Читать книгу One Secret Night, One Secret Baby - Charlene Sands - Страница 8

One

She wasn’t a one-night stand sort of girl.

Emma Rae Bloom was predictable, hardworking, ambitious and least of all, adventurous. Boring. She never did anything out of the ordinary. She was measured and sure and patient. Double boring. The one time she’d crushed that mold, breaking it to bits, was at her neighbor Eddie’s blowout bash at Havens on Sunset Boulevard in celebration of his thirtieth birthday last month. She’d partied hard, lost her inhibitions as well as her mind during the now infamous Los Angeles blackout and wound up in bed with her best friend’s brother, Hollywood heartthrob in the flesh, Dylan McKay.

She’d had secret dibs on Brooke’s brother since the age of twelve. He was the older boy with sea-blue eyes and stubble on his face who’d treated her kindly and given her a measuring stick to compare all men against.

There was no going back to reclaim their night together, although her memory of her time with Dylan was almost nonexistent. Just her luck, she had her first ever one-night stand with the hottest guy on earth and her mind had gone as foggy as a London winter day. Too many mango mojitos could do that, she’d been told.

She stood at the port-side railing of Dylan’s yacht now. As he approached her, his head wrapped with gauze bandages, a haunted look on his face spoke of sadness and grief. It was a somber day, but beaming rays of sunshine and stunning marshmallow fluff clouds didn’t seem to know that. She pushed her sunglasses farther up her nose, grateful to hide her true emotions.

Roy Benjamin was gone, killed in the freakish stunt accident on the set of Dylan’s Navy SEAL movie. The tragedy had rocked Hollywood insiders and made a big splash on the news, even eclipsing the story of how the lights went out in the city just the day before. It wasn’t just Roy’s death that had rocked the entertainment world and hit the headlines with a bang, but Dylan’s amnesia resulting from the same blast that had killed his friend.

“Here, have a soda.” Brooke walked up beside her brother and offered Emma a glass. “You look like you could use one.”

“Thanks.” She accepted the benign drink. No more alcohol for her, thank you very much. “It’s a hard day for everyone.” She sipped her cola.

Standing between her and Brooke, Dylan wrapped his arms around them. “I’m glad you both are here with me today.”

Emma’s nerves squeezed tight. She hadn’t seen Dylan since the night of the blackout. The supportive arm around her shoulders shouldn’t elicit any of the sensations she was having. It shouldn’t. She sighed. His hand caressed her upper arm lightly, sending shock waves through her system. As the yacht backed out of its slip, his body lurched, two hundred pounds of solid granite shoulder to shoulder with her. She stopped breathing for a second and gripped the railing.

“Of course we’d be here,” Brooke said. “Roy was a friend of ours, too. Right, Emma?”

She gave Dylan a quick smile. It was such a tragedy that a man so vital and strong as Roy had died at such a young age. He was a Dylan look-alike, his stunt double and a close friend to the McKays. Emma only knew Roy through them and he’d always been nice to her.

Dylan’s lips curled up a little, the subdued smile of a man in mourning. “I miss him already.”

He tightened his hold, bringing their bodies close. He was the consummate movie star, sunglasses shading his face, blond hair blowing in the breeze and a body carved from hard gym workouts and daily runs. He was Hollywood royalty, a man who’d managed to steer clear of lasting relationships his entire adult life. Darkly tanned, as talented and smart as he was good-looking, he had it all.

Emma should be concentrating on Roy’s death instead of her dilemma. Yet as she’d dressed this morning readying for Roy’s memorial, she’d rehearsed what she would say if Dylan remembered anything that happened between them during the blackout.

I wasn’t myself that night. The blackout freaked me out. I’ve been afraid of the dark since I was a kid and I begged you to stay with me. Can we just go on being friends?

Now it looked as if she could dodge that confession. Soul-melting blue eyes, dimmed now from grief, settled upon her as they always had. He saw her as his sister Brooke’s friend, nothing more. He had no memory of their night together. The doctors termed it dissociative amnesia. He was blocked and might never remember the hours or days leading up to the blast that took his friend’s life and sent a hunk of shrapnel tunneling into his head. He’d been knocked unconscious and had woken up hours later, in the hospital.

