A fan-favorite story from bestselling Mills & Boon American Romance author Cathy Gillen Thacker!

This marriage is anything but convenient!

Dillon Gallagher felt he had an obligation to help Hayley Alexander, his friend’s widowed wife. So when she mentioned wanting a real home for her baby daughter, it seemed only natural to have them move into his large house. In exchange for a place to stay, Hayley could cook and clean. What she ends up doing is tearing apart his fixer-upper!

Living in such close quarters in a small town is all too much for local gossips. To curb the wagging tongues, Dillon proposes they marry—just until the renovations are complete. Then Hayley will buy the house from the undomesticated Dillon, and he can go back to his bachelor ways. But there’s something about playing family that makes Dillon think he’s ready to fall for his temporary honeymoon with Hayley—permanently!

Honeymoon for Hire

Cathy Gillen Thacker

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Table of Contents

Cover

Back Cover Copy

Title Page

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Copyright Page

Chapter One

Hayley Alexander sized Dillon up with street smart expertise, ran a hand through the thick waves of her honey blond hair and let out a short exasperated sigh. “Look, Mr. Gallagher, I appreciate your dropping by, but if you’ve come to do the ‘merry widow’ routine on me, you can forget it. I’m much too busy subletting my apartment, looking for a job, and finding a new place to live to mess with the likes of you. So let’s do both ourselves a favor and make it short.”

“Like I could get a word in edgewise,” Dillon drawled.

“You’re sorry. I’m sorry. Thank you. And goodbye.” She punctuated each short sentence with a decisive wave of her hands, then started to palm the door shut on him.

Dillon caught the edge of the door to her pricey New York City apartment and held firm’ easily preventing her from shutting it. “Whoa, babe.”

“And don’t call me babe,” she snapped archly.

He’d had a feeling she wouldn’t like that, no more than he liked taking the blame for something he hadn’t been about to do. “I don’t know what this merry widow routine is—”

“You don’t?” Her jade green eyes widened in cool disbelief.

“No, sweetheart, I don’t,” he replied.

Dark green eyes flashing, she took a deep breath to bolster her determination. “Then let me spell it out for you,” she said.

Dillon let go of the door and propped his spine against the jamb. Slouching slightly to better align his six-foot-three frame with her five-foot-eight height, he crossed his arms against his chest. “Considering how riled up it gets you, I can’t wait to hear.”

She pursed her incredibly soft-looking lips together and shot him a drop-dead look that in no way detracted from her femininity. “Are you going to take me seriously, Mr. Gallagher?”

That was a hard one to answer, considering she was mad at him for no reason at all.

“’Cause if you’re not—” she warned.

“Then what?” It had been a long time since he’d seen a woman with such spunk and vitality. Too long, he decided.

She sighed and rolled her eyes. “You NCN News guys are all alike.”

“Tell me about it,” he urged with an insolent grin.

“I’m a lady. I don’t use obscene language.”

He laughed. “I take it I’m not your first visitor?” he teased.

“Since the Gulf War ended, there’ve been twenty-two of you. You, Mr. Gallagher, make it twenty-three.”

That revealed, she turned her back on him and marched toward the kitchenette at the other end of the cluttered, overcrowded living room. Dillon followed, striding past a nubby oatmeal sofa, an easel, two eye-catching paintings of bunny rabbits and teddy bears, and a baby carriage heaped with clean laundry. “Let’s get back to the merry widow routine. What exactly is that?”

She picked up a wrench and restlessly cupped it in both slender hands. “Oh, you know, it’s where you come in and tell me how sorry you are Hank died last year—”

Sounded reasonable, Dillon thought. That was why he was here.

“And now that you’re back in the States, you just want me to know you’re here for me. I’m not sure,” she intoned dryly, “but I think that’s the part where I’m supposed to wail and act helpless. But I gotta tell you, Dillon,” she said, “I usually don’t. Then you take me in your arms and make a pass.”

Hayley began disassembling the faucet. “I don’t know what it is about widows, but damned if everyone doesn’t think we’re a sex-starved lot.”

Dillon couldn’t help it. He laughed. Bracing his hips against the other end of her kitchen counter, he said, “I assure you, Mrs. Alexander, I am not here to make a pass.” Although he’d damn sure like to be, he thought. Hayley Alexander was one sexy woman.

“So why are you here?”

Dillon edged closer, wishing he knew enough about plumbing to offer to lend her a hand. “I thought I’d stop by and see if there’s anything I could do for you, because I cared about Hank.” He paused, thinking briefly about the loss they’d both suffered. “I would’ve come sooner, but as you’ve already figured out, I just got back in the States myself.”

Hayley stood on tiptoe and put her weight behind the wrench to turn it.

“You don’t believe that’s all there is to it, do you?” Dillon asked when she continued to concentrate on her task. He wasn’t used to being ignored by women, period, and especially not pretty young ones.

She sighed. “The words are nice. My past experiences with NCN News guys says otherwise.”

“They all made passes at you?”

“Twenty-one of them,” she said flatly.

“Which is reason enough to be wary,” Dillon added pragmatically. “But it doesn’t surprise me that a lot of your husband’s colleagues would want to make a condolence call. Hank was respected. As for the passes—” Dillon sighed ruefully “—what can I say? I’m sorry anyone made you uncomfortable. On the other hand, let’s face it. You are a very beautiful woman and—”

“And what?” she interrupted. She faced him, hands on her slender hips. “Because I have looks, men aren’t responsible for keeping their hands to themselves?”

“Not at all,” Dillon said, trying hard not to notice how the preemptive action had drawn her blouse against her breasts.

Waving her wrench around dangerously to emphasize her point, she advanced on him. “I am not lonely, Dillon Gallagher. Contrary to popular opinion, I am not hot to trot! So try spreading that around NCN, would you please?”

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.”

“Your sister?” Hayley blinked.

“Marge.” Dillon’s mouth curved fondly at the thought of the sister he loved. “She thinks I’ve ruined my life, and she wants me to settle down for at least a year and try to have a real life, one that includes more than just my work.”

Hayley wrinkled her nose. “It sounds like what she really thinks you need is a wife.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Only thing is I’m not interested in getting married.”

“Well,” Hayley said pragmatically with a sigh, “that makes two of us.”

