Chapter Three
Chantel
Dylan.
Of course the most attractive man I’d ever met would turn out to be the one and only Dylan McCoy. I’d heard enough about him to write an unflattering biography.
Eric had warned me, repeatedly. Dylan was low on morals, high on himself. A guy who didn’t take anything seriously and needed reminding he had a child to take care of. I should steer clear of him.
I loved my cousin, but none of his warnings seemed to fit the man standing in front of me. This man was staring down at me like I was something precious. Like he couldn’t believe his luck in finding me here.
A man without morals wouldn’t have shut down Celeste or sent her back to her husband.
And sure, he was flirting with zero shame right now, but I was the one who’d started it.
My pulse skyrocketed as the bathroom door clicked shut, sealing us in together. “We shouldn’t be doing this, you know.”
The caution wasn’t for him. It was for me. Because despite my better judgment, despite being at a child’s birthday party in my aunt and uncle’s home, I was willing to go all in.
I had been from the moment I spotted him in the hallway—tall, broad, and wearing an expression that didn’t leave room for argument. His jaw had been tight, his arms crossed, and there was something about the way he held himself that made it impossible to look away.
He was the kind of man who couldn’t switch off being in charge. Even the messy blond curls that belonged on a California coastline couldn’t soften his air of authority.
“Isn’t that why you’re doing it?” he challenged. “Isn’t that what makes it fun?”
He had a point. A very good one.
I opened my mouth to answer, but he didn’t give me the chance. He grabbed the back of my head, fingers tangling in my hair, and then his mouth was on mine and every coherent thought I had scattered.
Crisse d’ostie, this kiss.
I’d expected urgent. Maybe a little rough. Instead, he was intentional and fucking thorough. Like I was something worth savoring.
His mouth moved over mine with a focused patience that made my knees unreliable, and when his tongue swept against my lips, I opened for him without a second’s hesitation.
He tasted like lemonade and very bad decisions, drowning out every good reason to stop. My hands found his chest, his shoulders, the back of his neck, pulling him closer, greedy for more of the restrained dominance rolling off him in waves.
My back hit the door, his body crowding mine, solid and sure. I hooked my leg around his hip, and he answered with a low growl that vibrated through me, his cock hardening against me right where I wanted it most.
No. Not wanted.
I needed every inch of him.
His hands were everywhere—my hair, my waist, sliding down over my hips with a possessiveness I had no interest in fighting. When his fingers found the hem of my dress a moan slipped out of me. It was wild, almost desperate. And it gave away far too much to a man I’d just met.
But God, I couldn’t find it in me to care.
His grip tightened, and I could feel his control pulled taut like a thread about to snap.
I was not a passive woman. I had a spine, opinions, and a very clear sense of boundaries. But right now, I was willing to throw them all away. Whatever order he gave, I’d do it. He wouldn’t even need to ask nicely.
His mouth dragged from mine along my jaw, down my neck, and I tipped my head back against the door, eyes closed, gone to sensation.
I was in so much trouble.
His fingers dragged up my bare leg, tracing a heated path that made me quiver. My hips tilted toward him, asking for more.
He made a low sound of approval against my neck as his fingers kept climbing to my inner thigh, close enough to make me ache. But when his fingertips finally hit the fabric of my panties, already damp, already giving me away, he just…stopped.
The shift was abrupt. His hands left my body, moving to brace against the door on either side of me, his weight easing back. Away from me.
The loss hit all at once. More than disappointment. More than the frustration of being left unsatisfied. This was something deeper. Something a bit like grief.
“We have to stop,” he groaned.
I blinked up at him. “Pardon?”
“This isn’t right.” The conviction in his tone knocked the wind out of me.
I planted my hands on his chest and pushed. He didn’t move an inch.
“Don’t be angry.” His voice was smooth, but it wasn’t a request, it was a command. And it did absolutely nothing to help with the heat still pooling between my thighs. “I didn’t say it wasn’t good. I said it isn’t right.”
