“Fabulous party, Hayley, you really outdid yourself.”
“Thanks, Carol,” Hayley said, as she and Carol wedged a place for themselves in the crowded reception room at the Hilton, “but I can’t take any credit for it. Dillon did all the work=meverything from selecting the menu for the buffet to picking out Marge’s birthday gift from us.” And though Hayley had appreciated not having to deal with any of the details of the party, she felt oddly left out, too. As if she weren’t nearly as much a part of the festivities as he was.
Hayley glanced over at Dillon. In baggy white trousers, a tropical shirt worn unbuttoned to mid-sternum and with several fragrant leis around his neck, he looked handsome and relaxed, despite the purpling bruise that went from cheekbone to brow on the right side of his face.
“What happened to his eye?” Carol asked.
Hayley helped herself to a wedge of fresh pineapple from her plate and tried not to think about how she had kissed him to make him feel better. “He tangled with a hammer and the banister and they won,” she told Carol wryly.
“You’re kidding.” Carol eyed Dillon up and down, her glance traveling from the top of his windblown hair to the visible strength in his girded thighs. “With those hands and that powerful build, I would have thought he’d know everything about tools.”
The tools of love maybe, Hayley thought. Feeling herself blush slightly at the thought, Hayley remarked casually, “He’s more at home with a teletype.”
Carol sighed and nibbled on roast pork. “I guess you’re right,” she laughed softly. “With those bedroom eyes of his, who needs to know how to use a hammer?”
Nellie came up to join them. “So what’s up?”
“We were talking about how handsome Dillon is,” Carol said.
“I know. Even with that shiner it’s too bad he’s not handier around the house,” Nellie lamented.
“You heard?” Hayley asked. She hadn’t realized how much the other women envied her because she was married to Dillon. Now that she knew, she felt almost jealous. She wasn’t the type to get possessive about a man!
“Everyone’s heard,” Nellie replied. Her voice dropped a confidential notch. “He’s not taking the ribbing all that well, either. Honestly, Hayley, don’t you know better than to outshine your man? They need to feel smarter than us, even if they aren’t.”
“Oh, can the subservient malarkey, Nellie,” Carol chided. “It’s the Nineties.”
“Mark my words,” Nellie disagreed. “Some things never change. Cut a man off at the knees, and he’ll find a woman who won’t.”
“Won’t what?” Dillon asked curiously, coming up to join them.
Hayley and the other two women flushed guiltily.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you ladies were talking about me,” Dillon teased.
“Actually, we were saying what a great job you did planning the party,” Carol said. “The band you hired is wonderful.”
“Speaking of that band, I want my wife to dance with me.” Dillon led Hayley out onto the dance floor. One hand around her waist, he tugged her newlywed-close and whispered playfully in her ear, “You looked like you need rescuing.”
“Carol’s nice. And Nellie means well,” Hayley murmured, trying not to notice how good it felt to be in his arms again, or how proprietorially he had splayed his palm across the middle of her bare back.
“Nellie giving you a tough time?”
The full skirt of Hayley’s floral print sundress swirled around her legs, as the two of them swayed together, cheek to cheek. “Just advice on how to handle my man.”
He arched his brow as he deftly kept time to the old Rodgers and Hammerstein tune. “What’d she say?”
“In a nutshell?” Hayley took a deep breath, the lifting of her chest stirring the delicate flower leis around her own neck. “I’m supposed to treat you like lord of the manor.”
Dillon grinned. He urged her closer with the flat of his hand. Their bodies fit together as snugly as a lock and a key. She could feel his arousal and recalled all too vividly what a demanding and yet ultimately giving lover he had been. “Lord of the manor,” Dillon repeated. “I like that idea.”
Hayley burned everywhere they touched. Her nipples were a ching. Her thighs were liquid, weak. Hanging on to her self-control by a thread, she pushed away from the evidence of his virility. “Well, I don’t.”
Dillon grinned at her unrepentantly. “I didn’t figure you would.” But he still wanted her, Hayley thought, just as she wanted him. More all the time…
One song ended, another began. “Have you been happy, living with me, Dillon?” Hayley asked eventually, wondering if what Nellie had said earlier was true, if she had unwittingly emasculated Dillon by her competence with tools. He certainly didn’t act like it, though.
