Love Will Find a Way (25 page)

He gave her a grin. "What do younger sisters know?"

"More than you wish they knew."

"True."

"Are you close to any of your stepsisters?"

"Grace and I keep in touch. She's the baby of the family. She never knew a life without me in it, so she accepted me as her brother. The other two always felt like I was an interloper."

"Where is Grace now?"

"San Diego. She's a mom, has a two-year-old of her own. Married a great guy. And they'll live happily ever after."

"You could have the same."

He laughed. "Not tonight I couldn't."

"I wasn't talking about tonight."

"Well, that's all I want to think about right now. In fact, I have another idea."

"Another one," she groaned. "I don't think I can handle any more of your ideas."

"This one is easy. Darts."

"Darts?"

"Gary said you were pretty good, but I have my doubts." He tipped his head toward the dartboard in the corner of the bar area. "What do you say?"

"I'd say I'd have to know if the stakes were worth playing for."

"Stakes, huh? Five dollars?"

"I don't think so."

"A hundred bucks."

"Jeez, how about something in between?"

"What do you want, then?"

She leaned forward slightly. He could see the swell of her breasts as her low-cut blouse shifted slightly. His body immediately tightened. He didn't know what the hell she wanted, but he knew what he wanted.

"A dance," she said.

"I don't dance."

"To my choice on the jukebox."

"And if I win?"

"Well, if you really want to waste time thinking about that possibility..."

"You go flying with me," he said with a snap of his fingers. "One hour over your apple farm and your beautiful valley."

She tensed. "I don't think so."

"Hey, I thought you were confident," he challenged.

"I am, but I don't want to fly."

"Why not? Are you afraid of crashing? Because I promise I won't let anything happen to you."

"I like my feet on the ground."

"You won't know you love flying until you try it. Hey, you're not going to lose anyway, right?"

"That's right. Fine. You're on." She got up from the table and pointed to the opposite wall. "By the way, see that board over there?"

Dylan turned his head to see a list of names on a plaque, one name repeated over and over again, Rachel's name.

"Five years running. Annual Darts Champion," she said with a confident smile of her own. "I'll get the darts from Uncle Harry. You better warm up. Make sure you have a steady hand."

He wanted to tell her that he was already warm. He took another drink, finishing the beer in his glass.
So much for a steady hand.
Hell, who was he kidding? His hands hadn't been steady since Rachel had come back into his life.

Rachel handed him the darts a few minutes later. "What do you want to play? Three-zero-one, Cricket?"

He raised an eyebrow. "I assume those are games."

"Yes, they're games. Three-zero-one begins by hitting a double. Then the score is determined by subtracting from three-zero-one the score of each dart thrown. You have to reduce your score to exactly zero to win."

"That sounds complicated."

"You can go first. I'll explain as we go."

"Maybe I don't want to go first," he said warily. "I sense you have a strategy."

"And I sense you're chicken," she said with a little laugh.

"Okay, now I'm mad."

"So get even. Beat me."

"Maybe I will."

"I doubt it."

"Awfully cocky, aren't you? How about we do just three darts, high score wins?"

"Fine. Throw your first dart. Show me up."

He rotated his arm a few times in an exaggerated warm-up. "The center dot is what I want, right?" he asked.

"It's called a bull's-eye, remember?"

"It's coming back to me." He drew his arm back and threw. He hit the bull's-eye dead center and heard Rachel gasp at the same time the dart stuck in the board. He turned his head to see her jaw drop.

"What was that?" she demanded.

"I think it was a bull's-eye. Actually, I think it was a double bull's-eye."

"And I think you've been hustling me."

"Me?" he asked innocently. "Hustling the five-time world champion?"

"Hardly world," she said, annoyed with
herself
for having believed his innocent routine. The man had already demonstrated his prowess with a paper airplane. She should have figured he'd be just as good at darts. "Go on, let's see what else you've got. Maybe you were just lucky."

He quirked an eyebrow at that.
"Luck had nothing to do with it. It's all skill."