“So how about the job?” Dillon tried to imagine what it would be like to have a woman as beautiful as Hayley working as his housekeeper. Bringing him his paper in the morning, making him breakfast… Maybe he’d even get a glimpse of her in some sort of negligee and robe, if they were under the same roof.

“Think about the time it would give you with Christine,” he said persuasively. He figured he could handle a good-looking woman with a baby under his roof a lot better than he could handle the mustached, overweight, drill sergeant of a housekeeper his sister was pushing him to hire. Employing Hayley would ease his own guilt over Hank considerably. Even if he found her incredibly desirable, he wouldn’t act on that desire because of his past friendship with Hank.

“Dillon, listen to me,” she said with weary tolerance. “I know you think you’re trying to help, but my schedule is erratic at best these days. I sleep when the baby sleeps. I’m awake when she’s awake, even if that’s from three in the morning until dawn. I don’t know if I could have dinner on the table precisely at eight every night. Or even be awake enough to cook for you if you decided to have a dinner party.”

“I never give dinner parties,” he said flatly. “I only go to them. And as for schedules, my hours are erratic at best, too. Some nights I probably won’t show up for dinner at all.”

“Well, then I would be ticked off. If I went to all the trouble to cook the damned meal, I’d expect you to eat it.”

He grinned at her feisty tone, liking the warm flush of color that had come into her cheeks. “I knew there was something I liked about you,” he drawled.

They stared at each other in contemplative silence.

“What about salary?”

“What’s fair?” Dillon volleyed back, mirroring her own pragmatic, let’s-get-down-to-brass-tacks tone. “Room, board and say…ten percent of the profit I make when I sell the house at the end of a year? It’s not as if you don’t know me,” he continued when she hesitated.

“True. Hank spoke of you often. He said you were a well-loved boss, respected by all who worked for you.”

Which made his own betrayal of Hank all the harder to bear, Dillon thought. He should’ve known better than to have sent Hank into the fray. But how could he have known the barracks would be hit by shrapnel from an exploding missile? Dillon sighed.

Hayley was silent. Whether she was blaming him or not, Dillon couldn’t tell. Finally she smiled. “I guess I can trust you.”

Dillon grinned back. “Now you’re talking.”

“Add a monthly stipend of four hundred dollars for my personal expenses and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

“Four hundred!” he echoed, stunned.

“Do we have a deal or don’t we?”

Damn but she was impulsive, he thought. Almost as impulsive as he was. And she drove a hard bargain. But what did it matter whether they thought about this for ten minutes or ten days, as long as it solved all their mutual problems, which it did. Dillon studied her with satisfaction, realizing it had been easier for him to take care of both his own guilt and Hank’s widow than he’d ever imagined it could be. “Okay, you’re hired.”

Chapter Two

“You forgot one thing, Dillon,” Hayley said, looking into his dark blue eyes and ruggedly handsome face with all the directness she could muster.

“Oh, yeah, what’s that?”

“You didn’t tell me I’d be moving into an absolute disaster,” Hayley said, early the following morning.

Dillon frowned at the red walls and red velvet furniture in the formal living room. “I didn’t know it was this bad,” he said grimly, looking no more pleased than she felt.

Hayley sent him a skeptical glance as they trudged through the adjacent kitchen, which was decorated in shades of avocado and lemon yellow. “How is that possible?” she asked disbelievingly. “After all, you bought this house.”

“No,” he said with a flash of white teeth, “my sister did.”

Hayley stopped him before he could head up the stairs to the second floor of the sprawling, white brick Colonial. “You bought this house without at least seeing a detailed report of everything it would need to make it livable?” she asked, incredulous.

“Right.” Dillon glanced thoughtfully up at the chandelier overhead, which was coated with several years’ worth of dust and spider webs.

Hayley kept her eyes trained on his face. He didn’t look like an idiot. He looked smart, strong and sexy. Too sexy, she thought, her eyes roving over his tall, solidly built frame and broad, powerful shoulders. She hadn’t been attracted to a man since Hank’s death, but she was attracted to Dillon. And she felt that sizzle of attraction with heart-stopping awareness every time she looked into his mesmerizing dark blue eyes. “Why?”

“Why not?” Dillon shrugged. He tested the wooden banister and found it as wobbly as it looked. His glance met hers again. “I had no interest in trotting through home after home. One place is as good as the next as far as I’m concerned, so I decided to let my sister, Marge, handle the actual selection. That way, I already had a place when I got back to the States. All I had to do was wait for my stuff to arrive, find someone to unpack it and move in. Then she found this place, said it needed redecorating. A hell of a lot of redecorating. But it was a great bargain. So, shrewd investor that I am, I figured I’d capitalize on the financial opportunity.”

“She didn’t tell you it looked like a highly disorganized white elephant sale inside?”

“No. She said nothing about it being furnished like a clearance sale at an outdoor flea market.” Dillon shoved a hand through the tousled, two-inch-long layers of his dark brown hair and shook his head. “In terms of redecorating, I figured I’d have to pick out new paint, wallpaper and carpet. Worst case, maybe even fix some of the plumbing. Which, of course, is why I hired you.”

“Because you didn’t want to mess with it,” Hayley assumed.

“Not in this lifetime.” Dillon affirmed her guess with a tantalizing grin.

So he hated decorating, Hayley thought. Most men did. He did pick out his clothes well. The brown Harris tweed jacket and dark brown trousers not only fit his muscular body well, they complemented his dark brown hair and suntan.

“But I have to admit, Hayley, this—” Dillon took a deep, bracing breath as he looked around him “—is just ridiculous, even for someone like me who really doesn’t care where they live. If you want to back out—”

Hayley wasn’t going to let him discourage her. It didn’t matter to her the house was wrecked or that he was close enough to her in age and ruggedly good-looking enough to give her pause. All that mattered to her was the eventual cut of the profits it would bring. With that, she could make herself and Christine a real home. “Dillon, we’ll fix it up.”

“I’m not sure that’s possible.”

Hayley laughed softly. “Sure it is,” she persisted, her artist’s eye already seeing the potential beneath the disastrously decorated interior, even if he couldn’t begin to. Whether Dillon could see it or not, this was the kind of house in just the kind of place that Hayley had always dreamed of living in. If only this were hers, she would’ve really arrived. It irked her that Dillon took for granted what she wanted most. And it baffled her that he was so disinterested in this kind of life that he hadn’t even bothered to see the house he was buying.