“Sure, I’ve been happy.” Dillon slid his palm suggestively across her bare back, eliciting even more tingles of awareness. He smiled at her wickedly. “I could be happier, though.”
Hayley stumbled, and then recovering, drew herself up taut. “I’m serious.”
He grinned devilishly. “So am I.”
Heat started low in her body and welled up, through her chest, neck and into her face. “Besides that,” Hayley said as the fluttering in her tummy slipped a little lower.
Dillon leaned closer, pressed a light kiss to her flushed cheek and whispered in her ear, “Besides that what else is there?”
Hayley created more distance between them. “Love, trust and affection.” The words were out before she could stop herself.
Dillon’s eyes connected with hers and held a breath-stealing moment. “We could have all that,” he said.
“Even the love, Dillon?”
At the mention of love, Dillon’s steps faltered. He stopped moving and stood with his arms locked around her. “I would care about you, Hayley,” he said. “I already do.”
Hayley resumed dancing. Dillon followed, then took back the lead. “I’ve disappointed you, haven’t I?”
Trying not to think how much she liked the tantalizing scent of his after-shave, Hayley shrugged and avoided his eyes. “You’re only being honest.”
“Yeah.” Dillon sighed regretfully. “But I’d probably get further if I were a bold-faced liar.”
Hayley ignored the way his hands had tightened possessively on her once again. “Don’t count on it,” she said lightly. “I can spot a fraud a mile away.”
Aware as was she that their neighbors and his sister were watching the two of them dance with more than mild interest, Dillon leaned forward and pressed another light kiss against her ear. “Oh, yeah? Can you spot a man who’s desperately in lust with you?” he teased.
Hayley grinned even though it angered her that he clearly only wanted a physical relationship. “I don’t think you have a serious bone in your body, Dillon Gallagher,” she accused with a bantering smile meant to disguise the way she felt.
The song ended. Hayley started to step away. Dillon held firm. “Not so fast, Mrs. Gallagher,” he said as his blue eyes darkened ardently. “I’ve hardly seen you all evening. I want at least one more dance.”
“You’ve already had three,” she reminded him unsteadily.
“I want four.”
“One more dance, Dillon,” she agreed, swallowing around the sudden tightness in her throat. “Then I’ve got to find Christine.”
Dillon used the back of his palm to urge her closer. “She’s still with Marge,” he told her, smiling contentedly. “And stop worrying. She’s having a better time than you are.”
Hayley glanced up, wishing their steps didn’t fit together quite so well, wishing she didn’t know what an insatiable lover he was. “How do you know?”
Dillon smiled. “I just do.”
They danced some more. Hayley tried not to notice how he rested his chin against her forehead as they danced. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was desperately in love with her.
“Of course it hasn’t been just this evening,” Dillon continued amiably after a moment.
Hayley blinked and tore her eyes from the strong column of his neck. “What hasn’t been just this evening?”
“That I’ve missed you,” he confessed. He pulled her closer, so they were touching everywhere. “I’ve been missing you all week,” he whispered, his warm breath sending a thrill down her spine. “Every time I come home you’ve been working on that darn house—”
“That darn house is the key to both our financial futures, Dillon,” she reminded, a bit too brusquely.
“What about us?” He leaned back, so he could see her face. “Don’t you want to see more of me?”
She did and she didn’t. “What do you expect me to say to that, Dillon?” She was as frustrated by their situation as he was. And yet she knew, as did he, there were no easy solutions.
“That you’ll let Marge take care of Christine on Wednesday and come into the city and have lunch with me.”
The prospect of an intimate lunch with Dillon made Hayley’s heart beat even harder. He was up to something; she could tell. “Why Wednesday?” she asked.
He shrugged and determinedly held her gaze. “Why not?”
Because if I did I might be tempted to make love to you again, Hayley thought. And there were more practical reasons, too, she realized, as she considered all she had yet to do. Dillon felt she still had all the time in the world to finish their house, but she knew she didn’t. If and when she landed work as an illustrator, she knew she would have to drop everything and pursue her career.
“I’m sorry, Dillon. I can’t.” His face fell as she continued. “I’ve already arranged to have all the old carpet taken up and carted away that day.”
“So reschedule.”
“I can’t. It’d put me too far behind on the renovations.”
“Back to the house again,” he said grimly.
“It’s important,” she insisted.
