Children were important. Shay too. He absolutely wanted to have babies with her. Only
she
could be the mother of his children. He wanted his daughter to look just like her. Dylan imagined his little princess. Princess. Could he give her the life of a princess?
Shay had him pegged right. He cared too much about money. How had he gotten that way? He'd always been a motivated guy. But lately, he'd become obsessed. Nothing could happen until his company made it. What the hell was that? More importantly, how unfair to Shay.
Have a little faith, man. You made everything else in your life work
. He tallied his achievements. He'd grown up with little money, but turned out pretty well. He'd put himself through college, and ensured Christian got an education too. He'd fallen in love with and married the perfect woman. Took the carpentry skills he'd inherited from his father and launched a contracting firm, brought Christian and Nico into the equation, not only to capitalize on their God-given talents. Their future and welfare mattered to him as much as his own.
He realized why he pushed so hard. Dominick Giordano. And his low opinions. To say it didn't bother him ... It bothered him, all right. It bothered him a lot. Why couldn't Nick give him credit? He was his son-in-law, for Christ's sake. Couldn't Nick see how dedicated Dylan had always been to his daughter? It should've been enough to see Shay happy. For Nick, shit like that didn't register on his radar. But that was his problem, not Dylan's.
Forget about Nick
. If he couldn't see Dylan's attributes, fuck him! Dylan would not feel inferior. He had no reason to. If his company failed, it failed. It wouldn't be because he didn't pour his soul into it. It wouldn't be because he didn't give everything to succeed.
He would work it out. No matter what happened in the future, one thing was for sure. He'd come out on top. His wife and kids would ... He smiled at the image. What a pretty picture, if he didn't say so himself.
His heart weighed a little heavy right now. He thought about Nico, lying in that hospital bed all banged up. Family. Friends. That's what really mattered. Money came in handy for some things, but relationships were vital to everything.
As soon as they got home, he cornered Shay against a wall. His broad body smothered her space. God, he'd never felt more emotional. His lips were right there, a hair away from hers. “Now what were you saying about a massage?” His finger toyed with her blouse buttons.
Her hands went to his shoulders. She rubbed them, slow and firm. Her lips separated and the tip of her tongue peeked out the side of her mouth. “I promised I'd give you one tonight.”
His hand moved down her ribcage and cradled her waist. “I want to give
you
one.” He brushed a feathery kiss across her angel lips.
Her half-hooded eyes watched him from under thick lashes. “The plan was for me to do you.” She returned his kiss.
He took hold of her jaw and devoured her mouth. His dick saluted. The game had begun. “Change of plans,” he said, exhaling a breath.
Shay had only one thing to do. Get naked. He would take care of the rest. Candles. Towels. Coconut oil. Wine. Alicia Keys CD. Still in his work clothes but shirtless, he methodically set up the kitchen while she freshened up. He wiped and buffed the cool tiles of the island countertop, got it massage-table ready. Testing the height, he found it perfect for a few other things, too.
Shay returned to the now dimly lit kitchen in a plush red towel tucked snuggly between her breasts. Her hair hung loose and her feet were bare. A sparkly bracelet adorned one ankle. “This is cozy,” she said, taking in his handiwork. Their deluxe kitchen flickered with amber candlelight that danced off the stainless steel appliances. The mood felt serene, seductive. So did the music.
He took her hand and escorted her to the center of the spacious room. “You look good in red,” he said, admiring her plump breasts. His hands grasped her by the waist and lifted her onto the island. Shay's eyes widened, but she snuggled her pretty ass into the pretty tiles.
“It's cold,” she said, setting her hand over the shiny ceramic counter.
“This will warm you up.” He handed her a glass of her favorite wine, an Italian cabernet. “Along with everything else I plan to do.” He stood there bare-chested in dress slacks, his tan skin and hard body on full display. Dylan knew what his wife liked—he planned to use every bit of that knowledge to his advantage.
“Can't wait,” she said. Her low voice had a trace of emotion. She locked eyes with him, sipped deeply on her wine.
He reached behind him. “Hungry?” he asked, holding out a plate with crackers, cheese and fresh strawberries.
