The Bare Facts (11 page)

“Come here.” The words beckoned her to him, a man who posed a threat to her careful control and shook her foundations down to the roots. She moved toward him and the danger, like a lamb to the wolf.

As she drew close to him, she could feel the heat of his body. “I want you to touch me,” he said in a thick voice.

She swallowed and nodded.

Haley closed her eyes, overwhelmed by the need to do more than touch him.

He took her hand and raised it to his chest. “Touch me,” he instructed in a rough, low voice.

She caught her breath. She thought the pads of her fingers would be enough, but they weren't. The moment her fingers touched him she wanted to press the flat of her palm to all that hard muscle.

With need coiling inside her, she slid her fingertips around his well-defined pectoral muscles and along the heavy ridges of muscle delineating his abdomen.

There was something in his eyes, something that threatened to rip free. She wanted it, and was also terrified of it. She recognized it because it was exactly
what she felt building in herself. For one long moment, she felt the battle rage—logic vying with need. If she moved forward, just a fraction of an inch, she could have something she yearned for, ached for, and was afraid to reach for.

He took the decision out of her hands. With a shuddering breath, his head dipped. He brushed her mouth, so lightly, with his lips.

She took the step that brought her up against a wall of burning muscle. He was so gloriously hard versus her softness. His hands, like heated brands, slid over her buttocks as he groaned softly and eased her against him.

“You feel so good, so soft.”

He made her feel and want too much. When he picked her up in his arms as if she were a feather, she sighed against him. When he moved toward the bed and tumbled down on it with her beneath him, she stopped thinking and let the sensations take her away.

 

H
ALEY WOKE
the next morning cradled in Dylan's arms, her face inches from his. It took her a moment to realize that this wasn't a dream, and memories of last night flooded into her until she thought she'd burst. This position and this man also brought back a specific memory of waking up in his arms in his frat room. At that time, in the not so distant past, she couldn't remember anything of what had happened the night before. Now she didn't have to wonder.

He was so handsome, so consummate in bed, so very unselfish and so very, very thorough.

Her cell phone trilled. She stumbled out of bed and raced for her purse, sitting on Dylan's kitchen counter. She grabbed it before the phone could wake Dylan.

“Haley! Where are you?” Margo sounded frantic.

“What time is it?”

“You seem to be asking me that a lot.”

“What time is it?” Haley snapped, her patience thin.

“It's nine-thirty. Kate's fit to be tied. She's looking for you and I don't know how much longer I can cover. Haley, it's Friday morning. Do you have the column?”

“Not exactly.”

“What!” Margo's voice rose an octave.

“I can have it in an hour. What time does she need the copy?”

“She needs it by eleven, but she has to edit it first. God, Haley, where are you?”

“I don't have time for that now. I'll call you when I have the column done. Tell Kate I got sick with food poisoning and I'll e-mail the article to her in an hour. Okay.”

“All right.”

“Margo, thanks for saving my butt.” Haley disconnected the call.

Haley didn't think about Dylan. She'd made a colossal mistake and almost ruined her chances of landing a writing job. She had to search, but she found
all her clothing, stuffing the suit and decadent bra into the purse. Dressing hurriedly in the clothes she had on last night, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her hair was a mess, but she couldn't do anything about that now.

In the cab, she kept her mind on what she was going to write. It wasn't easy separating her thoughts from Dylan, because he was part of the fantasy she'd lived last night. Not the striptease fantasy, but afterward—afterward, the way he had looked at her, the way he'd made love to her, his unselfishness, his gentle touch and those wonderful words of encouragement. Haley felt tenderness grab her heart.

If only he wasn't such a womanizer. If only he could be satisfied with one woman. She didn't want to think about the women who hung around him. No ties, no entanglements, no commitments. He had very little to give any woman when he spread himself so thin amongst them. And she wanted so much more than a few crumbs. She had every reason to believe that he was a man who wouldn't lack for female companionship. He was virile, compelling, dangerously attractive. Nothing seemed to attract women more than a man who couldn't be pinned down, one who was obviously intent on remaining unsnared. Such a man was even more challenging when he was as up front as Dylan, telling a woman exactly what his intentions were. But Haley was sure his latest conquest didn't appreciate that kind of honesty.