Dillon’s lips tightened unhappily. “More important than me?”
* * *
“YOU’RE STILL ANGRY with me, aren’t you?” Hayley said hours later when the two of them were alone.
Dillon walked into the living room,. “You’re right. I am ticked off. I’ve asked very little of you—”
“On the contrary,” Hayley disagreed. “You’ve asked and taken a hell of a lot.”
He flushed guiltily. His blue eyes probed hers. “If you’re referring to our lovemaking—” he began, jaw tightening.
“Among other things.”
He strode toward her, closing the distance between them in three masterful strides. He jammed his hands on his waist and faced her cantankerously. “As much as you’d like to pretend otherwise,” he pointed out tightly, “that was a mutual decision, Hayley.”
She tore her eyes from the whorling tufts of dark silky hair, visible in the open vee of his Hawaiian shirt. “One I wouldn’t have made,” she declared hotly, “if I’d not been so tired and wrung out and emotionally vulnerable that night.”
A muscle worked in his jaw. His eyes were hard and accusing as he rubbed a palm across his chin. “Did it ever occur to you I might have been tired?”
“Were you?” Hayley shot back.
“No,” Dillon said honestly and without apology. His eyes held hers. “I knew exactly what I wanted and I went after it.”
And he was still going after it, Hayley thought, as the breath left her lungs in one sudden whoosh. She pivoted away from him, afraid if she stayed there one second longer she would give in to the desire that had been dogging her all evening. “You really are a jerk sometimes!” She wished he wouldn’t be so blunt about wanting her. Because whenever he talked about taking her to bed again, she was unable to think about anything else.
“But an honest jerk,” Dillon countered. He followed her and stood behind her, putting his arms around her. “Come on, Hayley. Come into the city and have lunch with me on Wednesday.”
Hayley leaned into his solid male warmth for one moment. It would be so easy to give in to him, she thought. “Maybe the week after next,” Hayley conceded finally.
Clamping his hands on her shoulders, he spun her around to face him. “I want you with me Wednesday,” he said in a voice that brooked no denial.
Her curiosity roused, Hayley asked, “Why? What’s so special about Wednesday?”
He shrugged, his expression becoming remote, mysterious and altogether too choirboy innocent to be believed. “I’ve got a three-hour gap in my schedule. We could have a long lunch at the Algonquin.”
And then what? Hayley thought. Retire to one of the hotel rooms upstairs that he’d just happened to rent in advance and that just happened to have a bed in it? And then just happen to make love? And just happen to end up with a broken heart at their year’s end?
“Dillon, I can’t. I’m sorry. Not this week,” she said.
He stared at her in mute frustration, then seemed to come to some decision. “Fine,” he said, as if her refusal to meet with him were ultimately of no consequence. “Be that way. I’ll just have to manage without you, won’t I?”
Manage what? Hayley wondered. Why was he being so damn mysterious? “Dillon—”
But it was too late. He’d already gone into his den and slammed the door shut behind him.
* * *
“IT MUST BE A RELIEF to get all that awful carpet out of your house,” Carol said early Wednesday morning. “What are you and Dillon going to do with the floors?”
“Refinish some of them, recarpet the others,” Hayley replied. She put a stack of letters in the mailbox, and put up the red flag.
“Hayley,” Nellie began.
“Nellie—” Carol warned, an unusually harsh edge to her voice.
“I’ve thought over what you said last night, but don’t you see, Carol? I have to tell her!” Nellie protested. “Carol, Hayley has the right to know.”
“I’ll probably shoot myself for asking this,” Hayley injected drolly, “but the right to know what?”
Nellie swallowed. All the color left her face. “The right to know your husband is cheating on you, Hayley. And he’s going to do so again today!”
Hayley’s heart seemed to stop. For a moment she couldn’t even manage to draw a breath. “What are you talking about?” she asked finally, amazed at how normal her voice could sound when her pride was at stake.
“My Bob overheard him talking to Chuck, his brother-in-law—”
“I know who Chuck is, Nellie,” Hayley rejoined sarcastically.
“Last night on the train home,” Nellie continued, savoring the gossip. “He said he was furious with you for not meeting him in town for lunch today, but it no longer mattered. He knew what he had to do and he’d decided to take action anyway.”