He let her go to sip his soda and she began breathing normally again. Cautiously she took a step away from him. Having his hand on her played too much havoc with her brain. She had escaped telling him the truth today, and the devil on her shoulder whispered in her ear, Why rock the boat? Clever little fiend. This can be your little secret.

Could she really get away with not having to tell him?

She battled with the notion as the yacht made its way out of Marina del Rey, traveling past the docks at a snail’s pace. Pungent sea scents filled her nostrils, seagulls squawked overhead and one white-winged bird landed on a buoy and quietly watched the yacht head into open seas.

“I guess it’s time,” Dylan said, minutes later, once they were far enough out to sea. Dylan wanted to do this alone, with just his family. Later today, a memorial would be held at his Moonlight Beach home open to Roy’s friends and fellow crew and cast members, the only family he’d ever known. That’s when Emma and Brooke would go to work, hosting an informal buffet dinner in Roy’s honor. It definitely wasn’t a Parties-To-Go kind of event, but Dylan had turned to them for help. “Roy always joked, if he missed the net from a ten-story fall, to make sure I tossed his ashes from the Classy Lady. He loved this boat, but I never thought I’d ever have to do this.”

Brooke’s doe eyes softened on her brother and Emma hurt inside for both of them. Brooke and Dylan were miles apart in most things, but when push came to shove, they were always there for each other. Emma envied that. She had no siblings. She had no real family, except for foster parents, two people who’d taken her in and then neglected her as a child. She hadn’t hit the jackpot in the parent department, that was for sure. Not like Brooke. Brooke was Dylan’s younger foster sister whom his parents had eventually adopted. They were totally amazing. They’d been better parents to Emma than the two who’d collected monthly checks on her behalf.

Dylan made swift work of saying heartfelt words about his friend, his voice tightening up to get it all out, right before he opened the urn, lifted it up and let the wind carry Roy’s ashes out to sea. When he turned around, tears filled his eyes and his mouth quivered in heartbreak. She’d never seen this vulnerable side of Dylan and she gripped the railing tight to keep from going to him. It wasn’t her place.

Brooke went to him and cradled him in her arms the way a mother would a child, whispering soft words of sympathy in his ear. Dylan nodded his head as he listened to his baby sister. After a few minutes he wiped the tears from his eyes and the solemn expression from his face. He gave Brooke a sweet smile.

Dylan McKay was back.

It was the first time Emma had ever seen him let his guard down.

It touched her soul.

Secret dibs.

* * *

Dylan’s kitchen could swallow up her little apartment in one large gulp. Every kind of new age appliance ever conceived was set on the shiny onyx granite counter and in the textured white cabinets. It was a culinary dream kitchen and his housekeeper, Maisey, made great use of it. She’d cooked up a storm for the fifty-plus people who’d come to pay their respects to Roy Benjamin. Aside from Maisey’s home cooking, the caterers Emma had commissioned delivered trays of finger foods, specialty breads and appetizers. Everyone from grips to the president of Stage One Studios was here. Emma and Brooke, dressed in appropriate black dresses with little ornamentation, set out the food and offered drinks to the guests. They weren’t acting as Parties-To-Go planners today as much as they were Dylan’s hostesses for this sad event.

“Did you see what Callista is wearing?” Brooke muttered under her breath.

Emma set out a plate of sweet-cream-and-berry tarts on the dessert table, shooting a quick glance to the living room, where many of the guests were gathered. Callista Lee Allen, daughter to the Stage One Studio mogul, was on Dylan’s arm, hanging on his every word. She wore Versace, and the only reason Emma knew that was because she’d overheard the blonde gloating about it. It was a silver glimmer dress with detailed layering and jewels dripping off her throat and arms. “I see.”

“It’s not as if the Fashion Police are trolling. Roy deserves better. This day isn’t about her.”