She knew if she’d seen the pictures of the exterior of the majestic two-story Colonial on the serene, tree-lined drive she would’ve broken land speed records getting here! And to know it was hers…all hers. That would be heaven.

Well, Dillon might not care much for this kind of well-to-do suburban life-style, but she did. And she was going to enjoy every second she was here. Just as she would use the profits they made on the sale of the house for the down payment on a home for herself and Christine.

It wouldn’t be nearly as grand as Dillon’s home, of course. But it would be theirs. And it would be loved and cared for, by both herself and Christine.

“You’ll feel differently about this house once it’s cleaned up and redecorated,” Hayley promised as Dillon continued to scowl at their surroundings. She could envision it now—with plush carpeting and freshly painted walls, plenty of sunlight pouring in…

“Don’t try and humor me, Hayley,” Dillon retorted, unappeased. “This place ranks with some of the tackiest places in the eastern hemisphere. And I oughta know—for the last twenty years I lived in them.”

“Hello!” a chirpy voice called. A tall slim woman with cropped dark brown hair stepped through the door.

“Hayley, meet my sister, Marge. The genius who selected this place.”

Marge strode forward to give him a quick hug. “I knew you’d be overwhelmed,” she said, smoothing down the fabric of her green plaid skirt and coordinating turtleneck sweater. “Which is precisely why I didn’t send you any pictures except of the outside.”

Which Hayley admitted to herself didn’t look too bad. The exterior had already been painted a gleaming white, with dark pine green shutters and a glossy black front door.

“What in blazes happened here?” Dillon demanded.

“Look, Dillon, this place does have its advantages,” Hayley interjected.

“Such as?”

“An excellent floor plan, spacious rooms, a large yard with plenty of trees and beds for flowers in a wonderful neighborhood.” It was a great place to raise Christine.

Marge smiled at Hayley, pleased someone had seen what she had in the place. “Hey, thanks.” She paused as the sound of a baby’s soft nonsensical chatter echoed through the first floor.

“Oh, that’s my baby, Christine. She’s in the stroller in the next room. She fell asleep while Dillon was showing me around, and we left her in there so as not to disturb her with our chatter.

Marge smiled. “How old is she?”

“Eleven months, last week.”

“Would you mind if I went in to see her?”

“Actually, you could do me a favor and wheel her in here.”

Dillon and Hayley picked up where they left off. “If the mess bothers you, why didn’t you demand they at least clean it up first?” Hayley asked Dillon.

“Marge said I should take it as is and get another five percent off the already low purchase price, rather than pay the bank to oversee the cleaning of it. At the time the decision made sense.” Dillon grimaced. “Now I don’t know.”

“Marge was right,” Hayley agreed. She looked at the sofa and saw how sturdily it was built. The crushed red velvet could be removed. So could the black tassel fringe. “This way you can sort through everything yourself, figure out what’s usable.”

“For what? Starting a bonfire?”

Hayley grinned. “You’d be surprised what recovering a sofa can do. Besides, you’re going to need plenty of furniture. This place is huge.”

“Forty-five hundred square feet,” Dillon remarked proudly.

“And don’t worry about the decor,” she assured him as they continued to walk around shoulder-to-shoulder. “That too, can be fixed.” Hayley stopped and turned to face him. She had to tilt her head back to see his face. Both his height and their closeness were disconcerting to her. As was her potent reaction to his attractiveness. Every time she was near him, her heart beat a little faster, her senses got a little sharper, the loneliness she’d felt since Hank’s death became more acute. “Not much of a visionary, are you?” she teased, wishing all the while he weren’t quite so handsome and intelligent and kind.

“Not when it comes to domestic stuff,” Dillon admitted.

Deciding she’d looked into his dark blue eyes quite long enough, Hayley turned away from Dillon once again. “Well, at least it’s got the most important feature built-in,” she remarked as she checked out the heavy, moth-eaten drapes.

“Indoor heating?” Dillon hazarded a droll guess.

“Two master bedroom suites with their own bathrooms. That’ll give us both maximum privacy. We won’t have to see each other running around in our pajamas.”

Briefly Dillon felt disappointed. “Well, as long as you’re sure I haven’t made the biggest mistake of my life investing my life savings in this dump,” he said dryly, “I guess all’s well.”

“It’s not as bad as you think it is,” Hayley said.

“Come on, Hayley, don’t patronize me.” Dillon stopped in front of the fieldstone hearth in the living room. “Even I know a little paint and elbow grease can’t fix this place.”

Hayley grinned, not disagreeing. “So we’ll start from scratch.”

“No, you’ll start from scratch,” Dillon reminded. “I want nothing to do with it. I don’t so much as want to be shown a paint chip. ’Course, I’m handy at some things around the house.” Dillon leered at her comically, leaving no doubt in her mind as to which room his thoughts were in.

“Save the bedroom antics,” Hayley advised, her voice a little sharper than she intended. “I’m immune.”

Dillon snapped his fingers and humorously feigned distress. “Darn.” His eyes met hers, held. “No fringe benefits, hmm?”

“Not a one,” Hayley said, spelling out the rules bluntly. She might be attracted to him, but she wasn’t a fool. It would be hard enough living here with him in such a wonderful place, knowing it would never really be hers, without starting a love affair.

Footsteps sounded in the hall. Marge came in, carrying Christine in one arm, pushing the stroller with the other. Marge looked as smitten as her daughter. “I guess we don’t have to ask if the two of you got on all right,” Hayley said.

Marge smiled warmly at Hayley before turning once more to her brother. “You could still introduce me more properly to our friends, Dillon.”

“Sorry, Marge. This is Hayley Alexander and her baby girl, Christine. Hayley, meet my sister, Marge.”

“Alexander. Where have I heard that name before?” Marge queried, perplexed. Christine reached out for Hayley, and Marge handed her over.

Looking vaguely uncomfortable, Dillon insinuated himself between the two women. “I don’t know. There are plenty of Alexanders around. Alexander Haig. Alexander the Great. There’s even a St. Alexander—”

Marge aimed a punch at Dillon’s sternum. “Cut it out. You know what I mean.” She pivoted back to Hayley. “I’m serious. Have we met?”

“No, I don’t think so. I just met Dillon yesterday when we first talked about the job,” Hayley said. “Unless he mentioned to you that he had hired me as his new housekeeper.”