“Take action?” Hayley echoed. True, Dillon hadn’t had much time for her since the party the previous Saturday. But she’d thought…he’d said he had an enormous workload at the office.
“He was going to meet this lady friend of his at the Algonquin Hotel—”
“Nellie,” Carol injected firmly. “You’ve said quite enough.”
“Hayley has a right to know!” Nellie cried.
“I think since you’ve already told me part of it, you’d better tell me the rest,” Hayley said.
“He said since you wouldn’t cooperate with him, he was going to have to look for ‘solutions’ himself.” Nellie continued like a harbinger of doom.
“Solutions?” Hayley echoed weakly, feeling ill and betrayed.
“Hayley, I think he’s starting to run around again, just like he did in his bachelor days. Marge said he could never seem to settle down with just one woman. Why, even when he was engaged before, he couldn’t go through with it and called the whole thing off just days before the wedding.”
Hayley leaned against the mailbox. “I know all about that.”
“Did you know about his meeting with another woman at the Algonquin Hotel today?” Nellie persisted.
No, she hadn’t. But Dillon had asked her to meet him there first.
“I’m sure it’s something innocent,” Carol protested.
“How innocent can it be if Hayley didn’t know about it?” Nellie countered.
How innocent indeed? Hayley wondered. “Actually, I did know about it,” Hayley admitted slowly. She warned herself not to jump to any conclusions. Despite Nellie’s certainty, they didn’t yet know what any of this meant. “He wanted me to meet him in town for lunch today,” Hayley continued.
Carol put her arm around Hayley’s shoulders. “I’m sure there’s a good explanation for all of this, Hayley.” She shot an irate look at her friend. “And I told Nellie that last night.”
“I’m sure there is, too,” Hayley said with a great deal more confidence than she felt.
“Well, don’t just stand there. Stop it!” Nellie implored her urgently. “Stop Dillon before it’s too late.”
“If what you’ve told me is true, if he is meeting someone else there, it’s a little late for that,” Hayley said dejectedly. After all, she and Dillon had agreed they could look elsewhere for sex prior to their marriage, as long as they were discreet. And, in Dillon’s defense, he had asked her first.
“It’s never too late if you love someone,” Carol put in sternly. “The question is do you love him, Hayley? Enough to fight for him?”
* * *
A SCANT HOUR LATER Hayley was on the train into the city. Still half out of breath from her mad dash into the house to change into something city slick and fantastic, she leaned back in her seat and looked out at the pastoral countryside whizzing by. Fortunately Nellie and Carol had agreed to oversee the removal of the carpet for her. Marge still had Christine. She had the rest of the day, indeed as much time as she needed, to square things with Dillon. But did she want to square things with Dillon?
Hayley shut her eyes. How had it come to this? Why was she rushing back into the city to chase after any man? After all, Dillon was only doing what they had agreed before their marriage that he could do. It shouldn’t be any surprise to her that he was meeting his sexual needs with another woman. Dillon was a very physical, passionate man. He had asked her to make love with him again. She had turned him down flat. He had tried to woo and seduce her. She had turned him down flat. He asked her to lunch. She put him on hold. He had practically begged her to cancel her plans. She had still said no. She had given him no choice but to seek female companionship elsewhere.
Was she as desperately in love with Dillon as Carol thought? Hayley didn’t know. Dillon made her laugh. He made her furious. He made her want to love again and be loved. But there, their compatibility ended. She wanted a pastoral life in the suburbs, a career that would enable her to stay home and be there for Christine while she was growing up. Dillon found the suburbs stifling. He could’ve cared less about the house. He hadn’t promised that they could have anything more than a satisfactory business arrangement and a good time in bed.
So why was she chasing after him?
* * *
“MAY I HELP YOU, miss?” the maître d’ asked.
“Dillon Gallagher,” Hayley panted, still feeling slightly out of breath. She combed her fingers through her hair. “Is he here?”
“Yes, but his party is already here, miss. And they have requested complete privacy.”
Hayley’s heart sank.
“If you wish, I could—”
“Maybe we’re not talking about the same Dillon Gallagher,” she interrupted hopefully.
“Miss?”