Shay inspected the offering. She plucked out a dark ripe berry and bit into it. “Mmm,” she moaned.
The first of plenty of moans he planned to draw from her tonight. “Have more,” Dylan said, all smooth and suave. He pressed his hands to the counter and his triceps bulged out. His eyes casually inspected his armband tattoo.
She touched his ropey muscles. “I'd rather eat you.”
Dylan let out a laugh. He watched his bold wife put another berry to her lips and suck the tip of it. Her eyes closed and her tongue tantalized that lucky piece of fruit. What a mouth. He knew firsthand what it could do.
He shook out two thick white towels and layered them over the countertop. “Get on your stomach,” he said. Straightening the towel edges, he reminded himself that tonight was about her, not him.
“All right.” The corner of Shay's mouth lifted. She held the towel to her breasts and took another long swig of wine. Setting the glass down, she helped herself to a cracker with cheese and ate it. Her gaze slid back up to his. Chewing slowly, she let the towel fall to her waist.
His heart leaped from his chest. Every part of him did a happy dance. “Is it too hard?” He helped her get on her tummy. Folding her red towel into a fraction of a cover, he smoothed it over her bare ass, conveniently leaving out cheeky folds of flesh for his viewing pleasure. His gaze traced the length of her glowing spine. Candlelight swept her feminine lines, showcasing hourglass curves. He brushed her long hair to the side, clearing a path to her neck and shoulders. “I can pad it some more.”
“No. It's fine.” She brought her arms up and rested her hands beneath her face. “This feels good,” she said, stretching her torso.
“Do your muscles ache?” He drank from his own wineglass. “Because I can fix that.”
“Yeah?”
Dylan came around the counter to the front of her head. He crouched to look at her. “Yeah.”
He squished coconut oil into the palm of his hand, and went to work on her shoulders. “I can't believe what happened to Nico,” he said, pressing, molding slick skin. “He could've been killed.” Dylan kneaded down her back using his thumbs to work on her spine, her kidneys. “And it would've been my fault.”
“His accident wasn't your fault.”
He stroked the small of her back, just above the curve of her sweet ass. “I talked him into working for me.”
“Nico knew the job hazards.” She lifted her head. “It could have happened to you. Christian. Anyone.”
“It should've been me.” He thought about his cousin, who was more like another little brother. He drew an “S” on Shay's back with a stream of exotic-scented oil.
“Don't say that.”
“It should've been.”
“And what about me?”
Dylan's massage technique was practiced, precise. He knew how to work out her kinks. “I thought about that on the way home.”
“You did?”
Stroking her legs now, his fingers streaked the backs of her thighs. “It made me realize how selfish I've been.”
“Selfish?”
“You're right, Shay. I only care about money.”
“I didn't mean to come off so strong last night.” She lifted her head again and looked back at him.
“You were just stating the truth.”
“Only because I care.”
His hands did their best to drive away his wife's bone-deep tension. “I care too.” His voice dropped a decibel.
“I know you do.”
“Even though I rarely show it?”
“You show it.”
“Not really,” he said. It was easier to talk to her back than to her face. He didn't do vulnerable and emotional. But right now that's how he felt. “You're the reason I get up every day, Shay. Even if it may not seem that way.”
“Wow.” Her head was still lifted. “I don't think you've ever said that.”
“I also don't tell you that I love you.” His hands moved under her towel, spreading coconut oil over her butt cheeks.
“But you do?” She let out a light sniffle.
“More than anything.”
He felt her body go taut and rigid, heard another light sniff. “Me too,” she said, her voice cracking.
“At least you show it.”
“So do you.”
“Yeah, right.” His thumbs raked over her slim waist, tracing the deep indentation. He knew she was just being diplomatic. Dylan was highly aware of his own shortcomings, especially in the touchy-feely department.
“You may not be the best communicator. That doesn't mean you're not a loving man.”
Her words wrapped around his heart and squeezed it. She understood him better than anyone. Who would he be without her? He was supposed to be the strong one, the leader of the family. Call it a guy thing, a Latin thing, a macho thing. Suck it up and be a man. That's what he'd been taught.