“Hayley is your new housekeeper?”

Dillon nodded. “Close your jaw, Marge, or Hayley will be insulted.”

Marge made a face at him, then turned back to Hayley. “Sorry, Hayley, no offense. But I thought Dillon was going to hire someone much older and—uh—settled. You know, someone with the efficiency of a Marine.” Catching her brother’s dark warning look, she amended with an elegant little shrug, “Guess not.”

“As it happens, Hayley is very efficient,” Dillon put in.

How would he know? Hayley wondered, very much aware she hadn’t yet been given a chance to prove herself.

“Did I say she wasn’t?” Marge countered.

“She even knows how to replace the washers in a faucet.”

“That’s good, because you sure don’t.” Marge grinned. She turned back to Hayley. “I’m sorry I was so surprised. I thought—by the way you were dressed and everything—that you were Dillon’s friend.”

Meaning “lady friend,” Hayley thought, uncomfortably embarrassed. Was this a conclusion everyone else would make, too? Would she constantly be explaining to everyone they weren’t lovers? Piqued she hadn’t thought about that before, she looked at Dillon. “Did you want me to wear a uniform?” she asked.

“No, of course not.” Dillon’s glance slid approvingly over her shawl-collar menswear jacket, red shell and black stirrup pants. “You can dress any way you want.”

Marge nodded vigorously. “I agree. There is absolutely no reason why Hayley should have to a wear a uniform. Not in this day and age.”

Christine squirmed and Hayley put her down. As the three of them talked some more about the strengths and weaknesses of Dillon’s new house, they watched Christine crawling about, exploring the sprawling first floor.

While Dillon went into the utility room off the large country kitchen to check out the fuse box, Hayley observed Marge’s rapt gaze. “You really like babies, don’t you?”

“Oh, yes,” Marge admitted with a yearning smile. “Even more so, now that my own children are out of the nest.”

Dillon rejoined them, adding, “To the point, she’s doing everything she can to get me to procreate one for her to fuss over.”

“Well, Dillon,” Marge delivered a heartfelt sigh, “you are forty—”

Dillon narrowed his eyes at her. “Don’t you have a nursery school class to teach today?”

“Nope. I’m all done for the day. I’m through at noon, remember?”

Dillon groaned.

Marge knelt down to explore a red satin throw pillow with black fringe with Christine. “Now that my three kids are off at college, I’d do anything to have a baby in my life again.” She looked at Hayley, woman-to-woman. “You’re very lucky to have such an adorable child. Enjoy these days while they last.”

Hayley thought of the year ahead of her, and even though she knew it would be fraught with hard work, she anticipated only happiness. “I intend to,” she said.

* * *

“I APOLOGIZE for my sister,” Dillon said the moment Marge left; Christine napped peacefully in the playpen Hayley had brought with her.

Hayley paused to lift two paintings off the living room wall. “I thought she was very nice.”

Dillon took the paintings from her and put them in the trash. “And hopelessly outspoken,” he continued.

“That, too,” Hayley remarked, inhaling the bracing scent of his cologne as he came back to her side. “But it’s very clear she loves you and wants only the best for you. I envy you that.”

He gave her a searching look, the intensity of his regard drawing her eyes to the rugged lines of his face. “You don’t have any brothers and sisters?” he asked in a soft, low voice.

“No.” Aware that she was having trouble catching her breath standing so near to him, and that it was ridiculous for her to be reacting that way, Hayley stepped back. Picking up a ficus plant that was deader than a doornail, she carried it to the trash. “Though maybe I should be glad about that,” she teased over her shoulder, “considering how anxious yours is to marry you off.”

Dillon strode after her, each of his long, easy strides matching her two. “Don’t remind me,” he groaned, keeping his voice low, so as not to wake the baby. “Not that it’s anything new. Marge has been trying to fix me up with the right woman ever since I can remember.”

“Without much luck, obviously,” Hayley observed.

“Every time I come home she’s got at least one potential mate waiting in the wings.”

“And?” Hayley picked up a telephone shaped like the head of Daffy Duck and held it up for his perusal.

“And I don’t believe in fairy tales,” Dillon said, unhooking the phone from the wall and placing it atop the pile marked for charity.

“Neither do I,” she admitted.

“Unfortunately most women do,” Dillon continued gruffly. “And I’m no knight on a white charger.”

Their gazes met, held. For a moment Hayley felt she could drown in the dark blue depths of his eyes. To her surprise, he looked similarly entranced. This job was going to be both easier and harder than she’d thought.

“So, which master suite do you want?” he asked, finally recovering enough to break their staring match. “The one at the top of the stairs, or the one at the far end of the hall, over the garage?”

“The one nearest the stairs, so I can get up with the baby at night.

“Fine with me. What about the furniture?” Dillon continued, leading the way up the stairs and into the master suite that would be Hayley’s.

Hayley looked around at the sunny yellow walls and thought it had possibilities. If only this were going to be her house, too, and not just Dillon’s, she thought wistfully, aware she was already falling in love with the place, envisioning the way it could and would be. “I’d like to bring my own, if it’s okay. Except for the brass bed. It’s really nice. Unless you have other plans for it—”

“Not a one.” Dillon shot her a wicked grin, as if the mention of a bed, any bed, brought all sorts of thoughts to mind. But then, to her relief, he merely shrugged his broad shoulders laconically.

Hayley fought a blush and averted her eyes. “Then I’d like to use the frame.” Hayley lovingly ran her palm across the curved top of the bedstead. “I always wanted a brass bed,” she confessed. “That or an old-fashioned canopy bed.” She’d always thought them so romantic. Funny that she would be getting one now, when there wasn’t so much as a chance for romance in her life. And yet, she thought wistfully, it would be so easy for her to imagine her and a lover in that bed. A lover as sexy as Dillon.

“You didn’t have one when you were a kid?” Dillon watched her methodically strip the bedspread and the sheets.

“No,” Hayley said quietly, irritated with the direction of her thoughts. She knew better than to fantasize like that about an employer. Thankful Dillon couldn’t read her mind, she continued, “I didn’t.” But she didn’t want to think about that. Her childhood years had been rough enough without dwelling on them.

Dillon circled around to the opposite side of the bed. The corners of his sensual mouth pulled down into a frown. “The mattress and box springs are in terrible shape. Look. You can even see the coils sticking through.”