The distinction landed in my chest and squeezed.
He wasn’t pushing me away. He was holding a line that had nothing to do with me. That was either the most frustrating thing I’d ever heard, or the most decent. I hadn’t decided which yet.
“Look, I’m not that guy. This”—he motioned between us— “isn’t something I do. I’m not saying I haven’t in the past, just that I don’t anymore. I can’t be that guy.”
“I don’t know what kind of guy you think this makes you. Or what kind of woman that would make me, but this isn’t my usual move either.” My mouth hardened around the words. “Merde. Now I feel like the pathetic one—worse than Celeste. And that is genuinely embarrassing.”
“I’m the one who should be embarrassed.” His voice dropped, and the raw honesty in it caught me off guard. “I don’t want you thinking I’m the deadbeat they’ve made me out to be.”
That vulnerability pinched something tighter in my chest. “I didn’t think that.”
“Yeah, you did.” He smiled, but it wasn’t the flirtatious smirk from before. This one was tired and a little broken. “But it’s okay. Hell, they’ve practically convinced me of it too. Apparently, all it takes is the right opportunity and I jump to prove every bad thing they’ve ever said about me.”
He raked a hand through his hair, and for a moment, every bit of his internal war was written on his face. “You didn’t feel wrong. Hell, you feel fucking amazing. But I can’t do this. Not here. Not right now.”
Anger hit me fast, but it wasn’t aimed at him. It was aimed squarely at Eric, and not just for the warnings, but for his role in making a man this honest feel this rotten about himself.
“Did I miss something?” I searched his face. “We’re both consenting adults, perfectly capable of being discreet. And I know you’re just as into this as I am.” My gaze flicked down to his massive erection, still tenting his pants. “I’m not imagining things, am I?”
When I looked back up, his eyes were already on me. Hunger mixed with regret, and something else. Something painful. “You weren’t out there?”
“No. I just got here five minutes before I stumbled across your moment with Celeste.”
“Shit.” He pushed off the door and strode to the other side of the room.
“Seriously. What’s going on?”
“Eric and Jamie are getting married.” His tone was bitter and not at all what I expected. “They just told everyone before I came in here.”
“Oh, shit.” I wilted against the door, all the heat draining from my body. “And that’s why Celeste was offering to cheer you up?”
He nodded, his expression grim.
“Why do they all think you’re still so hung up on Jamie?”
“Because I am.” The words sank deeper than they should have, more painful than made any sense given that I’d known this man for all of twenty minutes. “And I’m ridiculously obvious about it. I’m a lovesick loser.”
“Well.” I raised an eyebrow. “You sure know how to stroke a girl’s ego.”
“Fuck. I’m sorry.” He hung his head. “You’re gorgeous. Kissing you was the best goddamn thing I’ve done in a long time. But my mind’s in the wrong place. It wouldn’t be right to take things any further.”
That was it, I’d heard enough. I crossed the room to him, closing the few steps back into his orbit.
“Dylan?” I waited until his warm brown eyes found mine again. “You’re not a deadbeat or a player or a loser.” Someone had to tell him the truth.
He drew in a breath like he was about to say something but held it.
“You seem like a decent guy. And you’re hot.” I let my gaze roam over him. “Incredibly fucking hot. But I feel like I just took advantage of you, even if it was unintentional.”
“I wish I was in the right headspace,” he said through a groan. “I’d love for you to take full advantage of me.”
“Maybe next time.” I lifted on my toes, kissed him once, and then pushed him toward the door.
He went but turned before he left the room. “It was nice meeting you, Chantel. Enchanté.”
“Until next time, Dylan.” I smiled.
I closed the door behind him and leaned back against it, eyes shut, heart still hammering, something far more complicated than hormones rioting through me.
Next time. I’d said it twice, and I’d fucking meant it. Both times.
Merde.