“This is a big city,” Hayley rushed on, telling herself there had to be some mistake. Dillon just wouldn’t do this to her. She swallowed hard. “Probably there are a lot of Dillon Gallaghers,” she said airily. She leaned closer to the maître d’ and whispered conspiratorially. “So, you see, if I could just see him and he couldn’t see me…”
“Miss.” He looked grievously affronted. “This is highly irregular—”
Hayley slid a twenty into his palm. “I know it is, sir,” she agreed, her eyes holding his in one last desperate hope. “Perhaps this will help ease the way.”
He pocketed the money unobtrusively. “I suppose if you were to be seated at the bar and kept your back turned, you would not be seen. Mr. Gallagher seems to be quite interested in what his companion has to say, anyway.”
He wasn’t kidding, Hayley thought. Dillon was sitting so close to her in the booth he was practically in the young, good-looking redhead’s lap, Hayley fumed. Their heads were bent together. They were laughing and talking. Just looking at them made her physically sick.
Having seen enough, she left without ordering, headed through the lobby and back out onto the street.
Dillon hadn’t lost any time in replacing her, she thought numbly. All she’d ever been to him was a convenience. And that’s all she would ever be.
* * *
“ARE YOU MAD at me?” Dillon asked hesitantly that night.
Hayley sent him a stony look and continued sanding the floor. “What would make you say that?”
“Well, for one thing, dinner was fixed when I got home.”
“What’s so shocking about that?” Hayley retorted sharply, noting he had changed out of his more formal work clothes and into a sweater and slacks. “You hired me to fix your dinner, didn’t you?”
“Yes.” Dillon looked confused. “But you never do.”
“You’re never home,” Hayley shot back.
“I was tonight.” He followed her around as she continued to sand the floor.
“So I see,” she retorted. Unable to control her raging temper, she ran the sander a little closer to his feet.
He leapt out of the way in the nick of time to save his toes. He gave her a dark look. She gave him one. “Can you turn that thing off so we can talk?” he shouted.
She remembered how he had cozied up to the redhead just hours ago and gave him a cold look. I have nothing to say to you, she thought. But not about to add to the humiliation she had already suffered at his hands, she retorted with as much civility as she could muster. “I have work to do, Dillon.”
“It’ll just take a minute.” When she continued to ignore him, he reached over and switched off the machine.
The silence was as deafening as the machine had been. She wished he didn’t look so damn good, or that her insides weren’t knotted up. She had actually cried all the way home on the train, oblivious to the stares of strangers. She felt worse than she had when Hank had been killed.
For so long she’d been focused on her dream. She’d thought all she needed for herself and her child was a nice home in the suburbs. Her relationship with Dillon had made her question that. Now she wasn’t so sure a house in the suburbs was the answer. She’d almost rather have Dillon, even if he was never going to be committed.
She’d thought she’d had enough uncertainty in her youth to ever live the gypsy life-style again. Yet here she was, actually considering chucking all she’d worked so hard to garner just for the sake of being with Dillon! And that was crazy!
“Well, what do you want?” she asked him grumpily.
He studied her wordlessly. Finally he said, “There’s a party to welcome me back to the States, being held in my honor Friday evening. It’s at a co-worker’s house, here in Connecticut. I’d like you to go with me.”
Hayley was barely getting through the day. She knew she couldn’t possibly play the loving wife for an audience again. Not after what she’d seen. “I don’t think I can get a sitter,” she lied stiffly.
“I’ll talk to Marge.”
She moved to turn on the switch. His hand shot out and clamped down over hers, preventing her from resuming her chore. “It’s important to me, Hayley,” Dillon said, his eyes holding hers. “And it’s important to you,” he finished gently.
Hayley had the feeling no party would ever carry as much weight with her as it did with him. But she also knew she owed him. Like it or not, she had to see this thing through. She had to finish the renovations of the house and sell it. She had to find another way to support herself and her child and find a decent place, hopefully in the tranquil beauty of the Connecticut suburbs, to live. Then she could take her money and run.
“Fine,” she snapped, shoving a hand through her disheveled hair. “What time do I need to be ready to go?”
Dillon continued to study her like she was a subject in a medical survey for PMS. Finally he said, “I’ll be home to get you around seven.” He paused, still looking at her weirdly. “The people there will be pretty dressed up. Suits, ties, cocktail dresses, that sort of thing.”
“I won’t embarrass you with the way I’m dressed,” Hayley promised. Jerking her hand from beneath his, she turned the floor sander back on.
But given her current mood, that was all she was promising.