H
E WAITED SILENTLY
while his team went over his sketches and notes. There was so much more on his mind besides the ad campaign for Green Dog Beer.

Dylan leaned into the conference-room chair and focused on the big ficus plant in the corner. What a week. Tuesday the aborted striptease, Wednesday dinner interrupted by his crass boss, and last night, mind-blowing sex with Haley. He had to face the fact that his single-minded concentration was shot. No matter what he was involved in, a part of his mind continued to linger on Haley. What was she doing? How was she?

He was distracted from the important matter of preparing an ad campaign for a sought-after client. No. A million-dollar ad campaign didn't seem to be as important as this sticky situation with Haley. Not even an ad campaign that could elevate the agency onto the international scene. His preoccupation with flamboyant, irresistible, sexy Haley Lawton was all-consuming, especially her quick and deliberate flight from his loft that morning. He was glad it was Friday.

She'd fled as she had the night of their graduation, and he wondered if her flight had to do with him
personally. He had to admit that it hurt a little bit. Hell, it hurt a lot.

He'd never had a problem compartmentalizing his life. Work was work. Family was family. His love life was his love life. But thoughts of Haley had been as tenacious as a bloodhound ever since they met.

“Dylan?”

He focused on his media liaison, Wendy. “I'm sorry. I missed what you said.”

She looked surprised that his intense concentration wasn't on what his team was talking about. She studied him. “I asked how you envision this ad running in other countries. In fact, I asked you a couple of times. You must be very tired. Long night?”

“To answer your question about this type of ad running in other countries, I think that there are distinct costumes around the world that will indicate people in all walks of life. We want the audience to know that Green Dog is a beer for the masses. It'll fly.” He rubbed his eyes, definitely feeling tired. His mind was in an uproar. “As to the other question, I
am
tired.”

He certainly wasn't going to tell them that he had been ensconced in bed with the woman who had dreamed up this ad campaign and that they had loved the night away.

The ideas were flowing fast and furious, but Dylan couldn't concentrate on them. He'd heard Haley leave and he'd let her. He was shaken by what he felt toward her. Shaken because he knew there wasn't a chance for them. There was no way he was going to
subject her to the snobbery and pettiness of his family. He felt trapped between what he wanted and duty. And it was only since Haley came into his life that he noticed this desperate feeling. He'd enjoyed her company, her wit and her fresh, wry humor. Her body was delectable, but her mind was fabulous. He'd let her put distance between them. He had no illusions about what was expected of him and he knew without a shadow of a doubt that his father would not approve of Haley.

Last night was a mistake and he was sure she was well aware of it. Hell, she'd been the one to keep everything businesslike. But the pleasure—it sometimes got in the way of business.

There was no point in rehashing what he should have done. He gave into his wants and they had made love. Stripped away the illusion, he could still smell her perfume. It felt so damn real.

What he hoped was that Haley truly had no illusions about him. It would force him to divest her of them in order to protect her. He hoped she didn't force him to be cruel to be kind.

She had made everything easier on both of them. Last night was a mistake. It shouldn't have happened. But it had, a little voice said, and it had been fantastic. No. He'd have to shut those feelings for her away.

They would have to be kept trapped inside him so that she wouldn't have to endure one slur, or a moment's pain because his world didn't care about love or tenderness, only power, wealth and the status quo.

 

L
ATER IN HIS OFFICE
, he sat looking at the light that would indicate he had a call on his private line. He'd even picked up the receiver once, but put it back in the cradle. He heard his assistant's phone ringing and wished it had been his private line. Finally, he just stared at it as if he could will it to ring. He thought selfishly that if she called, all bets would be off.

“Are you doing some kind of Zen thing to get the phone to ring, boss?”