“I’ll bring my own,” Hayley said, absently, still preoccupied and faintly disturbed by the unusually erotic line of her thoughts.

His frown deepened. “The frame looks a little tarnished.”

“I can fix that easily enough,” Hayley said confidently. “All it will take is a little polish.”

What wouldn’t be so easy to fix, she thought, was her continued physical reaction to Dillon. Every time he got within three feet of her, her heart sped up. Her breathing became more shallow. Her palms started sweating. And her thoughts…her thoughts!

She wanted this job and wanted it badly. It was perfect for her and her baby. But could she live with the tension she was feeling now for the whole next year? She supposed, as she tried as unobtrusively as possible to blot her hands on the wool gabardine of her blazer, she would have to.

* * *

DILLON HEARD the tap-tap-tap the moment he walked in the door. He followed the noise to the kitchen. Hayley was on her hands and knees. She had a hammer in one hand, a chisel in the other. She was clad in sapphire blue stretch pants, a matching tank top and a striped man’s shirt, worn open to the waist. High-top white and blue running shoes were laced tightly up over her trim ankles. He stared at her raised bottom and slender thighs incredulously, unwilling to admit to himself what the sight of her, stretched out that way, did to him. She was his housekeeper, he reminded himself firmly. And she had been for the past two incredibly long weeks.

He had no business thinking of her in this way. No business imagining what her thick and wavy honey blond hair, which was caught up in a youthful ponytail on top of her head, would look like if it were down, falling gloriously around her slender shoulders. Or how she would react if he gave in to his baser impulses and knelt down on the floor beside her, took her in his arms and kissed her senseless.

He wasn’t lord of the manor. These weren’t feudal times.

Before he had a chance to speak, a floor tile went sailing past him, into the trash.

“Hi, Dillon,” Hayley said, without missing a beat.

“Where’s Christine?”

“Asleep for the night in her crib.” Hayley pointed to the baby monitor on the counter; it was blissfully silent. Tap-tap-tap. She was already working on the next tile.

Dillon forced his eyes away from her and stared at the exposed cement floor with its gobs of old dried glue. “I thought my house looked like hell before you got started,” he said dryly.

Hayley sat up breathlessly. Her face was flushed, her chest heaving with exertion. “Very funny.”

“What the devil are you doing? Or shouldn’t I ask?” It looked as if she was a one-woman demolition crew, busy tearing the hell out of his kitchen. Not to mention the rest of the house, which looked worse, day by day.

“I’m taking up the tile,” Hayley answered him, exasperated. “What does it look like?”

“If I knew I wouldn’t have asked.”

Hayley wrapped her arms around her bent knees. “It’s easy enough to do.”

Dillon knelt beside her. His gaze roved her mussed hair and bright green eyes. Damn, but she looked beautiful tonight. “Do you have any idea how late it is?”

“Midnight or a little after. Why?” Hayley stripped off her rubber gloves and laid them on a dry patch of floor beside her. She sat with her back against the cabinets, one leg stretched out flat, the other bent at the knee.

“Where’d you learn to do this?”

“One of my uncles was a construction worker whose firm specialized in remodeling jobs. I spent a summer as his apprentice.”

“That’s how you know plumbing, too, I guess.”

“No. I learned plumbing from one of my cousins when I was in high school. His dad was a plumber. The two of us used to assist him on jobs, both for the knowledge—plumbing’s a handy thing to know—and for spending money.”

“I see.” He wished like hell her tank top were cut just a tad higher, so he couldn’t see the shadowy cleft between her breasts. And he wished her matching pants were a tad looser. They hugged her cute body and sensually outlined her long lissome thighs and curvaceous calves.

“I suppose you want dinner,” Hayley guessed.

Dillon leaned against the kitchen counter and told himself it wasn’t her beauty that kept him from firing her on the spot but his faith that she would eventually make some sort of order out of all this chaos, chaos that seemed to get worse every day. “Is there any?” he asked hopefully, aware just how hungry he was, and that there was a disturbing lack of homey cooking smells in the kitchen.

Hayley shrugged. “Not unless you count the leftover broccoli from last night.”

Dillon’s hopes of a hot, hearty meal faded fast. He knew he should have grabbed something from the machines at work. Or ordered in. Now, because he was living in the suburbs where everything closed down much earlier, it was too late.

He climbed over her and headed for the refrigerator. Hayley was not turning out to be much of a housekeeper. She never had any food fixed for him. And though his clothes were usually clean, they were never ironed. “You know I thought the house would be taking shape by now. Instead it just seems to be getting more torn up.”

“All the remodeling getting to you, huh?” She grinned and bounced up off the floor. “Thought so. Well, I’ve got a surprise for you. You’ll never guess what came today!”

“The water heater guy?” he guessed hopefully.

“No, sorry,” she said, her eyes fastening for a moment on the scar that ran from his wrist to his elbow and was visible beneath the rolled-up sleeves of his navy blue shirt. “The plumber can’t get here until tomorrow. But we’re still getting enough hot water to take a shower, so don’t worry.”

Dillon didn’t deny that the excess of cold water had done him some good the past few days. He never should have told her she could dress however she wanted. Of course, how was he to know that she’d look sexy as hell in literally everything she chose to wear? “How long a shower?”

“Five minutes, maybe.”

“And how long before you can take another?”

“Hard to say. At least an hour. Probably a little more. It depends on how hot you like the water.”

Or your women. Now where had that thought come from? Struggling to keep his mind on the conversation, he wiped a bead of perspiration from his upper lip and said, “I’m surprised you’re not more frustrated.” He sure as hell would’ve been. He hadn’t nearly the patience of Hayley, who was more and more beginning to look like a saint. Or even worse in his estimation—a born suburbanite.

“It’s been fun, getting started on the house,” she said with a reassuring smile. “Which brings us back to what I was trying to tell you a few minutes ago. Your furniture from Riyadh arrived today. I had the movers put it in the study.” She started off in that direction and inclined her head, willing him to follow.

Dillon followed her through the formal dining room, into the hall, and then to the study at the rear of the house. He couldn’t believe she had done so much in so little time. Boxes of books had yet to be placed into the built-in shelves on either side of the stone fireplace, but the cherry colored leather sofa and matching armchairs, his desk, lamps, and end tables had been arranged. A Persian rug had been rolled out over the slate gray carpet in the paneled room. The only thing missing was suitable drapes for the windows. He looked around, feeling remarkably content, even if he, a confirmed city dweller, was now living in suburbia. “This is really great,” Dillon said.