"We'll see." But as Rachel watched him pull back his arm and take aim, she began to worry. If he did somehow beat her, she'd have to go up in an airplane with him. She didn't want to do that. She couldn't. So she cleared her throat just as he threw. It startled him enough to hit the outer ring, worth only eighteen points.

"You did that on purpose," he accused.

"I had something stuck in my throat."

"Yeah, it was your pride. But I've still got one dart left." He twirled it in his fingers. "Want me to try it with my eyes closed this time?"

What she wanted was to find his arrogant smile irritating, but in truth she was enjoying this relaxed side of Dylan. He was clearly having a good time. Of course, it was at her expense, she reminded herself. And if he didn't mess up this last shot, she had a terrible feeling she'd be soaring over the valley as early as tomorrow. She simply could not let him win. Drastic measures were called for.
But what?

He was looking at her, waiting for her to make some remark about his dare. "Actually, I don't want you to close your eyes at all," she said, her fingers rolling around the top button of her shirt. In one quick movement, she undid it, impulsively revealing the top of her lacy white bra. It was the most audacious thing she could do. But it had the desired effect. Dylan's eyes fixed on her fingers as they played with the next button on her shirt. "Go ahead, take your last shot."

He started, as if he'd suddenly remembered where they were. When he drew his arm back, it was nowhere near as steady as it had been. The last dart went wide of the board altogether.

"Oh, too bad," she said. "But still a good score." She walked over to the board and removed the darts.

"That wasn't fair. You distracted me. And I must say I'm shocked."

She laughed at his outrage. "All's fair."

"In love and war. Which is this?"

She ignored that question. "My turn." She threw her first dart before he could do anything to distract her. "Bull's-eye."

"Not bad," he said grudgingly. "But you've got to hit at least two more to beat me."

"How about this one?" she said, landing her second shot with unerring accuracy. Of course, Dylan didn't know how many hours she'd spent playing darts while growing up.

"You know I can't dance," he told her. "I'll probably step all over your feet. Unless, of course, you hold me real close."

"I don't think so."

"What do you think about this, then?" His hand dropped to his belt buckle. "Tit for tat?"

She swallowed hard as her gaze traveled to the very male bulge just below his fingers. "You wouldn't dare." She looked around, ready to point out all the people watching them. Unfortunately, no one was. The nearby pool table was empty, same with the dance floor, and the other dinner customers were seated across the room. Still, she felt compelled to utter another protest. "You could be arrested for indecent exposure."

"And you could be arrested for looking," he said, reminding her that she was now indeed fixating on a very personal part of his anatomy.

She immediately turned away. She took a deep breath.
Focus, concentrate.
Hit your mark
. The commands ran through her brain, and she drew her hand back and threw, a perfect shot to the center.

"Well," Dylan drawled. "I guess your concentration is better than mine."

"Well," she echoed. "I guess it is. I believe this is my dance." She walked over to the jukebox and studied the songs listed.
Something fast and upbeat.
That's what she wanted, nothing slow, nothing where they'd have to hold each other.

Dylan joined her a moment later. "You know, flying is really incredible."

"A bet's a bet. Are you a sore loser?"

"I wouldn't know. I don't usually lose," he grumbled.

"I believe that," she said. "But you lost this time."

"And you cheated by giving me a peep show."

She laughed at the disgruntled look on his face. "Men are so easy. One little glance at a bra strap and you completely lose your concentration."

"I didn't lose it. It just went somewhere else," he replied, dropping his gaze to her breasts, which unexpectedly began to tingle. "I could show you some real concentration if you'd give me a chance."

"Are you flirting with me?"

"Hey, I'm not the one showing my underwear."

For a split second, she wondered whether he wore boxers or briefs.

"Boxers," he said.

"I was
not
thinking that," she lied.

"Red polka dots."

"No way."

"What about you? Sexy thong or practical cotton?"

"I am not discussing my underwear with you."

"Then you shouldn't have brought it up."

"I need a quarter," she said.

"What?" he asked mockingly. "You need a quarter to show me your underwear?"