Emma grinned. “Tell me how you really feel, Brooke. At least she talks to you. I’m invisible to her.” Being a friend of Dylan’s sister didn’t rank high enough on Callista’s status scale to award Emma an iota of her attention.

“Be grateful. Be very grateful.”

Emma stood back from the arrangement, giving the presentation scrutiny. They’d draped the dessert table with tablecloths in varying colors and edged each platter with flowering vines. This is what they did. And they did it well.

“It’s none of my business, but Dylan’s on-again, off-again relationship with her isn’t good for him,” Brooke said.

Emma shot them another glance. Callista’s eyes flashed on Dylan’s bandage, one hand possessively on his arm as she reached up with the other to touch the injury. Emma watched the scene play out. Dylan was deep in conversation with Callista’s father and didn’t seem to notice her unabashed attention.

Sucking oxygen in, Emma glanced away and tamped down pangs of jealousy swimming through her body. She’d be ten times a fool to think she’d ever have a chance with Dylan. He was her friend. Period. “He’s a big boy, Brooke.”

“I never thought I’d say this, but thank God my brother doesn’t commit. She’s all wrong in so many ways.” Brooke lifted her hands in a stopping motion that was her signature move. “But like I said, none of my beeswax.”

Emma smiled at her friend and put the finishing touches on the dessert table. Maisey had made coffee and there was hot water and a sampler box of teas available.

Dylan approached, gorgeous in a tailored dark suit and tie. He’d changed his clothes from the jeans and black silk shirt he’d worn this morning on the yacht. “Do you two have a minute?” he asked quietly. His brows were gathered in question. Brooke and Emma nodded and he guided them to the far side of the kitchen, out of earshot of anyone. It was all so curious.

“You girls have done wonderful today. Thank you,” he began and then shook his head. “I’m figuring you’d give it to me straight. Callista and I...are we a thing again?”

Emma held her breath. She wouldn’t comment on her thoughts about the bottle blonde. Dylan didn’t exactly confide in her about his love life, but his earnest question made her stomach ripple in guilt. She had a truth to tell him, too, and maybe it would help spark his memory, but it could also make things weird between them, which was the last thing she wanted.

Brooke seemed eager to answer, but shook her head as if formulating her thoughts. “You don’t remember?”

“No. But she’s acting like we’re ready for the altar. From what I remember, that wasn’t the case. Am I wrong?”

“No, you’re certainly not wrong,” Brooke shot back. “Not even close. Before...before your accident, you told me you were going to break it off with her for good.”

“I did? I don’t remember.” Poor Dylan was struggling. His gaze lifted to the wide windows that opened out onto the sea, as if he were searching for answers there. He seemed lost right now, not his usual self-confident, always-one-step-ahead-of-everyone, charming self.

“If she says it’s more, Dylan, I’d be careful,” Brooke offered. “She’s banking on your amnesia to worm her way back into your...”

Dylan turned to his sister, his brows lifting and a crooked smile emerging. “My what?”

“Your good graces,” Emma finished for her.

Dylan slid her a knowing look. “Always the diplomat, Em. But somehow, I don’t think that’s what Brooke was going to say.” He began nodding. “Okay, I get the picture.” He glanced at Callista, who was now surrounded by a few other actors in the film. She was deep in conversation yet constantly casting him furtive glances at every opportunity, sizing him up and staking her claim.

Brooke was right—Callista was all wrong for Dylan. How difficult it must be for him not to remember some things, not to have a grasp on his feelings. “You’re the only ones I can trust,” he said. He rubbed his brow, just under his bandage. “I can’t tell you how bizarre this feels. I see some things clearly. Other things are fuzzy at best. And then there’s a whole chunk that I don’t remember.”

Emma plunked three ice cubes into a glass and poured him a root beer, his favorite from childhood. “Here, drink up.”

“Thanks,” he said, “though I could use something stronger.”

“The doctor says not yet. You’re still on pain meds.” Brooke’s internal mother came out. It really was sweet seeing how close the two had become since the move from Ohio to Los Angeles years ago.

“One drink won’t kill me.”