“I figured you needed one room in the house where you could relax. Though I eventually intend to tackle this from the bottom up, too.”

Dillon was barely able to stifle a groan. He could only imagine what havoc she’d wreak in here when she got ready.

Briefly her white teeth scraped across her lower lip. “But in the meantime, it’ll stay as is, your haven against the ongoing remodeling in the rest of the house. Is the furniture how you wanted it?”

“Exactly how I wanted it,” Dillon said, marveling once again at her ability to read his mind. But it wouldn’t do to get too cozy with her. He was helping her back on her feet. Doing what he owed Hank, and that was all.

* * *

THREE AFTERNOONS LATER the doorbell rang. Thinking it another delivery man with a slew of boxes for Dillon from Riyadh or some other far-off place, Hayley put down her chisel and hammer and headed for the front door.

“Welcome to the neighborhood!” Two women in tennis outfits held out Tupperware containers.

“We would have dropped by sooner, but we wanted to give you a couple of weeks to get settled. I’m Carol,” a pleasant-looking woman with short brown hair began, warmly shaking Hayley’s hand. “I brought chocolate brownies. And this is Nellie. She brought you her special honey and oatmeal bread.”

“Thank you,” Hayley said, surprised and pleased. She wanted to get to know the other people in the neighborhood. Maybe when she did, there would be other children for Christine to play with. A mother’s club for her to join, a play group for Christine… “This is awfully nice of you.” Although she wanted to invite the women in, she paused uncertainly, not sure how Dillon would feel about her entertaining neighborhood guests.

“Everything is all right over here, isn’t it?” Nellie asked. “I couldn’t help but notice your husband didn’t take the train in this morning with everyone else.”

Hayley wasn’t sure whether she was piqued or amused by Nellie’s nosiness. She just knew her situation was unusual. Would they shun her and Christine if they realized she was really hired help? Or would they continue to treat her in the same warm, welcoming manner?

“Everything’s fine,” Hayley said, forcing herself to put her worries aside and smile politely. “Dillon’s just catching up on his sleep. He had to work most of last night, monitoring a breaking story.”

“Dillon, he would be your husband?” Nellie asked.

“Uh, boss, actually,” Hayley corrected. “I’m his housekeeper.”

“Oh,” Carol said, looking stunned; then she smiled. “That’s wonderful.”

Hayley smiled back, blessing Carol for her open-mindedness.

“And Mrs. Gallagher?” Nellie asked point blank, her smile seeming more nosy than sincere. “Is she here today?”

Hayley took a deep breath. Maybe she was a fool, but until now she hadn’t considered how the other people in the neighborhood would react to her living here with Dillon, without a “Mrs.” on the premises. “There is no Mrs. Gallagher,” she retorted frankly. “Dillon’s not married. And neither am I.”

“I see,” Nellie said heavily.

Hayley doubted that, but she wasn’t in the habit of telling her life story to every stranger she met on the street, and she wasn’t about to start now. Carol, on the other hand, was someone she could see herself becoming quite good friends with. “Well, if you’ll excuse me,” she began politely, “I really do need to get back to work. I’ve got so much to do, getting this place into shape, that I can’t afford to waste my baby’s nap time.”

“We understand,” Carol put in before Nellie could speak. “But before you go, there is one more thing. We’d like to invite you to a barbecue at my home, Saturday evening. It’s a get-together for all the neighbors. It’d be a good chance for you and Dillon to meet everyone. And of course children are welcome so you can bring your baby.”

Hayley wasn’t up on suburban etiquette, but she was fairly certain that most of the residents didn’t bring their hired help to parties. On the other hand she was going to be living here, too, for the next year. And so would Christine. She wanted to make friends with the people in the neighborhood. She hoped Dillon would, too, but even if he didn’t, that wasn’t going to stop her, no more than his distaste for suburbia would stop her from settling here in Connecticut permanently.

“I’ll tell Dillon about the invitation and ask him if he’d like to come,” she promised. “I’ll definitely be there.”

* * *

“I THOUGHT I HEARD the doorbell,” Dillon said several hours later. He strode into the kitchen and paused to probe her eyes.

In a khaki shirt worn open at the throat, faded jeans that fit his lower body like a glove and hiking boots that had definitely seen better days, he looked casual and at ease. His dark brown hair was agreeably tousled, his jaw clean shaven and scented with after-shave. His dark blue eyes were alive with interest.

“You certainly did,” Hayley finally confirmed. She couldn’t believe how good Dillon looked. And on so little sleep…

“What the—” For the first time, Dillon noticed what Hayley had been dealing with for several hours. He stared at the confections, casseroles, salads and breads that lined the kitchen counters and covered the breakfast nook table. “Where did all this come from?” he asked, amazed.

Hayley straightened and shut the refrigerator door. She leaned back against it. “Would you believe almost half of our, uh, neighbors stopped by to say hello?”

Dillon quirked a dark, disbelieving brow. “All at once?”

Hayley tossed him a wry smile. “It seems they noticed you didn’t take the train in to New York this morning. It also seems that they’re drowning in curiosity about us.”

Dillon pulled up a kitchen chair, turned it around backward and slid into it, folding his arms over the back. His eyes glimmered with suppressed amusement. “What’d you tell them?”

“Not nearly as much as they’d like.” Hayley grinned back impudently.

“Bet they’re frustrated as hell,” Dillon predicted.

“And running out of Tupperware containers,” Hayley said, trying hard not to notice how rock hard his thighs looked beneath the soft, much-washed fabric of his jeans as he straddled the chair. She forced her gaze back to the rugged contours of his face. “There’s more. One of the women, Carol, and her husband, Hal, are throwing a barbecue Saturday night. They’ve invited all three of us. I’ve already promised to attend with Christine. You’re welcome to go over with us. But if you’d rather go alone,” she went on hurriedly, “you know, arrive separately, I understand.”

Dillon almost choked. “Are you kidding? I’d sooner have my teeth drilled than attend some suburban get-to-know-you bash.”

Hayley had half suspected he might react that way.