Dylan looked up and met the mischievous eyes of Donna, his assistant. “No. Just thinking. What's up?”

“There's a Margo Grant on the phone for you.” She placed some storyboards on his desk and picked up the work he'd left for her in his out box.

“Grant?” The name was familiar. “What's it about?”

Donna tilted her head. “You really must be preoccupied with whatever ad campaign you've got going. She said that you asked her to call regarding a job. She's a co-worker of Haley Lawton's.”

The memory came flooding back. The day he'd been looking for Haley at her office, he'd met Margo. She'd told him that Haley had already left. She'd also asked him about the advertising business and how someone who was willing to work like a dog could break in. “Now I remember. Put her through.”

She lifted her eyebrows. “You sure you don't want me to take this?”

He looked at her sharply. “No. I'll handle it personally. Put her through.”

“Will do.” She eyed him with speculation.

“My preoccupation is work-related,” he said defensively.

“Sure it is.” She gave him a wink and left the office.

As soon as the line buzzed, he picked it up.

“Malone,” Dylan said.

“Mr. Malone, this is Margo Grant. I work with Haley Lawton at
SPICE.
” She had a strong, no-nonsense voice.

“Right. I met you a few weeks ago.”

“You did.”

He could hear the pleasure in her voice. “We talked about advertising and your interest in a job,” he confirmed.

“You said that I should call you because you had an assistant ad executive position that may become vacant.”

“The person's been promoted, so your timing is really good. You might contact Human Resources and get an application. I'll be interviewing in a couple of weeks.”

“I'll do that right away and thank you so much.”

“No problem, Ms. Grant. Good luck with your application.”

 

H
ALEY LAY AWAKE
Monday morning looking at the phone. All she had to do was reach over and pick it up. Dial his number. Tell him that Thursday night had been wonderful. But that would set her up. She'd hear the tone in his voice. The one that said, “Hey, don't
get too close. I've too many women to chase before I settle down.”

She had one week to complete another column and she'd tried to write one cold turkey over the weekend. But it had been futile. Everything sounded so flat and lifeless. She tried to imbue the piece with action words and short lively sentences, but she hated it and, although she had saved the article, she didn't know whether she would use it.

Haley's heart ached as she pushed back the covers and got out of bed, pulling her eyes away from the phone. She went to the closet and chose a pair of sand-colored pants and a long duster jacket that matched. Listlessly she looked through her blouses and picked a soft pink one.

The thought came at her like a hard knock to the head. She knew it was the right decision, and the dashing of her hopes and dreams hurt, but not as much as the thought of never seeing him again.

The choice was the only one she could make. She decided she wouldn't use the column she wrote. She closed her eyes and sat down heavily on the bed, panic settled in her stomach like nettles. She couldn't do this anymore. Heartache and pain waited for her around the corner. She
knew
she couldn't settle for what Dylan would offer. First there would be bliss, and then he'd miss dates. Suddenly he wouldn't be returning her calls, and finally he'd disappear altogether. The only resolution she could conceive of was to stop writing the column. No more fantasies with Dylan. She'd tell Kate when she got to work.

She swallowed hard, thinking about all she had done so far to get closer to her dream, but her heart was becoming engaged. It scared her to allow herself even to think about any relationship with a man who handled relationships so casually.

She was in trouble with Dylan and she had to stop seeing him because she would be the one to get hurt. She couldn't let herself trust the treacherous sweetness of his kisses, of his touch. But most significantly, she couldn't trust her wayward heart.

She headed for the subway worrying that the success the columns had generated thus far was going to be harder than she thought to get out of doing the last two columns.

Haley barely noticed her surroundings as she made her way down into the dim subway tunnel. People jostled her, but her thoughts were on what she was going to do about the columns and Dylan.

Before she knew it, she was emerging from the stairway onto the streets of Manhattan. There were scores of people, horns honking and bicycle couriers whizzing past. Even if Haley had wanted to walk at a slow pace, she wouldn't have been able to at the risk of being run over.

