The Bare Facts Page 6

  His breath in her ear had sent goose bumps along her flesh, and she hadn’t even been aware he’d snuck his fingers in between her shirt and jeans and was caressing the skin of her waist.

  The music had been slow, melodious and mesmerizing. Then he’d smiled at her. He’d set off a wild flutter in her that swelled with each movement of his body. Her breath had lodged in her chest. One smile—one wicked smile—and her legs wanted to fold under her. One smile and she could feel every pulse point in her whole body. It was then, that very moment, the agonizing yearning had begun.

  She’d given in to the temptation to go back to his room, but a beautiful coed was waiting outside his door. Seeing her reminded Haley that she was a dime a dozen, and Dylan liked variety. Before he could say anything, she’d gotten out of there with an excuse about a test the next day.

  She looked at herself in the mirror again, shocked to see her eyes slumberous, her breasts hard and aching.

  She quickly removed the decadent garment and got dressed. She went back to the rack and picked up the matching thong panties. Hesitating, she looked back, and, with a swift gesture, grabbed another bra and headed to the checkout.

  BACK AT HER DESK, Haley placed the shopping bags out of sight and sat down. Margo came up to her, holding three message slips in her hand and a bemused smile on her face.

  “Where have you been all morning?”

  “Working.”

  “Yeah?” Margo toed the bag. “Bloomie’s have any good sales?”

  “I was shopping for the next fantasy.” Haley blushed, just thinking about the articles of clothing she’d purchased for her next hot session with Dylan.

  “Let me see.” Margo grabbed the bags and pulled them out from under Haley’s desk. Haley made a grab for them, but Margo eluded her.

  “This is the flimsiest bra I’ve—”

  Haley snatched the bra out of Margo’s grip and stuffed it back in the bag.

  “Are you crazy? Do you think I want people to start asking questions?”

  “For a minute there, you sounded just like my mother.”

  “Is your mother calling you again trying to get you to skip work?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “So what was it this time? The job’s beneath you, or can you just shirk your responsibilities to go get a facial and a manicure?”

  “The Prince,” Margo said wryly, rolling her eyes. “That’s what I call the man my mother wants me to marry.”

  “Why haven’t you told me this before? There haven’t been many secrets between us, since we met 21 years ago.”

  “Usually, I can handle it, but there’s this huge fund-raiser she wants me to attend and she wants me to go with The Prince, Michael Patrick Keegan.”

  “Why is this guy so important?”

  “Ah, you see, Patrick’s father owns Keegan Shipping and my father’s a shipbuilder. It would be a merger if Patrick and I were to get married. Patrick’s very rich and has the reputation of being quite the corporate shark. I think he does all his daddy’s dirty work.” Margo added, “If she’s so enamored of this guy, why doesn’t she marry him?”

  “I don’t know what the big deal is. Can’t you pick who you want to marry? And why is it some kind of a race?”

  “She thinks if I land a rich husband, I’ll quit my job and be the society dame like her. How many garden parties can one woman possibly attend?” Margo sluiced her hand through her silky hair in exasperation.

  “Sounds like a lot of pressure.” This is the world Dylan lived in. She was glad that she wasn’t subject to such pressure from her family.

  “If she thinks that I’ll fall in love with this guy and give up my plans of getting into advertising, she’s crazy.”

  “Couldn’t your family pull strings for you?”

  With a heavy sigh, Margo said, “Sure, but my father’s blocked about every attempt I’ve made to get an advertising job. He calls it vulgar to sell things to people. If you hadn’t been instrumental in getting me this job, I’d still be looking.”

  “So have you met the guy?”

  “Sure. He’s very attractive and dresses impeccably, but he’s a workaholic like my father, and believe me, that’s not what I want for a husband.”

  “I don’t have these issues with my parents at all. My dad was a mailman and my mom stayed home.”

  “Right, and he took you to baseball games and Sunday matinees. You’re lucky, Haley. My dad was too busy for any of that stuff. I went to exotic places for vacations, but rarely did my father go with us.”