"Don't be ridiculous. That would cost a lot more. I need a quarter to play a song so we can dance. Don't think by distracting me that I've forgotten our bet."

"The bet was for a dance, not a quarter. If you don't have a coin, that's not my problem."

"Fine, I'll get one myself." She walked over to their table and dug into the bottom of her purse. Sure enough, a loose quarter. She held it up triumphantly. "I found one."

"Great," he said with a dismal sigh.

She popped the quarter into the machine and selected the funniest, most amusing song she could find. " 'Saturday Night Fever' okay?" she asked. "Do you have your best John Travolta moves ready to go?"

He groaned. "You did not pick that."

"Oh, but I did." She stopped abruptly as a song began to play, but not the one she'd requested. This one was slow and romantic and sensuous.

"A love song?" Dylan asked with a raised eyebrow.

"This isn't the right one."

"Well, it's the one that's playing, and this is our dance. Come here," he said softly, holding out his hands.

"I picked a fast one."

"Too bad. You get one dance. Take it or leave it."

She considered leaving it.

"However, if you default on the bet, I win," he added. "You and me and the wild blue yonder."

"Okay, I'll dance with you. But if you step on my foot, I'll kick you on the shin."

And with that little bit of romance, she went into his arms.

In less than a minute Rachel felt like she'd always belonged in Dylan's arms. It was not supposed to feel this easy, this comfortable. It should have been awkward. Their legs should have
bumped,
their feet should have gotten tangled up. They should have kept some distance between them.

Instead her hand crept up from his shoulder to the back of his neck, where her fingers played with the waves of his dark hair. In response, he drew her close against his heart, his chin brushing the top of her head as she breathed in the scent of him. He smelled like soap, like strong, manly soap with a touch of lavender. But it wasn't just his smell that undid her; it was his hand, the rough, callused palm that brushed her own fingers, making her very much aware of how hard he was and how soft she wanted to be.

She thought she heard him sigh. Maybe the sound had come from
her own
throat. She felt like purring, like a contented cat that had just found the perfect spot to nestle into.

The music swept through her, the lush words of romance a perfect accompaniment to the way their bodies were talking to each other. It was a good thing there were no words required. She couldn't have spoken even if she'd wanted to, and she didn't want to. She wanted to have this dance, this one dance, this one moment when everything felt good and right.

Dylan's lips pressed against the top of her head. If she moved slightly, if she raised her head, she could kiss him the way she wanted to. She tried to resist the call, but a moment later hopelessly surrendered as want overrode reason. He was waiting for her.

His mouth claimed hers, his dark lashes sweeping against his cheeks as he closed his eyes. It was the last thing she saw before she gave herself up to his kiss, a kiss that lasted to the end of the song, until the soft romantic harmony was replaced by the pounding beat of "
Saturday Night Fever
."

Dylan drew away. His eyes glittered with desire, or was it something else? Rachel was afraid to read more. She took a step back. He did the same.

"I'm not dancing to this one," he told her.

"Neither am I."

"Why don't we leave?" he suggested.

"All right." Leaving was good. Cool, fresh air would be good, too.

As she turned, she caught sight of her Aunt Shannon and her Uncle Harry standing behind the bar, watching her. Their expressions were solemn, worry lines creasing their faces as they stood together, a solid, protective unit.

She picked up her purse from the table. Dylan put a hand on her back as they walked toward the bar. Pausing in front of her aunt and uncle, she felt very much like a child whose hand had been caught in the cookie jar. "Thanks for dinner," she said lightly, ignoring their somber expressions. "It was great."

"How much do we owe you?" Dylan asked.

"Nothing," Uncle Harry replied, his tone sharp. "Rachel doesn't pay for food. She's family."

And Dylan was not
. Rachel could hear the words as clearly as if Uncle Harry had spoken them out loud. Unfortunately, Dylan could hear them, too. She didn't want him to feel that he was the odd man out, that he was unacceptable. He'd already had too much of that kind of rejection in the past.