Damn Wright (The Wrights 2)

She stripped out of the hot suit, but her shoulder caught, trapping her arms. “Goddammit.”

Dylan was just grinning at her.

“It’s not funny,” she told him.

“Oh, yeah it is. It definitely is.” He chuckled and reached for her. “Okay, hold still.”

She turned away. “I can do it.”

She walked in a circle, fighting with the suit until her arms burned. Dylan just stood there, arms crossed, smiling like an idiot.

Embarrassment and fatigue won the battle. She stopped struggling and leaned her forehead against the trunk of a cherry tree. “I’m such a loser.”

“Can I help now?” His voice was right beside her, and despite all the pain he’d caused her, she longed to turn into him.

She was grateful he didn’t wait for her answer. Just reached for her, turning her toward him and working the suit loose from her shoulder.

“There you go.” His voice was sweet and calm. His hands smoothed over her shoulders, stripping the hot suit down her arms and pulling the sleeves off her hands.

“Okay, I’ve got it.” She took a step away, shoved the suit down her hips, her legs, and got her foot caught. She lost her balance, hopped on one foot a few times, then tilted.

She squealed just as Dylan caught her by the waist. Again. This time, her shirt rode up, and his hand burned a print on her skin. Intense desire blindsided her. One she hadn’t felt in years. One that made her brain short out, giving her body the opportunity to take the lead.

Only, she wasn’t that impulsive kid anymore. She forced her mind into gear. But the battle took a toll on her emotions, weakening her walls.

Dylan dropped into a crouch and pulled the suit down her legs. She lifted one foot so he could pull it off and put a hand on his shoulder to balance.

“You’re still as stubborn as ever,” Dylan said.

“My mom said the same thing a few days ago.”

He looked up at her, and his grin created sparkles in his eyes. The sight moved a mountain of resistance inside her, shoving it out of the way.

He was so handsome. All his boyish features had hardened and sharpened. His experience had whittled a few lines here and there. The beard he’d barely been able to grow back then had come in full and dark and created a shadow of stubble on his jaw. New scars cut a line through his left brow and jutted across the right side of his chin. She wanted to know how he’d gotten them, making her realize how much of his life she’d missed.

“How are your parents?” he asked.

“They’re good.”

“I should go by and see them.” His smile faded. “Guess I owe them an apology too.”

She didn’t realize she was staring at him until his smile died. He dropped his knees to the ground and reached up, cupping her cheek. “Baby?”

He stroked a thumb across her cheekbone, wiping away a tear she didn’t realize had fallen. Emma closed her eyes and turned her face into his hand. Just for a second. Then another. Then forced herself to step back.

“I’m fine.”

He sat back on his heels and pressed his hands to his thighs. “You always were.”

“Damn right.” And she had to keep it that way.

“You should probably pee before you wet your pants.”

Emma laughed. He was probably the only man who could say that to her and make it funny, not insulting.

She gladly left Dylan at the house and stopped at the nearest gas station to use the facilities before picking up lunch on her way back. All while talking herself into an emotional reset, rebuilding her walls.

“Charming doesn’t solve problems,” she told herself on the drive back to the house. “Handsome doesn’t pay the bills. Love. Alone. Is. Not. Enough.”