“Never mind about going it alone,” Dillon muttered. “No, if we’re going, and we probably should for the sake of neighborhood harmony, we’re going together.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, thinking maybe it would seem too much like a date. She was already fantasizing about him as it was and about what it would be like to live here permanently. “It might seem a little odd to people for you to take your housekeeper and her child along to a party,” she managed.

He quirked a brow.

“I mean, wouldn’t it cramp your style if…we were together?”

Dillon grinned. “First of all, I doubt there’s anyone I want to date at this party. Second, nothing cramps my style, I assure you. If I want to go after a woman, I go after her all the way. I don’t care who’s watching. Third, you’re not getting out of this. It’s just as important for you to meet everyone out here as it is for me. After all, you’re probably going to be around more. And you never know when you’ll need a helping hand.”

True, Hayley thought.

“Or want to be available to lend one to someone else,” Dillon continued. He tested one of Carol’s frosted walnut brownies. “And even if it is dull, it can’t last all that long. Besides—” he grinned at Christine, who was in her high chair “—we can always use your little darling as an excuse to leave early.”

Chapter Three

“Tell the truth, Dillon. Hayley’s not really your housekeeper, is she?” Bob asked, casting a lustful glance in Hayley’s direction. “You guys are shacking up together. Aren’t you?”

Dillon sampled a Mexican meatball and decided to play dumb. “You mean living under the same roof?” he asked, wondering for the thousandth time why he’d come to the backyard social. Not that he minded the company or the food; he just wasn’t used to having the details of his private life open to public discussion. Hayley had been right. They were the talk of the entire neighborhood.

“I mean making whoopee,” Bob corrected. “You know. The ultimate act.”

Dillon wondered if he could be convicted for his thoughts. In his thoughts he and Hayley had made love plenty of times.

Hal left the grill to join the group of men sampling the array of hors d’oeuvres. “What’s the powwow about, guys?”

“We were just talking about Dillon’s housekeeper,” Bob confided with a look behind him to make sure none of the women—most of whom were busy in Carol’s kitchen—was within earshot. “I personally find it hard to believe that Hayley is just Dillon’s housekeeper.”

“What gives you guys the idea I’d want a live-in mistress?” Dillon challenged them all casually. He’d always shied away from that. Too many complications. Too much potential for domestic hassles, none of which he found attractive.

“Come on!” Bob said. “A gorgeous woman like that! Who wouldn’t want to go to bed with her!”

True, Dillon thought. Hayley was a constant temptation. Everything she wore, everything she did or said, no matter how subtle or ordinary, prompted endless yearning and fantasizing on his part.

“Sounds like she’s angling for more than a housekeeping job to me,” Bob remarked, helping himself to another beer from the washtub full of ice. “Sounds like she’s auditioning for a position as your wife.”

Chuck grinned at Bob. “You only wish your wife looked like that. Who cares if she doesn’t cook?”

“Dillon sure doesn’t!” All the guys laughed.

Turning back to Dillon, Bob remarked, “Sorry if I’ve been ribbing you. I guess I’m just envious of the setup you’ve got. A gorgeous young woman to take care of you and see to your every need without the complications of marriage.”

The only problem was, Dillon thought, she wasn’t seeing to his every need. Even if she was fueling his every fantasy.

“What you’ve got going for you, Dillon,” Bob continued, “is every guy’s fantasy.”

“Yeah, I’ve got it made all right,” Dillon said. He had no outlet for his passion. And yet he knew instinctively, even if Hayley didn’t, how great it would be if the two of them ever did get together.

“Not necessarily,” Hal disagreed. “I mean, she could fall in love with somebody else and pack up and leave Dillon at any time, so there’s no security in that.”

“True,” Chuck agreed.

The idea of Hayley packing up and walking out on him made Dillon’s throat burn more than the cayenne pepper in the Mexican meatballs. “I don’t think so,” Dillon disagreed shortly.

Everyone turned to look at him. He shifted uncomfortably. “She was really in love with Hank,” he defended her objectively. “I don’t think she’s looking to replace him with anyone else.”

“Maybe not,” Hal sighed. “But face it. Guys are going to be hitting on her night and day, once word gets out that she’s single and you’re not making any permanent claim on her. The only reason the single guys in the community haven’t already approached her is everyone thought—well, it looked like—we just assumed the two of you were married or at least—”

“Cohabitating,” Chuck supplied tactfully.

Dillon sent his brother-in-law a dark look.

Chuck shrugged. “Sorry, Dillon. You know I don’t mean anything by it but the guys are right. Hayley is gorgeous and you’ve got a heck of a reputation as a ladies’ man. Of course, now everyone knows you’ve got no intention of marrying her, the guys are going to be lining up at your door, trying to get her to go out with them.”

Just the thought of Hayley going out with someone else made Dillon’s gut tighten. “Wait a minute,” he interrupted. “I never said she was up for grabs.”

“Aha! I told you guys! They are—”

“What I mean is, she’s got a lot left to do on the house,” Dillon managed. A whole year’s worth. And in a whole year, who knew what might happen between them? “Decorating, unpacking, overseeing repairs.”

“Yeah, Nellie told me she’d torn holy hell out of that house,” Bob sympathized.

And she had yet to begin to put it back together again, Dillon thought. Except for his den and both their bedrooms, the place was a wreck.

“Even so, she must have some time off,” Hal said.

“Why not fix her up if you’re not interested?” Chuck asked. “A woman that nice shouldn’t be alone.”

Dillon turned to his brother-in-law and stifled the urge to shoot him. “You’re a big help, Chuck,” he said dryly. “And the reason I’m not fixing her up is ’cause she’s still vulnerable.”

“She doesn’t look that vulnerable to me. In fact, she doesn’t seem to be grieving much at all,” Hal said thoughtfully.

“Why should she be, when she’s got Dillon to keep her warm nights?” Bob joked.

The backyard echoed with raucous male laughter.

“Admit it, Dillon,” Bob continued, slapping him on the back, “you’ve got it made in the shade!”

* * *

“HOW COULD YOU have done that to me?” Hayley demanded, the moment they’d returned to the house and she’d put Christine to bed.

Baffled by her obvious pique with him, Dillon followed her down the upstairs hall to her bedroom. “Done what?”

Hayley planted both hands on her hips and whirled to face him. “Marge’s husband told her verbatim what you men were laughing and talking about with such hilarity just before dinner.”

