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And he did, again and again and again.
Later that night, long after they’d shared a bubble bath and made sweet love again in his bed, Dylan spooned Tiffany and whispered in her ear, “Tiffany Winters, I love you. You, Tiff, not just the sex. I love the person you are. I love your need for control and the look in your eyes when you give it up for me. I love your laugh and the dimple in your chin and the way you touch me and kiss me, and I love the way you cuddle into me when you’re sleeping and sigh, like it’s the only place you ever want to be. And I will spend my life showing you just how much.”
“I love you, too, Dylan. More than I ever thought possible.” She rolled over so they were nose to nose. “But you do love the sex, too, right?”
She giggled and the sound wound around him, tugging at all those heartstrings she owned.
“Hell yes, but I think we earned a nine tonight. Maybe tomorrow we can shoot for a ten.”
She closed her eyes and snuggled in closer. “We’re going to needa lotof practice.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
GEORGE “GUNNER” WINTERS sat at the head of the dinner table Friday night listening intently as Tiffany told him about the fundraiser event. Gunner had been one of the best quarterbacks to ever play, but he’d mangled his leg in a car accident a few years into his promising pro football career. He was a formidable man with stern dark eyes and a well-manicured salt-and-pepper beard. He wore his hair brushed back from his face, and the severe center arch of his thick brows made him appear in a constant state of assessment or displeasure. But he looked at his daughter the way Dylan remembered his father looking at Lorelei, which was different from the way a father looked at a son, softer, but just as intense. Tiffany clearly took after her mother’s side of the family, with blond hair and fair skin. He wondered if Gunner saw similarities to Tiffany’s mother when he looked at his daughter, the way he was sure his own father saw memories of Lorelei in their mother.
“That sounds like a mighty big undertaking,” Gunner said.
“It’s a lot of work, but worth it.” Dylan had spent the week meeting with distributors to work out the increased inventory for the fundraiser and schmoozing with the media outlets that had so generously supported the previous fundraisers. Everyone had been hard at work to pull their end of the event together. Mick and Amanda were working with a local graphic artist and preparing flyers and other marketing materials. Treat Braden was more than happy to donate not one, but two weekends at his island resort, and Carson and Brett used their corporate influences to secure sponsorships from a variety of companies, which would enable them to auction off baskets of beach-themed goodies, in addition to the donation of a cruise from Tatiana Grace. As asked, Carson had set up an introduction for Amanda.
He reached for Tiffany’s hand and told Gunner about his family losing Lorelei and how this year’s event was going to feature her as the face of the fundraiser. “It’s coming together nicely, and thanks to Tiffany, this year’s event will be even more meaningful for my family.”
Gunner dropped his gaze, and his expression softened. When he looked at Dylan again there was something dark and haunted in his eyes. “Losing a family member is a tragic thing. I’m sorry, Dylan.”
Dylan shifted in his chair, wondering if Gunner was thinking about his wife.
“Thank you. We were blessed with eight wonderful years. Hopefully the fundraiser will be a success.”
Rocco was staring at Tiffany with a serious expression. He and Perry looked so much like their father it was uncanny. Younger and trimmer, but there was no denying the Winters olive skin, thick black hair, and square jaws. “I didn’t put the dates together before. Aren’t you going to the press conference, Tiff?”
“What press conference?” Dylan asked.
Tiffany tightened her grip on Dylan’s hand, and her body jerked. Rocco winced.
“It’s the press conference to announce free agency,” Tiffany explained, her eyes shifting between Dylan and Rocco. “I’m not going this year. There’s no need for me to be there. I’m not looking to sign new players.”
His amusement at her under-the-table kick was quickly squelched. He knew that tight, uncomfortable expression. She obviously didn’t want to worry him with the timing of the press conference, but there was no mistaking the shocked look on her brothers’ faces, or the look of approval on her father’s.
“But should you be there anyway?” Dylan asked.
“No,” she insisted. “The fundraiser is important, and I’m not going to gain anything by attending a press conference for people I’m not interested in signing. I’ve already arranged for Miranda to be there in my place. Please, can we change the subject?”
Dylan was stunned. She’d handed over the reins to Miranda? She’d made so many concessions lately, he worried she might take it too far and then regret it and blame their relationship. He leaned closer and said quietly enough for her ears only, “Babe, I won’t be upset if you need to go.”
“I know you won’t,” she said confidently. “But I don’t need to go. I have faith in Miranda.” She smiled, but it wasn’t her normal, glowing smile. It was an appeasing pleasantry that relayed exactly how difficult this decision was for her. “You should know me well enough to know I wouldn’t jeopardize something as big as signing a new client for anything.”
She had made that very clear to him, and he trusted her instincts. “Okay, good, and thank you. It means the world to me that you’re going to be at the fundraiser.”
“Jesus, can we get any sappier?” Perry teased. “Hey, Rock.” He nodded to the basket of biscuits.
“Heads up.” Rocco cocked his arm back and launched a biscuit across the table at Perry. Tiffany lunged from her seat, intercepting it.
Dylan was glad to see how quickly she’d moved past their serious conversation and hoped that meant she really was okay with her decision. As much as he wanted her at the fundraiser, he definitely didn’t want to hold her back from her career on any level.
“Score!” She threw her hands up in the air and wiggled in her seat, looking so freaking adorable he had to laugh. She flashed a cheesy grin at Perry, then bit off a hunk of the biscuit. “Sorry, big brother, but what can I say?” She wiggled her fingers. “Hands of gold.”
“That’s my kiddo.” Her father’s prideful voice boomed through the room.
“Dude!” Rocco laughed at Perry. “You got beat by a girl.”
