What the Heart Wants (11 page)

Or close his mouth.

The three-second rule sounded more manageable. Okay, so it wasn’t a real rule. Unless you were a guy. And the rule was simple to follow.

No staring at a woman you’re interested in for more than three seconds. Anything longer would spell desperation in her eyes.

Or psychosis.

Dylan didn’t want to appear like a psycho. Or desperate. Granted, he’d waited months to find her. And if it weren’t for the fear of her disappearing like she did in the dreams, maybe he would be able to concentrate on something else.

But he wasn’t psychotic.

He had many unanswered questions. Like how he knew every detail of her face, of her body, when he’d never met her. Weren’t dreams repressed memories and images of everyday life?

And what about the bomb his mom dropped on him at the beach? He’d barely had time to adjust to the fact that he was having similar dreams as a child. Was Heaven the little girl from those dreams, too? If she was Chelsea’s best friend, then they must be the same age.

Dylan refused to believe that any of this was a coincidence. At this point, anything was possible. For Christ’s sake, he had dreamed about a total stranger. Chelsea had never mentioned Heaven before. Not that he would remember. She sure as hell hadn’t shown him any pictures. He definitely would have remembered Heaven’s face.

Or the laugh that was passing through those lush lips.

He wondered if it was minty lip-gloss making her lips shine.

If only he could get a little closer.

He shifted his weight, drawing Heaven’s attention for a brief second.

God, her eyes would be his undoing. He could lose himself in them. In her.

His skin prickled as he remembered the tarot reading his mom had given him earlier. What had the Two of Cups meant? A perfect union. A bond so powerful that two people could get
lost
in each other.

Ah, hell.

The cards were right. They predicted this event unfolding and now…

He’d never believed in all of his mom’s New Age, fortune-telling mojo. Not until this moment. How could layers of compressed paper foresee the future?

How did Chelsea know to pair him with her best friend?

Meeting Heaven couldn’t be by chance. Something bigger was at work.

Fate?

God?

As much as he wanted to keep staring at her, his gut churned a warning. Look away. He was making Heaven uncomfortable. Dylan wasn’t sure how he knew that. Could he smell another person’s fear? Or feel what they were feeling?

His pulse thumped harder, drowning out the chitchat amongst the group.

Dropping his gaze to the floor, he focused on the tiny specs of black fibers woven within the sea of red. How boring it was to study carpet when he wanted to study her. Wanted to touch her body. See if her skin felt as silky as it had in the dreams.

He inhaled until he thought his lungs would burst. The sweet aroma tingling his senses was identical to the one he smelled each time he woke from dreaming of her.

Sandalwood.

Dylan fought with his subconscious to keep his eyes on the ground. The longer he forced his eyes from gazing up, the more his chest squeezed. Try as he might, his heart was winning the battle with his mind.

“And this is Layne Perry.”

Chelsea’s voice rang through Dylan’s mind.

His eyes shot back to Heaven as she stood in front of Layne, lips spread warmly at his best friend. When they shook hands, a strange twinge of fire filled him like tiny pricks of a needle, his skin the unfortunate pincushion. The thought of Layne touching her drove him crazy.

Where was this coming from? Dylan couldn’t think of one time he’d been jealous of any guy, let alone his best friend. Until now. And he had no right to be. Heaven didn’t belong to him.

Not yet.

He hoped to change that. Still, it didn’t explain the urge to rip Layne’s head off.

What gave? Primal instinct? The need to wedge his body between Layne and Heaven rushed to the surface. He dug his fingernails into his palms to fight from acting on his impulse.

What the hell is wrong with me?

“Dylan?” Chelsea’s voice plucked at his nerves the same way he would pluck a guitar.

He looked up, taking in the faces staring at him like a nude model in an art class.

His cheeks burned.

“I’m sorry. What did you say?” he asked as his eyes searched Chelsea’s face. He didn’t know what was worse. Chelsea’s raised brow and taut lips, or the smirk teasing the corner of Layne’s mouth.

Great. Layne’s famous I-told-you-so look.

And Layne
had
told him to snap out of it. Did Heaven take him for a blundering idiot now?