“Let’s not find out, okay? I was worried enough when you were sent to the hospital. And Mom just went home two days ago. If I have to call her again to tell her you’re back in Saint Joseph’s, she’ll have a heart attack.”

Dylan rolled his eyes. “You see how good she is, Emma? She knows exactly how to lay on the guilt.”

A chuckle rumbled from Emma’s throat. “I know all about Brooke’s tactics. I work with her.”

“Hey!” Brooke said. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“Like I said, Emma’s a diplomat. Thanks for the drink.” He lifted his glass in mock toast and then pivoted around and walked away.

“He’ll be okay,” Brooke said, watching him head back to his guests. “We just have to do whatever it takes to help him along.”

Dread formed a tight knot in Emma’s stomach. She hated keeping secrets from Brooke. They usually shared everything. But how exactly could she come out and say, I begged your brother to sleep with me the night of the blackout and all I remember is his body on mine, heated breaths and sexy words whispered in my ear. She didn’t remember how she got in bed or when he left her that night. She couldn’t recall how they’d ended things. Were there parting words recognizing the big mistake? Or had he promised to call her? He had no knowledge of what they’d done, but geesh, she didn’t recall much of that night, either.

“Oh, brother,” she mumbled.

“What?” Brooke asked.

“Nothing. Nothing at all.”

* * *

“Brooke, you did a wonderful job today,” Callista said, leaning her arms over the granite island, spilling her cleavage and smiling her billion-dollar smile. The sun was setting and all but one guest had left the memorial service. “You helped make the day easier for your brother.”

“It wasn’t just me, Callie,” Brooke said. “Emma did her fair share of the work and we’d both do anything to help Dylan get through this day.”

Callista’s gaze darted Emma’s way as if she’d just noticed her standing there. Hello, I’m not invisible. “Of course, you, too, Emma.” She spoke to her as if she were a child. What was it with rich powerful women that made them feel superior, just by right of wealth? Emma could probably run circles around her SAT scores. “You did a marvelous job.”

“Dylan’s a special guy and I’m happy to help.”

Callista gave her a cursory nod, eyeing her for just a second as if measuring the competition, and then turned away, writing her off.

“Brooke, do you know where Dylan is? I want to say goodbye to him and tell him his eulogy was touching.”

“Yeah, I do. He said to say goodbye to you for him. The day tired him out. He went to sleep.”

“He’s in bed already?” Callista straightened and her gaze moved toward the hallway staircase. She knew exactly where Dylan’s bedroom was. “Maybe I should go up and wish him good-night.”

“He, uh, needs uninterrupted rest. Doctor’s orders.” Brooke’s accomplished smile brought Emma a stream of silent chuckles. Leave it to Brooke. She was in defense mode now.

“Yes, of course, you’re right.” She nibbled on her lip, shooting another longing glance at the staircase. Then her expression changed. “He does need to rest up so he can be back on set as soon as possible.”

The SEAL movie had been shut down for a month already and it was costing the studio big bucks, so Dylan’s return to the set was essential. Even Callista recognized that fact. “Tell him I’ll call him.”

“Will do, Callie. I’ll walk you out.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary,” Callista said.

“I don’t mind.”

After the two left, Emma couldn’t contain her laughter. She knew for certain Callista Lee Allen hated to be called Callie, yet she let Brooke get away with it because she was Dylan’s sister.

What a day it had been. Selfishly, Emma was glad it was over. She didn’t like walking around with a cloud of guilt over her head. She hoped “out of sight, out of mind” would work on her. As soon as she left Dylan’s house, maybe her head would clear and she’d be free of this grating bug gnawing at her to tell Dylan what happened between them.

Finished with her duties, the house clean and back to normal, thanks to Maisey and her efforts, Emma took a seat on one of the many white leather sofas in the living room. A pastel pop of color fading on the horizon grabbed her attention as she looked out the window. The sunset was beautiful on Moonlight Beach. She leaned back, closed her eyes and listened to the sound of the waves breaking on the shore.