  Haley reached out and squeezed Margo’s hand. “I’m sorry, Margo. My parents want me to get married and settle down when I’m ready.”

  “You can’t imagine the pressure of having to live up to the Grant name. If I make one slip, you’ll see it in the society page.” She seemed to shake off the frustration. “Enough of this boo-hooing. I’m not dating The Prince, so my mother better get over it.”

  “I really admire you, Margo, for standing up for what you believe.”

  “Thanks,” she said, and smiled warmly. “So, are you excited about the next fantasy?”

  “Yes. I can’t say I’m not nervous about it, but not enough to call the whole thing off. The first one was so wonderful.”

  “Speaking of fantasies,” Margo said as she put down one of the message slips. “Dylan. And let me see, another one from Dylan, and one more. From Dylan.”

  “He’s called three times today?” Pleasure filled her chest. She hadn’t expected him to call. But, of course, she could still be novel to him. He probably hadn’t gotten tired of her yet.

  “Uh-huh. He wants you to call him back. He gave me his home phone, his work phone, his cell phone, his beeper, and, of course, his e-mail.”

  Haley turned away from the messages and booted up her computer.

  “Aren’t you going to call him back?” Margo asked, tapping the message slips with a well-manicured nail.

  “Nope.” Haley didn’t take her eyes off the screen. She sent the job she opened to the printer.

  “Why not?”

  “I’ll drop him an e-mail and thank him. I need to give him a time frame for the next fantasy and get his key, but we don’t have a relationship. This is just business. I’m not going to have any other contact with him.”

  “I guess he’s agreed to this, so that it won’t be any surprise when you don’t fall into his charming trap.”

  “He is charming, but like your family, Margo, image means a lot to him. I’m sure he wouldn’t want to end up in the society page linked to my name.”

  “Go for it, girl. Go for that goal. Although, I’d say it sounds like Mr. Malone is very interested in you, Haley.”

  “For now, Margo.” Before Margo could say another word, Haley handed her the sheets of paper she’d just printed. “I sent this column to Kate by e-mail last night. Tell me what you think.”

  Haley went to get a cup of coffee. Margo was just putting down the article when Haley returned. Margo stared at Haley.

  Haley could barely contain herself. “Well?” She’d written the piece fast, but it had been so easy to construct a fantasy based on the rustic cabin and raspberry sauce, not to mention the sheer impact of Dylan’s lovemaking.

  “How long did this take you?”

  “Not long. I wrote it on Sunday after Dylan dropped me off at my apartment.”

  “This is really good! Makes me want to find a man who can do those things to me.”

  “It’s good?”

  “It’s better than good, Haley. It’s provocative, erotic, and so, so romantic. Everyone is going to fall in love with your fantasy man.”

  “Haley.” Margo and Haley turned to find Kate bearing down on them. “I just read your copy. Great job. I loved it. I think our readers will love it, too. I can’t wait for your second installment.”

  “No problem.” But it was a problem. This whole thing was a big problem. She was a mess and she’d only had one fantasy with Dylan. What would it be like a
fter two, three? She tried to put everything in perspective, but then she would relive that last kiss in the kitchen, his body pressed to hers, her pressed against the counter. Why had she ever listened to Margo?

  “Keep up the good work,” Kate said, giving Haley’s shoulder an encouraging squeeze.

  When Kate walked away, Haley dropped her head into her hands. “Good work? This is not work, this is decadent, erotic, and a big mistake.”

  Margo grabbed Haley’s arm. “What’s wrong?”

  “I know what I said about keeping everything businesslike, but the mantra is not working.” She dropped her hands and gave Margo a baleful look. “And it’s all your fault.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You talked me into this harebrained scheme.” Haley got up and walked into the small alcove housing a little kitchen. She picked up a pot of freshly brewed coffee and poured herself and Margo a cup.

  “Haley,” Margo said as she accepted the cup, “you can’t get cold feet now. You heard what Kate said. She loved the column. You’re one-quarter of the way where you want to be.”

