve hit. You have to show up and work your ass off, every damn day. The day I stop grinding is the day I’ll know it’s time to retire.”
“You have an amazing work ethic. Always have.”
He smiled at her, clearly pleased with her compliment. “Thanks, Mags.”
“You’re welcome, D.”
His smile grew, and he took her hand again and showed her the guest bathroom—gorgeous, of course, with marble tile and a glassed-in shower practically the size of her bedroom—and then he took her into the master bedroom. A king-sized bed sat against the far left wall, with a dark gray tufted linen headboard. Two matching nightstands stood on either side, and more boxes lined the foot of the bed. A leather armchair occupied a corner by the window. The bed was unmade, clothes were piled on the armchair, and the room smelled like Dylan, like the warmth of his skin. It was perfect.
“Maggie,” Dylan said from behind her, his voice raw, husky. The room was dark save for the sparkling lights of the skyline, and as she turned to face him, the lights caught the crystals on her dress. “Stay tonight.” He lifted a hand and traced his thumb over her cheekbone, her jaw, her lips. “Tell me you’ll stay.”
She parted her lips and licked the pad of his thumb, savoring the salt of his skin on her tongue. “It’s against the rules,” she said, testing, teasing.
His expression darkened into something that sent a thrill through her. “Fuck the rules. I want to be with you.” He dipped his head, brushing his nose against her cheek. “And I think you want to be with me.”
She let out a shaky breath and nodded. “I want there to be an us, Dylan.”
He kissed her, taking his time with her. Even though they’d had a lot of sex over the past several weeks, tonight felt different. It felt like the first time. The start of something; new, and exciting, and full of meaning.
She wound her arms around his neck, weaving her fingers into his hair as they kissed, a slow, sensuous melding of lips and tongues. He broke the kiss and trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses down her neck, leaving a path of tingling fire in his wake. She reached for the button on the front of his pants, but he caught her wrist.
“No rush,” he said, lifting his head from her neck. “We have all night.” He kissed her again, but she couldn’t stop herself from touching him, so she ran the palm of her hand over the firm ridge of his cock. They kissed for what felt like ages until Maggie thought she might explode. Finally, he shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it onto the chair, then pulled his bow tie free and let it drop to the floor. With sure, confident fingers, he found the zipper on the back of her dress and slowly pulled it down. She shrugged out of it, letting the straps fall down her arms to reveal her bare breasts—the dress wasn’t bra-friendly—and then pushed it down over her hips. Carefully, she gathered it and laid it on the chair, then turned to face Dylan from her spot by the window.
“I know you wanted to see it on the floor, but I just couldn’t—”
“I don’t care. Fuck, look at you. God, Maggie, I want you so much.” He kissed her again and raised a hand to her breast, working her nipple with his fingers until it was a hard, aching peak. With agonizing slowness, his other hand slid down, cupping her over top of her lacy pink panties. Then, without breaking the kiss, he ran his hand down her ribs, over her hip, tracing her thigh, the curve of her ass as though he was trying to memorize her by touch alone. “So damn beautiful,” he whispered against her mouth, and Maggie felt something bright and euphoric wash over her. Dylan was here, telling her she was beautiful. He loved her and wanted to be with her. He regretted ever leaving her.
It felt like a dream come to life, one she didn’t want to wake up from.
One by one, she undid the buttons of his shirt, running her hands over the smooth planes of muscle hidden beneath. She traced her fingers over his chest and down his stomach, exploring the ridges of his athletic physique. Touching and savoring in a way she hadn’t let herself before because it had felt too intimate. He flung his shirt away and slipped a hand between her legs, teasing her with slow strokes.
“No one has ever made me feel as good as you,” she said, working herself against his hand. She pushed her panties down, kicking them away.
He smiled at her, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Good.” He led her to the bed, slipping out of his pants as they kissed, slow and deep. She hooked her fingers into his boxers and pushed them down over his hips, freeing his gorgeously thick cock.
“I want to make you feel good,” she said, pressing him back onto the bed and climbing on top of him. She kissed him, a little teasing nip, and then worked her way down his body, kissing and licking and nibbling, until she settled herself between his thighs. Taking him in her hand, she licked him from root to tip, then glanced up to gauge his reaction. His eyes were dark, full of lust and need, but also something else. Something soft and tender and amazing. Something that made her feel powerful and feminine and safe. She licked him again, and his head fell back.
