Cathy Thacker - Honeymoon For Hire

“You make it sound so simple,” she said, sighing.

Dillon shrugged and said, “It would be, as long as no one else but us knew it was just a business arrangement.”

Her eyes widened. “You want everyone to think it’s a real marriage?”

“I think that would be best, yes.”

Hayley swallowed and backed away from him uncomfortably. “I don’t like subterfuge, Dillon.”

He watched her sit down on the edge of the bed, beside her open suitcase. As she began to relax, so did he. “Neither do I but sometimes it’s the only way, and in this case I know I’m right. If Marge knew, she’d try to talk me out of it. She’d say it was a crazy thing to do.”

Hayley was back on her feet again in a flash, moving restlessly about the room. “She might be right.”

He watched the color climb her cheeks again and couldn’t help but grin, she was so edgy and unnerved. “Not adult enough to handle it?” he taunted lightly.

She shot him a sharp look, meant to debilitate, but all it did was intrigue him. What was she so wary of?

“What’s the matter, Hayley?” he continued, teasing her gently, yet wanting, needing, to see her reaction all the same. “Don’t you think you could live under the same roof with me and not sleep with me?”

Hayley crossed her arms at her waist. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“See?” Dillon said, as even more fire came into her eyes, making her look simultaneously sexy and unapproachable as hell. “We’re acting like an old married couple already. Sniping. Trading barbs.” He grinned at her unrepentantly.

Slowly, her sense of humor returned. She smiled back at him, just as audaciously. “This is crazy,” she repeated, in a low voice that let him know she was almost sold on the idea.

“It’ll work,” Dillon promised.

Without warning, Hayley’s brow furrowed. “What’ll we do?”

“About what?”

Hayley gulped again. “About sex.”

Now they were talking, Dillon thought, his mind going back to that sexy lingerie and the unbearably sexy way he imagined she would look in it. “Hey, if you want to write that in, too…” he offered magnanimously.

“No,” Hayley said swiftly, her color heightening even more.

“Too bad. I was looking forward to—”

She whirled toward him. “These are not feudal times, Dillon Gallagher. You may not exercise that right, even if we do make it legal. Understood?”

“Understood,” he repeated obediently. It wouldn’t keep him from making love to her, though, if and when the time and the mood were ever just right. And he had a whole year to try and see that they were.

“And if either one of us wants to be with someone else,” Hayley continued in a strangled voice as she avoided his laser-bright gaze, “we can do so, as long as we’re discreet.”

Dillon didn’t like the idea of Hayley with anyone else, but he also knew he had no right to protest. “Agreed.” he said, assuring himself silently that Hayley was just talking big to save face. He believed the truth was that she was just as attracted to him as he was to her, even if she hadn’t allowed herself to act on that attraction yet.

“So when do you want to do this thing?” she asked.

Dillon tried not to look too happy. “You’re saying yes?”

Hayley looked at him, her expression unaccountably grim. She uttered a lengthy sigh. “What other choice do I have?”

Chapter Four

“I finally remembered who she is, Dillon,” Marge said, early the following Thursday afternoon. She held a copy of the Darien News in her hands. The marriage licenses section was circled in red. “I remembered why the name Alexander was so familiar to me. Hayley’s husband Hank was one of the NCN reporters killed while covering Desert Storm, wasn’t he? He was one of your reporters.”

Dillon shut the door connecting his private office to the newsroom. In the silence that fell, he could hear his heart thudding heavily in his chest. “Have you said anything about this to anyone?” he demanded.

Marge blinked. “I told Chuck—”

“Besides your husband,” Dillon qualified irritably.

“No.” Marge glared at him.

He glared back. “Well don’t. Okay?”

Marge’s dark blue eyes narrowed. “Hayley doesn’t know, does she?” Marge guessed. “You never told her you were the one responsible for her husband’s death.”

Dillon sat forward. His mood was suddenly as grim as his low voice. “I had no way of knowing the army barracks would be hit when I sent Hank on that assignment. It was a routine jaunt. Safer than almost anything over there.”

“I’m sorry, Dillon. I didn’t mean to imply you were responsible. But I know how you felt after Hank Alexander’s death. I remember the letters you wrote—”

“I meant to tell her. I tried.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Because when I first went to see her, she didn’t want to hear it. So I let it go.” He’d felt all the worse because Hayley had told him how much Hank had respected him as a boss.

“But things are different now, Dillon.”

“Are they? Hayley still wants to get on with her life.”

“She should know.”

“When the time is right,” Dillon qualified.

“And when will that be?”

“I expect I’ll know when it happens.”

“Are you sure you’re doing the right thing?”

“No.” Dillon swallowed. “I wish Hank hadn’t been killed and Hayley left a widow. But she was. And I’m dealing with it as best I can.” Although he still didn’t know what he wanted from her in the long run. Forgiveness? Maybe. A love affair? Definitely. Beyond that, he just didn’t know.

For the next few seconds, both he and his sister were extraordinarily quiet. She covered his hand with her own. “I’m not blaming you, Dillon,” she said gently. “And I don’t think Hayley would, either, once all the facts were out. I do think Hayley should be told the truth before you marry her. For heaven’s sake, Dillon, she has a right to know!”

“No.” Dillon turned away from his sister. The situation had already snowballed into something unpleasant. He didn’t want to risk a new avalanche of damage. He didn’t want to risk losing her, not as his housekeeper, not as his potential lover.

“Why not?” Marge insisted.

“Because it’s over, that’s why not.” He paced back and forth. “Because talking about it would upset her.”

“You’re making a mistake,” Marge warned.

“It’s mine to make,” Dillon volleyed back stubbornly.

Marge studied him, her disappointment obvious. “I can’t talk you out of it?”

“The only thing you’ll be talked out of if you keep this up,” Dillon retorted, “is your invitation to my wedding on Saturday.”

Marge reached blindly for a chair and sank into it weakly. “You’re doing it that soon?”

Dillon shrugged. He’d been debating all week whether or not to tell his sister that this marriage was going to be a purely business arrangement between himself and Hayley. Now, seeing how distraught she was over the little she knew, he was glad he hadn’t. “Neither of us sees any reason to wait.” What he did with his life was his business, he assured himself sternly.

Marge let out a slow, unsteady breath. “Under the circumstances, I don’t think you should be marrying her at all, and certainly not yet.”

“That’s funny.” Dillon propped his feet on his desk. He regarded his sister with unchecked pique. “I don’t recall asking your advice.”

“I know.” Marge smiled at him with sisterly concern. As usual when they disagreed about the mess she felt he was making with his life, she refused to back off. “It’s free, anyway. At the very least, do it right,” Marge urged with a smile. “Have a proper engagement and honeymoon, a big wedding with all your family and friends.”