Cathy Thacker - Honeymoon For Hire

Dillon chuckled and capturing the wrench from her hand, lowered it to waist level before she did any damage with it, and held it between them. “Watch where you’re swinging that thing, would you?” Dillon asked, tightening his grip on her hand.

If she weren’t careful, she’d be swinging it below his belt. He didn’t need any more pain in that area; the ache he had from just looking at her was torment enough.

“Sorry.” Hayley had the grace to look embarrassed for her outburst. “I’ve just had enough tea and sympathy to last me a lifetime, you know?”

“I know.”

“I want to get on with my life.”

“You should.”

“Out of Manhattan. Somewhere safer, where Christine can have plenty of fresh air and sunshine, and a backyard to play in and plenty of friends her own age.”

“Sounds like a reasonable goal.” Even if that kind of life wasn’t for him, he thought. “As long as I’m here, is there anything I can do to help you?”

“Thanks for the offer,” Hayley said. She turned and went back to her faucet. “But as you can see, I’m getting along fine.”

More than fine, Dillon thought, as he watched her replace the washers.

He knew she’d just given him his cue to leave, but oddly enough, he wasn’t ready. And his wanting to stay had nothing to do with the way she looked in those close-fitting ivory leggings and that stylish thigh-skimming tangerine top. He just wanted to see she was all right. “Where are you moving to?”

Hayley frowned as she began to put the faucet back together again. “I don’t know yet. It will depend on where I get a job.”

“You’re a financial analyst, aren’t you?” The last he had heard, she’d worked for a high-profile Wall Street firm.

“Yes,” Hayley admitted, “but I’m not going back to it.”

“Why not?”

“Christine. I don’t want to leave her with a sitter all day.” Hayley knelt down to turn the incoming water back on. Straightening, she turned the tap on. Water came out in a steady stream.

“You could free-lance and work out of your home.”

“I know—”

“But?”

“I just went into the field because it would allow me to make a good living, but I hated the work.”

“So, what do you want to do?”

“Illustrate children’s books.”

That explained the paintings of teddy bears and bunnies he’d seen.

“Unfortunately I haven’t got the writing talent to go with it. So I’ll either have to find a partner who can write but not draw, or get hired as a free-lance illustrator by a publisher here in the city.”

“I’ve got a few friends in the business,” Dillon offered, finally seeing a way he could ease his guilt about what had happened to Hank. Though everyone had told him, from the lowliest camera grip to the chief of the network, that Hank’s death wasn’t Dillon’s fault. “Maybe I could help—”

“No.” She cut him off, her voice unexpectedly sharp. “Thanks.” Taking a deep breath, she softened her voice with obvious effort, “I do it on my own or I don’t do it.”

“All right.” He watched her replace her tools in the metal box on the counter. “Don’t you have a super who takes care of things like that for you?”

“I can take care of myself.”

“So I’ve noticed,” Dillon drawled.

In the distance there was some shuffling and then a thud, followed by the sound of a baby’s happy gurgling. Hayley’s face lit up. “That’s Christine.” Her infectious smile widened. “Would you like to see her before you leave?”

Dillon hesitated. He didn’t know anything about babies, but not wanting to insult her, he nodded. “Sure.”

He waited in the hall. Hayley returned a moment later, balancing the baby on her hip. “This is Christine.”

Dillon stared at Hayley’s daughter, searching for something to say. “She’s beautiful,” he said finally, because it was true. Christine had Hayley’s same naturally curly, honey blond hair, heart-shaped face and dark green eyes with long gold-tipped lashes.

“I think so, too,” Hayley admitted, casting an adoring look at her baby daughter.

Dillon glanced at his watch. “Well, I’d better get going. I’ve got to interview some housekeeper over in Bridgeport.” Not that he actually intended to hire the old battle-ax, he thought. He was just going through the motions to humor his sister, Marge.

“For your family?” Hayley asked.

“For me,” Dillon specified, wanting her clear on that much. “I’m single. And the next few months are probably going to be sheer hell, as I try to get settled. I’m moving back to the States, after twenty years of living abroad.”

“You don’t sound happy about it.”

Dillon shrugged. “I don’t really want to work in New York again.”

“Too much crime?”

“Too dull. But the job was a step up, USA Bureau chief for NCN, Northeastern Cable News. So I told ’em I’d give it a try for one year.”

“And then?”

Dillon shrugged, knowing the management experience there was going to be worth its weight in gold to him later. “If I don’t like it, I’ll head back to the Middle East.”

“You sound like you think you won’t like it,” Hayley said, her brow arching in disapproval.

Dillon wasn’t about to apologize for his lack of domesticity or his love of adventure. “I’m going to give it my best shot.” He frowned. “It’s the house that I let my sister talk me into buying that I’m really uneasy about. It needs a hell of a lot of work to make it habitable, or so I’ve been told. I haven’t actually seen anything but pictures to date.”

Jade eyes sparkling, Hayley grinned and shook her head in silent bemusement. “Sight unseen, hmm?”

“Yep.”

“So why’d you buy it?”

“The investment, of course.”

“Of course,” Hayley said dryly.

“I’m planning to resell it at the end of a year’s time, when my assignment is up, and make a killing.”

“So where is this house?” she asked.

“Connecticut.”

“Connecticut,” she murmured wistfully. “I’ve always wanted to live there.”

Something about her expression, kind of like a kid with no money looking hungrily through the glass at the candy counter, got to him. It made him—he told himself firmly it was for Hank’s sake only he was feeling this way—want to make it possible for her to get exactly what she wanted. “Say,” Dillon said casually. “You wouldn’t be interested in the job as my housekeeper, would you?”

She merely rolled her eyes at the suggestion. “Thanks, but there’s no way I could commute back and forth from the city every day.”

Dillon shrugged, not so willing to be dismissed, even if his idea was a little crazy. “So you and the baby could live in,” he persisted. “Think about it. You’d have another entire year to get your future sorted out.”

She laughed, a rich melodious sound. “You’re kidding. Right?”

“No,” Dillon said. “You need a job, preferably one that will allow you a lot of time to spend with your baby, which mine will, and a nice safe place to live. You’re handy with a wrench. You seem to have a fair amount of decorating skill. At least I like what you’ve done with this place, sans moving boxes, anyway. You’re just what I need to make my house habitable. And my house is just the kind of place you need to raise your baby in and regroup.”

“Thanks, but I’m not interested in being anyone’s maid. I have enough trouble just cleaning up my own messes.”

“Hey, I’m not that messy,” Dillon protested automatically. Her delicate brow arched. He continued, “Besides, you’d be a lot more. You’d be decorating, organizing all my stuff, creating order out of chaos, making a home for me.” He grinned mischievously. “Or at least enough of one to get my sister off my back.”