“Oh, shit, Mags.” His voice was a rough plea that had fresh wetness gathering between her legs. She licked all around his head, kissing the beaded drop of precum gathered there, and then kept teasing him, licking him, pressing little kisses all along his shaft until his hips were shifting, eager for her mouth. She looked up and met his eyes as she took his cock into her mouth, holding him there for just a second before moving up and down, sucking him deep. He let out a low, masculine groan. “Yes, Maggie. Fuck, that’s good. Just like that. Shit, your mouth is so sweet. So good baby,” he said, tangling a hand in her hair. She worked him with her hand and her mouth, tasting his excitement, feeling him harden even more. His hand tightened in her hair and he pulled her away. “I don’t wanna come like that. Not tonight. I need to be inside you.”
Before she could respond, he’d flipped their positions, leaving her splayed on her back in front of him, her legs spread wide. A hungry smile spread across his face and he eased down between her legs. “Does sucking my cock make you wet, baby?”
She let out a sound that was half whimper, half moan. God, she loved that dirty mouth of his. “Mmmhmm.”
“Gonna eat this sweet pussy now. Gonna make you come for me.” His voice was low, rough, his gentleness giving way to his lust. There was no teasing, no waiting, just his tongue flicking over her clit before sucking it into his mouth. She moaned and let her eyes fall closed, losing herself in the hot, sweeping sensations of Dylan’s lips, his tongue working against her swollen flesh. He pushed her legs back, spreading her open, and then slid first one, and then two fingers inside her. He moaned as she clamped down on his fingers, heat and pleasure coiling within her.
“Fuck, you’re so good at this,” she breathed. Already, she could feel her orgasm building.
“Love making you feel good.” He looked up at her, meeting her eyes, and everything inside her tightened, except for her heart, which felt like it was expanding with each passing second. In that moment, she realized what she’d found with Dylan all those years ago that she’d never found with anyone else. Yes, he was hot as sin, and their sexual chemistry was off the charts, but it was more than that. He made her feel treasured, like she was something rare and special and amazing that he would keep and protect. God, she was in love with him. Still or again, it didn’t matter. She was in love with Dylan McCormick, and giving in to it, not fighting it, felt almost impossibly good.
Throbbing pleasure gathered in her core and then burst through her, and she came with a long, loud moan, her muscles rigid as wave after wave of her orgasm slammed into her. Her entire body trembled as she came, her orgasm pounding through her, long and intense. She shifted, and a sudden, sharp pang grabbed at her foot.
“Ow!”
His head jerked up, a frown on his face. “Ow?”
She managed to sit up and leaned forward, rubbing her foot. “You made me come so hard I gave myself a cramp.”
He chuckled and reached for her foot, working his strong fingers over her instep. “I’d apologize, but…”
She sighed as his fingers worked their magic, loosening the tight muscles. “Yeah, you definitely don’t have to apologize for that.”
A serious expression took over his face, and he shifted closer to her, taking her face in his hands. “But I am sorry, Maggie. For hurting you. I swear to you, I’ll never hurt you again.”
His words filled in the tiny cracks she hadn’t realized still lingered over her heart, making her feel whole and free for the first time in a long time. She laid a hand over his and kissed him, tasting herself on his lips. “I know. I believe you.” Relief flickered across his face, and then he kissed her again, easing her back on the bed. He started to reach for the nightstand drawer, but she stopped him with a hand on his arm.
“I don’t want to use one. I want it to be just you and me, nothing between us.”
“Fuck, Mags, are you sure?” His eyes were bright, intense with need.
She nodded. “Fuck the rules, right?”
He came down on top of her, smiling and kissing her. “You’re amazing, you know that? You’re covered? I’m not ready to be a dad.”
She laughed. “I’m covered. You’re good?”
“All good.”
His eyes holding hers, he lined himself up with her entrance and slowly pushed in, inch by inch. They moaned in unison as he slid all the way home, bare inside her for the first time. He stilled, kissing her. “You’re incredible, Maggie.” He moved his hips, one slow thrust in and out. “I can’t believe you’re mine.”
An electric thrill zapped through her at his words. She’d belonged to Dylan once, and now, knowing he was in love with her, having his cock bare inside her, she couldn’t deny that she belonged to him again.
