created instant hardness. I never did have any kind of self-control when it came to her. I needed her. I craved tasting her.
But we did have reservations for dinner in like, fifteen minutes. Slowly, I pulled out of the embrace and stepped away to catch my breath. She looked wrecked, with her kiss-swollen lips jutted out in a disappointed pout, leaning against the tree like she didn’t have the strength to stand on her own.
“Dinner?” I asked, hoping my voice didn’t crack. She nodded, and I held out my hand to her. She stared at it for a moment and then slowly took it.
“So, that’s a warm-up, huh?” she asked.
“Yep.”
“I need to work out more,” she replied.
“I’m sorry… Did you just make a joke?” I blinked at her, filling my expression with mock surprise.
She punched my arm. “Shut up and feed me.”
“Yes, ma’am!” I let her straighten herself out, and then we started walking toward the restaurant.
~*~*~
Cadence
I was still breathless from that kiss by the time we reached the restaurant. We were seated quickly, and in the corner of the place so we had a full view and a wall at our backs. I imagined that Dylan had arranged that, knowing my personal paranoia about having my back to the door. Hell, I thought maybe he had that same paranoia.
Dylan started talking about something, but I couldn’t concentrate on his words. All I could see was the short spikes of his dark hair, the gorgeous deep set of his eyes, surrounded by laugh lines he had no business having yet. High cheekbones accentuated beautiful, full lips that I just wanted to kiss forever.
“You know what I mean?”
I blinked, Dylan’s voice permeating the thoughts I’d lost myself in. “What?”
“You weren’t even listening, were you?” He grinned and leaned across the table to whisper, “Were you picturing me naked?”
“What? No!” I protested.
He laughed. “I think you were.” He stretched out, puffing out his chest. He was wearing a dark grey button down shirt that looked like silk. Had he already had that shirt or was it one he bought this afternoon?
“You’re impossible.”
“No, I’m very possible,” he replied. Most women I knew would have been put off by Dylan’s ego. But the thing with him was that you had to figure out when he was serious and when he was just blowing hot air. Because most of the time, it was hot air, a simple defense mechanism to keep people from knowing the real Dylan Urban.
“What are you hiding under there?” I asked him, surprising myself.
“What do you mean?”
The waiter arrived with our food and set it all out for us. I waited until he left again to ask my question again. “I mean, you always joke around and act like this big tough guy. But you’re not always that guy. Sometimes, you’re nothing like him. I told you my secrets. Tell me yours.”
He looked uncomfortable for a moment, but in true Dylan fashion, it vanished quickly. He shrugged. “I’m an open book.”
“Yes, but sometimes, I think some of your pages are stuck together.”
“Do you really want to know?”
“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.” He took that in, growing silent. His smile faded, and a haunted look came over him. I didn’t like that look on him. It was so un-Dylan-like. I squirmed a little in discomfort. “You don’t have to…”
“Jokes are easy.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “It’s a way to make sure that no one takes you seriously, that they never expect anything from you.” He sighed. “When I was a kid, my parents used to fight a lot. Hell, they still do. All the damn time, every time I’m home. It’s obnoxious.”
“And they’re still together?”
“Yeah. They’ve been married twenty-five years. My mom has always been the trophy wife. Role model mom. To everyone else.”
“But not around you.”
Dylan shook his head, the pain in his eyes making me want to take him in my arms that second. But I didn’t. I let him keep talking,
But we did have reservations for dinner in like, fifteen minutes. Slowly, I pulled out of the embrace and stepped away to catch my breath. She looked wrecked, with her kiss-swollen lips jutted out in a disappointed pout, leaning against the tree like she didn’t have the strength to stand on her own.
“Dinner?” I asked, hoping my voice didn’t crack. She nodded, and I held out my hand to her. She stared at it for a moment and then slowly took it.
“So, that’s a warm-up, huh?” she asked.
“Yep.”
“I need to work out more,” she replied.
“I’m sorry… Did you just make a joke?” I blinked at her, filling my expression with mock surprise.
She punched my arm. “Shut up and feed me.”
“Yes, ma’am!” I let her straighten herself out, and then we started walking toward the restaurant.
~*~*~
Cadence
I was still breathless from that kiss by the time we reached the restaurant. We were seated quickly, and in the corner of the place so we had a full view and a wall at our backs. I imagined that Dylan had arranged that, knowing my personal paranoia about having my back to the door. Hell, I thought maybe he had that same paranoia.
Dylan started talking about something, but I couldn’t concentrate on his words. All I could see was the short spikes of his dark hair, the gorgeous deep set of his eyes, surrounded by laugh lines he had no business having yet. High cheekbones accentuated beautiful, full lips that I just wanted to kiss forever.
“You know what I mean?”
I blinked, Dylan’s voice permeating the thoughts I’d lost myself in. “What?”
“You weren’t even listening, were you?” He grinned and leaned across the table to whisper, “Were you picturing me naked?”
“What? No!” I protested.
He laughed. “I think you were.” He stretched out, puffing out his chest. He was wearing a dark grey button down shirt that looked like silk. Had he already had that shirt or was it one he bought this afternoon?
“You’re impossible.”
“No, I’m very possible,” he replied. Most women I knew would have been put off by Dylan’s ego. But the thing with him was that you had to figure out when he was serious and when he was just blowing hot air. Because most of the time, it was hot air, a simple defense mechanism to keep people from knowing the real Dylan Urban.
“What are you hiding under there?” I asked him, surprising myself.
“What do you mean?”
The waiter arrived with our food and set it all out for us. I waited until he left again to ask my question again. “I mean, you always joke around and act like this big tough guy. But you’re not always that guy. Sometimes, you’re nothing like him. I told you my secrets. Tell me yours.”
He looked uncomfortable for a moment, but in true Dylan fashion, it vanished quickly. He shrugged. “I’m an open book.”
“Yes, but sometimes, I think some of your pages are stuck together.”
“Do you really want to know?”
“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.” He took that in, growing silent. His smile faded, and a haunted look came over him. I didn’t like that look on him. It was so un-Dylan-like. I squirmed a little in discomfort. “You don’t have to…”
“Jokes are easy.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “It’s a way to make sure that no one takes you seriously, that they never expect anything from you.” He sighed. “When I was a kid, my parents used to fight a lot. Hell, they still do. All the damn time, every time I’m home. It’s obnoxious.”
“And they’re still together?”
“Yeah. They’ve been married twenty-five years. My mom has always been the trophy wife. Role model mom. To everyone else.”
“But not around you.”
Dylan shook his head, the pain in his eyes making me want to take him in my arms that second. But I didn’t. I let him keep talking,
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