“Mission accomplished,” Brooke said, clapping her hands. “She’s gone.”

Emma snapped to attention as Brooke sat down beside her. “You’re a regular Mama Bear. Who knew?”

“Normally, Dylan can take care of himself, but right now, he needs a little help. What else are meddling little sisters for anyway?”

“To keep conniving women away from him?”

“I try my best.” Brooke propped her feet on a cocktail table and sighed. “I’m getting excited about the celebrity golf tournament coming up. This is one of the biggest events we’ve ever booked. And we got it all on our own. No intervention from Dylan. They don’t even know he’s my brother. Dylan doesn’t play golf.”

“I don’t?” Dylan walked into the room looking adorably rumpled. It was the five-o’clock shadow, the mussed-to-perfection hair and those deep blue bedroom eyes that did Emma in. He wore a pair of black sweats and a white T-shirt.

“No, you don’t,” Brooke said, eyeing him carefully.

He grinned. “Just joking. I know I don’t play golf. At least I have memories of tanking every shot. Never did get the hang of it.”

“Brat. What are you doing up?”

On a long sigh, he ran a hand down his face. “I can’t sleep. I’m going for a walk. I’ll see you guys later. Thanks again for everything.”

Brooke’s mouth opened, but he was out the back door before she could stop him. “Darn it. He’s still having dizzy spells. Will you go with him, Emma? Tell him you’re in the mood for a walk, too. He already thinks I baby him enough.”

Emma balked. She was three minutes away from escaping to go home. “I, uh...”

“Please?” Brooke begged. “If you’re with him, he won’t get it into his head to start jogging. I know he misses it. He’s been complaining about not doing his daily runs. It’s almost dark on the beach. He could collapse and no one would know.”

It was true. The doctor said he shouldn’t overdo any physical activity. How could she deny Brooke the peace of mind? She’d been worried sick about her brother lately. “Okay, I’ll go.”

“That’s why I love you.” Brooke sounded relieved.

Emma bent to remove her heels and rose from the sofa. “You better,” she said. “I don’t chase handsome A-list movie stars for just anyone.” With that, she walked out the back entrance of Dylan’s mansion, climbed down the stairs, searched for signs of him and took off at a jog when she’d seen how far he’d already traveled.

“Dylan,” she called, her toes squishing into wet sand as she trudged rapidly after him. “Wait up.”

He turned around and slowed his pace.

“Would you like company?” Her breathing ragged, she fibbed, “I feel like a walk, too.”

“Let me guess. Brooke sent you.”

She shrugged. “Maybe I just felt like taking a walk?”

His mouth lifted in a dubious smile. “And maybe the moon is green.”

“Everyone knows the moon is made of cheese, therefore it’s yellow.”

He shook his head, seeming to relinquish his skepticism. “Okay, let’s walk. Actually, I would like your company.”

He took her hand, his fingers lacing with hers.

How...unexpected. Her breath froze in her chest.

“It was a nice memorial, wasn’t it?” he asked as he resumed walking.

There was a slight tug on her hand that woke her from her stupor and she fell in step with him. “It was heartwarming. You honored Roy with a wonderful tribute to his life.”

“I’m the only family he had, aside from his crew. He was a great guy and it’s just a ridiculous shame. Roy was obsessed with his stunts. He spent his whole life perfecting them. He was the most cautious man I’ve ever known. It just doesn’t make sense.”

“They’re saying it was a freakish accident.”

Dylan took a sharp breath. “That’s what they say when they don’t know what happened. It’s the standard answer.”

They walked on in silence for a while, the heat from where he held her hand warming her entire body. It was actually a perfect evening for a stroll on the beach. Breezes blew at the twist of hair at the back of her head. She reached up and pulled it out of its band, freeing the long waves that touched the middle of her back.

“So tell me what’s going on in your life, Emma.”

Her brows gathered at the oddity of the request. Dylan knew just about everything about her. She was Brooke’s friend and business partner. She lived in a tiny apartment twenty minutes away from Moonlight Beach. She loved her work and didn’t go out much.

