Dylan wrapped her legs around his waist as he stood and her arms around his neck. "What are you doing?"
"If you haven't changed your mind, I'm taking you to the bedroom." He hesitated. "If you have changed your mind, you'll have to excuse me while I take an extremely cold shower."
"Take me to bed or lose me forever."
Clay carried her down the hall to the bedroom. "That sounds familiar. Where'd you hear that?"
"You've never seenTop Gun?" she asked, staring at him with huge eyes.
He laughed. "Just teasing."
She squealed when he dropped her on the bed and she bounced. Dylan leaned back on her elbows, watching as he stripped off his shirt.
As his hands drifted to his belt, the sound of the front door slamming echoed throughout the house.
"Clay?"
He froze, unable to believe what was happening.
ChapterTen
Dylan's eyes narrowed. "Who is that?"
"Clay, dammit, don't tell me you're already in bed at six o'clock on a Saturday night. How am I supposed to get a new grandbaby—"
"Mother, do not take one more step down that hallway or I swear I will sell everything and move as far away from here as possible!" he roared.
The woman speaking fell silent for a short moment. "Barclay Bartholomew Dugan, is that any way to speak to your mother?"
"That's your mother?" Dylan asked, trying to bite back a laugh.
Her voice was quiet but his mother had hearing like a bat rather than a troll. "Is there a woman back there with you?"
The mixture of hope and glee in her voice ruined any hope Clay had of getting her to leave.
He leaned down and snatched his shirt off the floor. In short, angry motions, he jabbed his arms down the sleeves and started buttoning it up. Then, he walked over to his closet, yanked another shirt off a hanger, and tossed it to Dylan.
"Put that on. I'm not sure she can control herself long enough for me to get your shirt and bring it back here."
"I heard that, Clay! Don't say rude things about your mother!" There was a pause. "I'll just go into the kitchen and make some hot tea."
"Shit," he whispered.
His mother didn't hear it, probably because she was chattering away as she walked into the kitchen. That was when he heard his sister's voice answering.
"Fuck me with a garden gnome."
Dylan's laugh was soft but floated through the air, calming him like magic.
He turned and found her standing beside the bed, completely swamped by his shirt, rolling up the sleeves so her hands weren't hidden in the depths of the fabric.
"You think this is funny?" he asked, taking a step closer.
Her mouth quirked into a half smile. "A little."
"That's okay. I'll be the one laughing soon."
She glanced at him in confusion.
