The Bare Facts (7 page)

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

“I wish I knew, Margo.”

 

B
ACK 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?

H
ALEY 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.

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.

 

D
YLAN 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.

He saw the knowledge of her feminine power in her eyes, strangely juxtaposed with that haunting in
nocence that made him want to walk over there, bend her back on the sofa and plunge into her body.

She moved with a supple, almost ephemeral, tantalizing quality. There was something in her that was fiercely sensual, alive, primitive; her full mouth was all the more vibrant because of the graceful body that moved with the suppleness of a willow. She placed her booted foot on the arm of the sofa, and with deliberate movements, she pushed up the skirt of the dress, revealing her tight, lace-clad backside to his hungry eyes.

He hadn't realized he'd moved until he touched the sleek skin of her hips, his groin coming up against the hot skin of her propped leg. Haley was deep into the music and the movement of her body. It took all the strength he had to restrain the force inside him. He touched her as if she might vanish in his hands, a skim of contact when what he wanted was to crush her to him, a brush of his fingers outlining her shape. He felt himself so hard and aching to slide into her, to take her to slake the fire that consumed his skin. He was breathing deeply, unevenly, on the brink of a fierce and all-consuming void. He cupped her bottom, sliding his fingers along her satiny skin.

He wrapped one arm around her waist and pushed his groin harder against her thigh. Haley gasped, her head falling back when he moved his hand from her bottom, over her propped thigh, and slid the lace of her underwear aside to touch her hot woman's core.

She was slick and responsive. He moved his fingers slowly until she was panting. Her hands went to her
breasts and pulled down the bra. Still moving with the music, Haley touched herself, lost in her abandon. Dylan turned her to face him and took her closest nipple into his mouth. Haley cried out, her body moving now with heavy, languid strokes in rhythm to his fingers. He sucked hard and Haley's hips thrust forward, her eyes wild with her release. Dylan pulled her to him with one arm, his mouth fusing to hers. He penetrated her with his fingers, her soft folds were moist against his hand.

Haley's body vibrated with her release; his hard, hot mouth sent her into a tailspin.

A knock sounded loudly against the door. Dylan broke the kiss. Not taking his eyes off her, he whispered, “They'll go away.”

Before Haley could tell him that it might be the woman from his answering machine, his mouth came back down on hers. She forgot all about the interruption when he slid his hand down her hip. Grasping her bent knee in his large hand, he urged her leg around his waist. She hooked her foot around the back of his thigh.

The woman called out, “Dylan, are you in there? I've got my key.”

Haley heard the woman's voice through the door. Two things registered on her foggy brain. The voice was too high-pitched for it to be the woman from the answering machine and the word
key.
The woman had a key? Did he give them out as door prizes? She pushed on his chest. “Dylan, she has a key,” she said urgently.

The release of the lock was loud in the room. Dylan's head whipped toward the door. He turned back to Haley, his eyes wild. Everything after that happened so quickly. Dylan lunged at her and dragged her behind the sofa. He threw the raincoat on top of her head. With a slap of his hand he silenced the boom box. It was in that moment Haley decided not to tell him about the other ardent woman on his answering machine. Jeez, three women in one night. He was a juggling fool. Experiencing a funny little cramp in her throat, Haley fought down her disappointment and hurt.

By the time she fought her way clear of the coat, Dylan had opened the front door. She heard a low murmur of voices, but couldn't make out what they were saying. While she pulled the dress straps up and settled the clinging material over her hips, she wondered who this woman was to Dylan? She had his key. It could mean only one thing. He was involved with her in some way. Who was she kidding? She knew Dylan's personality. He was involved with her in the carnal way, and he didn't want this girlfriend to see what he'd been doing with Haley. A sharp stab of pain cut deep inside her, deeper than it should have. She tried to grasp even one solid denial. But she could figure no other explanation for his actions and that left her with nothing but a sick loss inside.

She heard the door close and was about to rise when she heard a female voice say, “So, could I use your bathroom?”

“Sure.”

Then Dylan was again grabbing her arm and pulling her toward the front door.

“I don't believe this,” he muttered under his breath. As they reached the foyer, Haley heard the distinctive sound of the bathroom door opening.

“I'm sorry about this, Haley,” he whispered.

Again there was noise from the direction of the bathroom. “Dylan. Is there any soap?”

He opened the closet door and shoved Haley inside. Calling over his shoulder, he said, “Under the sink. Look, Mandy, I have to run down to my car. Why don't you have a seat at the kitchen table?”

He stepped into the closet with her and shut the door. Grabbing the back of her head, he kissed her mouth passionately. “Haley, I thought I swallowed my tongue when I came in tonight. You look incredible and I want nothing more than to live out this fantasy with you right now, but I can't.”

Jealousy, burning like liquid fire, scorched her insides. She didn't want to let Dylan go, but she had to. She had no right to be jealous. No right at all. Dylan hadn't made her any promises. And it looked as if his dance card was full.

The bathroom door opened and they heard the woman walk across the floor.

Dylan kissed Haley again, softly, with regret. “I've got to go. I'll call you. I'll distract her and you can leave. Okay?” he asked, his voice husky.

She managed a weak smile and nodded her head, trying to will away the heavy ache in her chest. “Okay.”

He swore softly under his breath, then the door closed in her face and he was gone.

As soon as Haley heard them speaking in low tones, she slipped out the front door. Making her way down the hall, she pushed the button on the elevator. As the doors opened, she couldn't seem to take her eyes off his door. She stepped inside the car, colliding with a small, dark-haired woman impeccably dressed in an Armani navy-blue pinstriped suit. She gave Haley a curious look and then looked back down the hall. As Haley watched, the woman approached Dylan's door. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back as the elevator doors closed. That would be the woman from the answering machine, the kind of woman who would fit perfectly into his life.

 

H
ALEY COULDN'T FACE
going home. So she hailed a cab and gave the cabbie Margo's address. Soon she was knocking on her friend's door. When Margo opened the door, her eyes widened and her mouth formed a perfect little O. “Don't tell me you've been running around the city looking like that.”

Margo grabbed Haley and dragged her into her apartment.

“Looking like what?” Haley said. “Something the cat discarded when he finished toying with it?”

“Oh no. What happened? Weren't you supposed to, you know, trip the light fantastic?” Margo ushered Haley into the living room.

“Margo, are you on something? This is not some forties movie, this is my life.” Haley stood in the
middle of Margo's posh living room and thought she was going to have a nervous breakdown.