Oh, no! Did he remember something? Blood drained from her face as her mind worked overtime for signs that he’d remembered that blackout night. But as she dared to gaze at his profile, his eyes didn’t probe her but stayed straight ahead, his neutral expression unchanged. She let out a relieved sigh. Maybe he needed to break the silence. Maybe he was just making conversation. And maybe her guilty conscience was wringing her dry.

“The same old, same old,” she answered. “Work, work, work.”

“Still hoping to make your first million before thirty?”

Her laugh came out a little too high-pitched. Brooke must’ve told him of her long-term goal. How embarrassing. Ever since she was a child, money had been scarce. Her foster parents didn’t have much and were stingy in sharing. She didn’t know that until she’d grown into a teen, of course, and witnessed how they’d splurge what they did have on each other. Never her. She grew up mostly wearing thrift store clothes. From the age of thirteen, Emma knew she’d have to find her own way in the world. She’d worked her ass off, achieving a full scholarship to college, and vowed she’d become financially independent one day. The promise she made herself was that by the age of thirty, she would make her first million. She had several years to go, but her hopes were high of expanding Parties-To-Go into a million-dollar franchise.

“Your sister, my best friend, needs to button her mouth.”

“Don’t blame Brooke,” he said softly. “I think it’s commendable to have goals.”

“Lofty goals.”

“Attainable goals and you work hard, Emma.”

“Without your investment, we wouldn’t even have a business.”

“I just helped you get started, and in the two years since you’ve been working at it, you’ve come a long way.”

“We owe you, Dylan. You’ve been amazing. We want to make you proud.”

Dylan stopped, his Nikes digging into the sand, and when she turned to him, a genuine smile graced his handsome face. Gone was the sadness from before. A glint of appreciation twinkled in his eyes. “You don’t owe me anything. And I am proud. You’re a hard worker, and you’re paying me back faster than I expected or wanted. But, Em, I have to tell you, as much as you believe Brooke has helped you through the growing-up years, you’ve helped her, too. She came to California hoping to become an actress. God, it’s a tough business. I’ve been lucky...more fortunate than I could’ve hoped, but it’s not the same for Brooke. She’s much happier now, being in business with her best friend and earning a legitimate living doing what she loves. I owe that to you. So thank you for being...you.”

Dylan leaned in, his face coming within inches of hers. Her heart rate escalated as she stared at his mouth. She understood now why his female fans swooned. He was breathtaking and yummy. There was no other way to describe it. “You’re the amazing one, Emma,” he whispered.

Her mind going fuzzy, she whispered back, “I am?”

As he inched closer, taking her into his arms, angling for her cheek, her entire body relaxed. Of course, he’d give her a sisterly kiss on the cheek. She closed her eyes.

His warm lips came down softly.

On her mouth.

Oh, she’d died and gone to heaven. His lips were warm and giving and soothing. She wrapped her arms around his neck and brazenly returned the kiss. Wow. It was all so new. And exciting. Dylan McKay was kissing her on Moonlight Beach at sunset and she was fully in the moment this time. There were no gaps of memory from a fuzzy brain. There wasn’t anything but right now, this speck of time, and she relished the taste of him, the amazing texture of his firm lips caressing hers, the strength and power of his body close to hers.

But something still seemed slightly off with his kiss. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Was it just that she was fully aware, fully attuned to him right now?

Dylan broke off the kiss first, and instead of backing away, he grasped Emma to his chest tightly like a little boy needing the comfort of his favorite stuffed toy. Elmo or Teddy or Winnie the Pooh.

She stood in his embrace for long moments. He sighed and continued to hold her. Then his mouth touched her right earlobe and he whispered, “Thank you. I needed your company tonight, Emma.”

What could she say? Was she foolish enough to think he remembered their night of passion and wanted more? No, that wasn’t it. Dylan needed comforting. Maybe what she considered to be a heart-melting kiss, only counted as a friendly measure of comfort for a man whose life was full of adoration. At least, she could give him that.

Her secret was safe.

“You’re welcome, Dylan.”

Glad to be of service.