  “But, Margo, he’s so fabulous. I had so much fun with him Saturday, Saturday night, the ride home Sunday.”

  “Whoa,” Margo said, the cup halfway to her lips. “Saturday night? Sunday? You spent the night with him?”

  Haley glanced away sheepishly. “Didn’t you hear me before?”

  “I was still enthralled with the column. I must have missed it. Gimme details.”

  “He said the roads were icy. I thought he knew the mountains and I should trust him.”

  “You marshmallow. Did you also believe the one about running out of gas? Details, please.” Margo took a sip of coffee.

  Haley explained all the details to her.

  “A roomful of women’s clothing? Mr. Malone does get around. I’m sorry. That must have hurt.” Margo set down the coffee cup and clasped Haley around the shoulders.

  “Why should it? I didn’t go there as his date or for a cozy weekend getaway. I went there to have sex with him and I have to stay focused. I’ve discovered he isn’t the kind of man for me. We’ll have fun and then we go our separate ways.”

  Margo gave her another squeeze, saying quietly, “Are you trying to convince me or yourself?”

  “I wish I knew, Margo.”

  BACK AT HER APARTMENT at the end of the day, Haley hit the playback on her answering machine. Dylan’s husky voice caught her by surprise. Memories of his mouth and hands assaulted her senses. She remembered quite clearly what it felt like to have him hot, naked and in her power. Jarred by the sharpness of the recollection, she sank onto the couch and hit the replay button on the answering machine to hear the message again. “Got your e-mail. Can’t wait for your surprise visit. Have a good couple of weeks. Call me if you want to talk.”

  It was dangerous to talk to Dylan. Margo had told her how hard it was to make a life that was her own. She wondered if Dylan had the same problem. He’d said image was important, so maybe he didn’t have those problems at all. Maybe he followed along with what his family wanted him to do and never struggled with his own identity and his own wants.

  If that was the case, Haley certainly had no business thinking about Dylan as relationship material. Not that she did. Really, he was a man who could have any woman he wanted and probably did. She was way out of his league. She was content to take four months of his time and enjoy the physical relationship, then simply move on.

  She could tell herself all these things and they sounded extremely rational. So why was it Haley felt as if she’d jumped into the deep end and totally forgotten how to swim?

  4

  HALEY APPROACHED Dylan’s door. She listened intently but could hear nothing. With her heart pounding, she put the key in the lock and turned. It’d been two weeks since she’d gotten the message on her answering machine. It had been difficult, but she hadn’t contacted him. Only problem was, she’d waited a tad too long and Kate had told her that morning that she needed the column on the tenth instead of the fifteenth this month. Haley had only four days to get the fantasy done and the column to Kate.

  No one was home in the beautiful, spacious loft with massive Douglas-fir beams and forty-five-foot ceilings, along with multiple skylights. She crossed the hardwood floor on her three-inch spiked black boots, her black raincoat slapping against the leather. The anticipation of what was to come was burning inside her. Out of necessity Haley had dodged Dylan’s calls, not even admitting to Margo that she was afraid to talk to him. Afraid she’d beg to come over and see him.

  She set the boom box down on his glass and wrought-iron coffee table and cued up the music, making sure the volume was high.

  The doorman would have been a problem if Dylan hadn’t put her name on the list of visitors allowed in his loft. He’d eyed her attire and then let her through.

  She surveyed the light, airy room. A bank of windows revealed the hustle and bustle of the busy Village pedestrians, going quickly to their homes as dusk approached.

  She turned from the windows and discovered that Dylan’s decor mirrored his cutting-edge personality. The living room consisted of a nut-brown leather sofa with tasteful lamps in front of an exposed-brick wall. On the coffee table next to the boom box were Advertising Age and other trade magazines. Along with the professional magazines were two books on Andy Warhol’s work and a biography of Harry Truman.

  There was a gleaming white gourmet kitchen with a small wine rack and six glasses hung above, their stems caught in a wooden holder. The sound of the phone made Haley jump. After four rings the answering machine picked up.