A quick glance in her direction deflated his concern. Bright eyes gazed up through long lashes. Why was she chewing on her lip? Was he still making her nervous?

“Dylan McBride, I’d like you to meet my dearest friend in the world. Heaven Lewis.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Dylan.”

Oh, God.

His name sounded like magic as it passed over her lips. Did she practice the craft because he was under her spell, for sure? Yeah, that was it. She’d bewitched him.

“Same here.”

A short and simple reply. That’s all he could muster for fear of stumbling over his own words or acting like a big oaf. What he really wanted was to draw her into an embrace, to press his body into hers, and…

His eyes dropped to her hand, watching in awe as she extended it for a handshake. It took him a second before he curled his fingers around hers.

A spark flooded his body, tingling him from head to toe. Something was drawing them together, just as it had in the dream. The sweet smell of her perfume filled his nose, intoxicating his every thought. He continued to stare into her eyes, those hypnotic jewels he knew by heart.

Was she going to pull away?

For her sake, he hoped she would. His resolve continued to crumble each second their skin touched. The way her eyes kept flitting from his eyes to his mouth didn’t help. When she parted her lips, it hit him.

Sweet mint.

Good, God!

“Did I shock you?”

He was about to answer when he heard Layne whisper under his breath, “More than you know.” The words sparked amusement that his lips and cheeks couldn’t hide. Layne knew him too well.

Wait a second…Did she ask if she shocked him? That spark was real?

“No, I thought I shocked you.”

“I think it was my fault,” she said, as her eyes dropped to his lips, again. “I must have picked up static when I walked across the floor. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said, unconsciously pulling her closer. When he realized what he was doing, he stopped, but she had already taken a small step toward him.

Could she feel it? The force that drew them together like opposite poles on a magnet. He could. Her energy wrapped around every cell in his body. Their chemistry swaddled him like an infant.

What he wouldn’t give to read her mind…

“Dylan’s your date for the wedding.”

Chelsea’s announcement was like a bucket of cold water.

Heaven pulled her hand away as Dylan released it. He didn’t want to. Every ounce of him wanted to wrap her in an embrace. Maybe it was the fear of losing her. Each time their closeness grew in the dreams, she would disappear.

How could he prevent the nightmare of losing her from becoming a reality? After waiting for months—scratch that—years to find her, would a weekend be his only reward? She’d leave after the wedding.

Unless he found a way to keep her here.

* * *

The longer Dylan stood there, the more Layne wanted to beat some sense into his best friend. He was staring at Heaven as if she were dessert. Although she did look good enough to eat.

Big dope.

So Dylan lacked his suave personality. Big deal. Dylan was an artist. He could put on a damned good show for a crowd of thousands. For hundreds of woman with big tits and lust in their eyes. Why couldn’t he give the performance of a lifetime for Heaven?

Yeah. She was beautiful.

Damned beautiful.

She was the kind of girl you wanted to—

“When were you going to introduce me?”

Layne whipped his head to the right.

Whoa.

Was this the other sister? The Fates
were
kind. And she did look like Heaven.

A lot.

There were definitely differences. She wore more make-up. Had a cute little mole on her cheek. And those eyes…

Her lips were fuller than Heaven’s. Maybe too full. Was there silicone in those babies? Botox? They were still very kissable. And God how they would feel wrapped around his—

“Yes, Faith. I was about to get you,” Chelsea shot back.

“Mmmhmm. I’m sure,” Faith taunted, folding her arms over her chest. She looked as though she were about to start round two of her bitch session when her eyes found Layne instead.

“Well, hello tall, blond, and handsome.”

Oh, yeah.

It was on.

“You must be Faith.”

“In the flesh,” she said, gliding her hands across her curves. “And you’re Layne Perry, the drummer for Sliders.”

“The last time I checked, yes.”

Was the rehearsal over yet, because his weekend plans just got a lot more interesting. Faith was a little vixen. He could see it in the way her eyes raked him up and down. The way she kept touching her hips every time his eyes left hers. Even the way she tossed her hair screamed “do me.”

Yeah, he knew all the signs. You don’t sleep with four chicks in one night by making the wrong assumption. A knack for reading women paid off when you were a million miles from home with a suitcase, drumsticks, and enough testosterone to put Viagra out of business. If only he could bottle it.