Honestly, the best thing about him was Shay. God, he loved her. He could totally drop his guard and be himself, and yet, he couldn't express all that he thought, felt. Why couldn't he be more like those sensitive guys? “I wish it were easier.” He refocused his attention, intensified his hand strokes.
“I know it's not your way.”
“Still, I want you to know that I'm sorry.”
“For?”
“Letting us drift apart.”
“I take the blame for that.”
“No. I was the stubborn one who wouldn't reason.”
“But you were right. We're not ready for a baby.”
“Ready or not, I didn't even consider it. I just stuck to the plan, put the business first.”
“I guess we learned something.”
“Yeah,” Dylan said. He reflected on their relationship, his marriage. “I learned that I take a lot for granted.”
“Me too,” said Shay.
“What happened to us?”
“We got complacent. We fell into a rut.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “We're definitely not what we used to be.”
She let out a laugh. “Definitely.”
“Back then, we lived to play. Now we live to work.” He acknowledged his truth. “Well, at least I do.”
“I'm no better.”
“How would you change things, Shay?” He wondered if she had any regrets. In hindsight, would she marry him again? No question he would marry her.
“I don't know,” she said. “I'm already pretty happy.”
“I don't want you to be
pretty
happy. I want you to be
very
happy.”
“I am.”
It wasn't natural for him to share his feelings, but damn it, he'd try harder. He would also make it a point to get out more, work less. Dylan needed to inject some fun back into their life, lighten up a bit. Was anything else lacking? He didn't want to shortchange his wife anymore. “How can I make you happier?” The question came straight from his heart.
“You already do.”
“You wouldn't have said that last week.”
She laughed again. “No. Probably not.”
“At least she's honest.”
“I'm really trying to be,” Shay said. “So that you know, I love being married to you. Our biggest problem is communication. We just need to talk more.”
“But then we'd have no reason for Booty Camp, would we?” He made light of the situation. “What fun would that be?”
“You like that, huh?”
“Whip your man into submission. Was that the plan?”
“Yep,” she said.
“So now I'm whipped?”
“Dylan? Whipped?” She laughed harder. “Never!”
“You don't want a whipped man.”
“I don't?”
“No. But if you want, I'll let you whip me from time to time.”
“I'll whip you.” Shay turned on her side and looked up at him. “Amongst other things.” She crunched her bottom lip.
His eyes skimmed down her naked breasts, narrow waist, curved hip. “What other things?” Like he didn't already know.
Chapter 9
Love me tonight and forever.
To a novice, the mansion didn't appear to be in bad shape. Shay paid careful attention as Dylan detailed its fabulousness.
“It was built in 1923, a Mediterranean Revival, one of the three popular designs back then,” he said, with a flair of authority. He'd done his homework. But that was Dylan, thorough, scrupulous.
Watching him now, the way information spilled from his lips, she could see her husband did what he loved. “These arches are all original.” His head tilted way back. “Did you know that this area was once a pineapple plantation?”
“Really?” She didn't know that.
“The oldest house is from 1895. It's still around, just a few blocks from here.” Dylan continued his tour, Shay following right on his heels. “Would've loved to get my hands on that one, but it had already been restored.”
“Can't imagine it's more beautiful than this.” She found the home's character and graceful opulence totally absorbing. She loved the blend of colors, especially marigold yellow. The home transported her to a different era. She imagined herself in a long poofy dress, with her waist cinched to nineteen inches, her hair in a powdered wig. Pretty awesome. She grinned to herself.
“If you look closely, you'll see the wear and tear of eighty-plus years,” Dylan said, snapping her back to this century. “But that's why I'm here, to make this beauty look like the work of art that she is.” His eyes gave Shay a smooth once-over.
“I love that painting,” she said, pointing with her finger. She stared up at the woman with the long golden hair. “She looks so real, like she's staring right at me.”
“Mrs. Barbarito at nineteen.”
“Whoa. Is that how she still looks?”
“She's pretty hot for sixty-something,” he laughed. “Just like you're gonna be.”