Lower Manhattan was so different from the quiet street she lived on in Brooklyn where the rent was cheaper and Haley could afford an apartment of her own. The bustle of the Lower Manhattan area was dense with attractions and contradictions: narrow streets and immense skyscrapers, colonial-era houses and the cutting-edge intensity of the complex of Bat
tery Park, the matter-of-fact strength of Wall Street and the funfair aura of the South Street Seaport.

She turned into the Quest office complex, a glass-and-chrome giant that took up one corner of a busy Manhattan intersection. The magazine was ensconced in posh digs on the twenty-fifth floor. She walked into the lobby, passing the building's directory.
SPICE
was lettered in hot-chili-pepper red with curlicues that gave it a flarelike quality. She went to the bank of elevators, pushed the button to her floor, got into the car and rode to the twenty-fifth floor.

Exiting the elevator, she walked to the receptionist's desk. The office was decorated with spicy colors. A red rug trailed from the elevator to a beautiful reception area. The waiting area had a lovely camel-back sienna-colored sofa and matching love seat, along with two elegant wingback chairs. A highly polished coffee table supported magazines, as well as a spectacular dried-flower arrangement. Numerous watercolors of different kinds of chili peppers hung on the sand-hued walls.

“Hi, Haley,” said the perky receptionist, Heather.

“Your voice mail is full, so I have a few messages for you.” The girl searched around on her desk. “Yes, that late-night-radio sex therapist returned your call and said she'd love to be involved with the article you're writing. Your sister, Terry, called and wanted to know if you were free for the movies. Guess you've already talked to her, and the picture you have at the Frame Game is ready for pickup.”

“Anything else?” Haley's stomach dropped to her toes, her disappointment sharp.

“They're going to be moving your office into the corner one today. So you'll be a little displaced.”

“Move me?” She blinked in surprise, trying to keep her voice even. “That seems a little premature.”

“Kate's orders,” Heather said breezily. “Gotta take these files down to subscriptions. Anything else?”

“There's nothing else. Thanks, Heather.”

Haley walked away, but the latte she'd consumed on her way to work sat like lead in her stomach. He hadn't called her. That was very telling. Obviously what happened to her on Thursday hadn't happened to him. It'd been three days and he hadn't called her once.

Kate was moving her? This didn't bode well for Haley's big announcement that she wanted to stop writing the column. How bad would this damage her writing career?

She sat down at her desk. There were folded-up boxes sitting against the workstation. She needed Margo's advice. But when she looked over at her friend's workstation, she could see that Margo's desk was empty and wondered where she could be. The only drawback was that she would get the third degree as soon as Margo got to work. Ducking your friend's calls wasn't exactly promoting trust.

She would have to call Dylan to plan the next fantasy. She swallowed hard. She just didn't think she
could have sex with Dylan again. Not after Thursday night.

Now seemed like a good time to talk to Kate about quitting the column and putting a nix on the office move. She didn't think she could get any work done anyway.

She knocked on Kate's open door. Kate was on the phone, but waved her in.

“No.” Kate motioned her into a chair in front of her desk. “Simon has the cover copy. He's tweaking it and should have it to me by tomorrow afternoon at the latest. That's great, Jack. Thanks.”

Kate hung up. “The printer. So how are you?”

“Fine, Kate. Sorry about the delay in the column on Friday.”

Kate smiled. “I understand. You were sick, but you still came through.”

“Kate, about the column—”

Kate interrupted before Haley could give her the bad news. “Yes. Let's talk about the column. Haley, I've received so many e-mails as a result of your first column. Readers love you! It's phenomenal. I can't keep up with all the mail.”

“They do? You can't?” This was such great news at such a bad time. “So is that why you're moving me into the other office?”

“Yes, and the fact that it'll be easier for you to concentrate.”

Haley couldn't get the words past her lips. She had to tell Kate she wanted to stop writing the column. The thought popped into her head. She didn't want to
go back to Dylan. Avoiding him would allow her to keep her heart intact.