“Is this my date for the wedding, Chels?” Faith asked, though her eyes never moved from his face.

“How did you guess?” Chelsea retorted.

Was Chelsea being sarcastic?

Layne couldn’t peel his gaze from Faith to check. Not that he cared. Chelsea knew him well enough and she’d bragged once before about her matchmaking skills. After meeting Faith, he had to give Chelsea props for her gut instinct. Conquering Faith would be a quest. But God did he love this type of challenge.

“Seriously, Chels. You know I like having the sexiest man in the group.” Faith broke their staring competition to flash his friends a sympathetic look. “No offense, fellas.”

“Then we have something in common. I always get the most gorgeous girl,” Layne said, his voice huskier than usual.

Time to pour it on.

Although, what he said wasn’t exactly the truth. Faith was sexy as hell. But the most gorgeous of the group?

Nope.

Someone else had already won that title.

“I hope you don’t plan on showing my sister too good of a time.”

The third sister. Hope, wasn’t it? Yeah. Well, Layne
hoped
she didn’t have intentions on screwing up his plans. Scott would keep her entertained. Layne had no doubt about that. Especially with the look Scott was giving her.

Layne didn’t know who needed a date worse, Scott or Dylan. Probably Dylan. At least Scott had dated within the last six months.

“My intentions are honorable,” Layne replied, though he knew it was a lie. But Hope didn’t. Faith wouldn’t. Not if he was reading her like the open book she appeared to be.

He loved a good book.

“Yeah, well, I doubt my sister’s intentions are, so wear a condom. My parents will flip if she comes back home with your seed in her garden. Auntie Hope will come knocking on your door.”

Layne wanted to burst out laughing. These girls were a riot. He hadn’t experienced this much entertainment since their tour in Alabama a few years ago. Sebastian had provided the amusement that night.

If Faith’s eyes rolled any harder, they’d disappear into her brain. “What—ever,” she said, emphasizing the word as she turned back to Layne. “I’m so glad you could meet my mother, I mean my sister, Hope. She’ll be lucky if she ever gets a seed in her garden.”

“Okay, then,” Chelsea snapped. “Why don’t we get this rehearsal started before my mind’s filled with images it doesn’t want?”

“Or before I slap her silly,” Hope mumbled, walking away from the group.

Yep. This weekend would be a blast. It made the missed trip to the Caymans seem like an escape from getting the measles.

Thank God for small favors.

If only he could get Dylan to quit acting like Dopey dwarf.

Yeah, that would take more than a weekend.

* * *

God! Was Layne full of it or what? Did he think anyone would buy his honorable intentions remark? Dylan knew better. So these girls were from out of town. It didn’t mean they were stupid. Or hadn’t heard a line laced with so much bullshit.

Dylan wanted to jot the remark down in the handbook for cheesy pickup lines. How in the heck did Layne get with so many women?

Honorable intentions, my ass. Hopefully, Faith is on the pill, or shot, or whatever women do to prevent pregnancy.

Layne…a father?

The thought made Dylan want to gag. He pitied the poor woman that bore his child. Then again, maybe a kid would settle Layne down. Highly unlikely, but Dylan could always hope.

On the other hand, Dylan wouldn’t mind having kids. Someday.

His eyes shot from Layne to Heaven. She’d make beautiful babies.

Okay, better not put the cart before the horse. He’d only known her, or rather, known she existed for less than thirty minutes. He needed to get to know the real her. Was she anything like the woman in his dreams?

He hoped.

Heaven’s gaze left Chelsea and landed on him. Her cheeks turned a rosy shade. Why was she blushing? Maybe he was staring too hard. Again.

Or maybe she felt the magnetic connection.

He needed to get a grip before she placed him in the same category as Layne. Rude, crude, and after one thing. Layne might be his best friend, but their thought processes were on opposite levels.

Maybe Heaven understood that. Faith’s personality mirrored Layne’s. Then again, Faith could be all talk and no action, but that wasn’t the impression she gave out. Body language said a lot. Faith’s begged for attention. Well, she would get plenty from Layne if sexual attention is what she craved. Dylan smelled disaster on the horizon.