  A sultry voice said, “Hi, it’s Laurel. I need to stop by. I hope you’re ready for what I have planned for you.”

  Haley glared at the machine. The woman sounded positively gleeful. It was obvious that Haley wouldn’t be able to stay after the fantasy, but that wasn’t in her plan anyway, she told herself. A stab of jealousy made her face warm and her heart ache.

  She walked farther into the loft and found a half-finished storyboard depicting a man and a woman’s life from their wedding to old age. Haley found it fascinating. Next to it was an open section of the Wall Street Journal.

  She sauntered into his bedroom, finding a comfortable-looking sleigh bed, armoire and matching nightstand. More reading material was next to the bed: the latest thriller, another trade magazine and a book about the birth of jazz. Wandering into the Italian-tiled bathroom, she fondled the handle of his razor and discovered that the soap he used was what made him smell so sexy.

  This glimpse into Dylan’s lifestyle and personality only made her want to explore the man on a deeper level. But that wasn’t prudent or wise. The call on the answering machine was proof enough that Dylan hadn’t changed his skirt-chasing ways since college. Realizing that she shouldn’t be snooping around in his place and discovering all this stuff about him, she made her way back to the living room.

  She reached over to make sure that the music was ready. As she straightened, Dylan came through the front door. The look of surprised pleasure was replaced with an intense interest in his eyes. Now there was a kind of hunger that dissipated the butterflies in her stomach and made her feel languid and sexy all at the same time.

  “Haley.”

  “Did you miss me?” With her unsteady hands, Haley unbelted the raincoat and let it slip from her shoulders. She touched the play button on the boom box and a slow, sultry cadence filled the room with a throbbing beat.

  “I’ve been counting the minutes.”

  “Let’s do something about that terrible loneliness. Shall we?” Haley ran her hands down the sides of her body in a slow provocative slide. His eyes followed her every movement. She gyrated her hips and began to slip one silky strap of her very short, tight red dress from her shoulder, then the other one. With a little shimmy of her shoulders, the bodice of the silky material slid down, exposing the tops of her creamy breasts. Dylan stood motionless, unable to take his eyes from her.<
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  His briefcase hit the floor with a thud. He stood there like a man who’d been struck dumb. A thrill of sexual desire shot straight into her woman’s core. His eyes were hungry, possessive and intense.

  “Do you wanna dance, Dylan?” She ran her tongue around her lips to wet them, but saw Dylan’s reaction as he watched her perform the innocent act. She did it again, more provocatively, thrilling to the heat that flared in his eyes, drunk on her feminine power.

  “Can you dance with flame and not get burned?” He loosened his tie as if it were strangling him.

  “Looks like you’re already…scorched. Hot under the collar?” His reaction fueled her own as she slid her hips in a circle, throwing her head back and letting the music take her in its throbbing grip. This was Dylan, whom she’d wanted to explore in college. A man every woman found exciting, powerful and desirable and he was looking at her as if she was the main course.

  “Why don’t you bring your hot little body over here and I’ll show you,” he begged.

  She brought her head up and felt a thrill of desire at the sight of him. His eyes were heavy-lidded, thick, dark lashes veiling the violent jade of his eyes. She wondered if there was a green anywhere in the world as green as his eyes.

  She could see the way his chest rose and fell, the glaze of desire in his eyes. She undulated toward him, unable to wait another minute to touch him. Her hands went to his loosened tie and unknotted it, pushing the offending suit coat off his shoulders. When he tried to touch her, she sidled out of his reach, darting behind him and rubbing her breasts against his back. She could feel the heat of him through his cotton dress shirt and the thin lace material of her decadent bra. Her mouth found the nape of his neck and she kissed him, absorbing the sound of his pleasure like moisture on her skin, breathing deep of that knee-melting sexy smell, which she couldn’t get enough of.

  DYLAN FELT HER tongue against his neck like a flick of flame and then she was gone, moving around his body to stand in front of him again. The music beat in rhythm to the frantic, hard beat of his heart; he watched her every move. When he reached for her again, she stepped back until she reached the sofa.