Dillon uttered a string of swear words as he recalled all the bad jokes that had been made. Worse, he’d reveled in the fact he was the envy of every man there. “I don’t get it,” he said to no one in particular. “Why would she do something like that?”

“Why would she do something like that? What about you? Besides, she wanted to know what everyone else there wanted to know!” Bright spots of color appeared in Hayley’s cheeks.

“Which is?”

“If we’re sleeping together!”

Dillon watched as Hayley hauled a suitcase off the shelf in her closet, marched to the bed and flung it open. “I told the guys we weren’t,” he said flatly.

“With a glint in your eye and a smile on your face!”

“So sue me for laughing at those guys! It was funny!” Dillon defended himself hotly. Hayley knew how conventional the residents of this suburban Connecticut community were. Hell, he had even joked about it before they went to the party.

“Well, I’m not laughing,” she informed him between tightly gritted teeth. Hayley stalked to her dresser drawer and pulled out a handful of some of the most filmy, lacy lingerie Dillon had ever seen in his life. Shoulders back, she flung her hair out of her face.

Dillon bit down on a string of curse words. It was too late to take back all the kidding around that he’d done. The most he could do was manage a save. And, judging from the thundercloud looks she was giving him, that looked like it was going to be one hell of a task. “Hayley, come on,” he coaxed softly, stepping as near to her bed as he dared. “Be reasonable here. I said I’m sorry.”

She whirled on him. For a moment he thought she was going to try to deck him. Instead she planted her balled-up fists on her slender hips. “Sorry doesn’t cut it here, Dillon. We had one chance to be accepted in this neighborhood. One. And you blew it with your macho antics.” She’d hoped, foolishly it now seemed, they could be friends. Even more than friends.

But she’d been wrong. Otherwise Dillon never would’ve joked with the other men about her. Worse, he had blown her chance to be really accepted by the women in the community. She didn’t want to lose her dream, especially when it had all seemed just within her grasp. But she would if this was the way Dillon intended to act, and apparently he did.

Dillon sobered. He ran a hand across his jaw and realized that although he’d used a razor before the party, he needed another shave. “I’ll set them all straight,” he promised. He didn’t want to lose Hayley. Didn’t want her to bail out on him before he’d had a chance to somehow do right by Hank and see that his widow and infant child were not just surviving all right, but were well situated for their future. Not to mention the fact that for the first time in his life he looked forward to coming home at night.

“It doesn’t matter what you say now, Dillon. They won’t believe you. After what you intimated tonight, the only way our relationship could be legitimized in their eyes is if we were to admit everyone else was right about us all along and marry.”

“So marry me,” he said.

Her eyes were liquid pools of pure dark green. “That isn’t funny, either,” she said.

Dillon felt even more guilty. He’d never meant to hurt her. “Who’s being funny?” he said softly, trying once again to approach her, his hands outstretched. “I don’t want you to leave.” Damn it, he liked having her here, even if she did turn his house and his life upside down.

She elbowed him aside and strode militantly toward her closet again. “Well, isn’t that just too bad!” She pulled out a handful of negligees, hangers and all. Dillon was disconcerted to see those were even sexier than her undergarments.

His mouth dry, he paced toward her beseechingly, then followed her back toward her suitcase. This was no time to be thinking about what a great body she had or how incredibly enticing she’d look in those filmy garments. “You can’t leave me with this mess.”

She folded the negligees and placed them neatly in her suitcase. “Just watch me.”

Dillon tore his eyes from a lace gown and thought about all the tiles she had ripped up, the light fixtures she’d torn out, the cabinets that had been sanded to bare wood. “I’ll never be able to finish.”

“So what?” Was she supposed to care about that? When she had just lost the one and only chance she’d ever had to live her dream, even for a little while?

“So there goes your share of the profits,” Dillon pointed out smugly. Her face fell. But only for a minute.

“So I’ll come in days while you’re gone and finish,” she shot back triumphantly.

Dillon crossed his arms over his chest. He stood, legs braced apart. He hadn’t expected her to be so damn stubborn. “And live where in the meantime?” he asked. Because he knew it would irritate her, he let his eyes trail slowly over her honey blond hair before returning with laser accuracy to her thick-lashed green eyes. “You already sublet your apartment in the city, remember?”

Hayley’s chin shot up another notch. “You think I’m backed into a corner financially, do you?”

Dillon smiled and twisted the knife in a little deeper. She wasn’t the only one who could threaten with impending disaster. “You know you are, sweetheart.”

“You did this on purpose.”

“Yeah, sure I did,” he agreed. “I went to that party tonight determined to start a fight with you that would force you to leave my employ. I want my house to look like a nuclear disaster. I want to lose my entire life savings over this.”

“Well, maybe you didn’t want it, but you sure got us into this mess, and now we’re stuck with it,” she said, looking equally distressed with herself and with him.

Her chest rose and fell with each furious breath. Color flooded her cheeks. Her eyes glittered. Her sensual lips pursed. She had never looked more beautiful to Dillon, or more inaccessible. He had never wanted to kiss her more. Suddenly he knew he couldn’t let her go. Not like this, anyway. Unfortunately she was right; there was only one way she could stay and retain any shred of reputation there.

But damn it all, he didn’t want to get married. Didn’t want to fall into some dull domestic trap. On the other hand, who said they had to do things the usual way? God knew they hadn’t so far. “Look, Hayley,” he said impatiently. “You know what the solution to this is. We have to—” he choked out the words in a strangled voice “—get married. But don’t worry,” he soothed. “It’ll be purely a business arrangement.”

“You really are an egotistical jerk, aren’t you?” Hayley tossed her mane of golden hair and sent him a withering look. “For your information, Dillon Gallagher, I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man on earth.”

She meant it. Desperate not to be left alone to deal with the rubble the interior of his house was in, he searched for a way to keep her. He had already offered her ten percent of the sale profits. “Okay, okay,” he said frantically, as she closed the first suitcase and glided regally to the closet to pull out another. “I’ll up the ante. I’ll give you thirty percent of the profits from the sale.” Surely, he thought confidently, she couldn’t turn that down! Not when he desperately needed her to stay.

She stared at him with a hauteur that would have turned a lesser man to ice. He knew then she’d stop at nothing to make him pay for what he’d done to her. “Fifty percent of the profits,” she demanded in a cool, calculated tone, “and you’ve got a deal.” Her soft pink lips formed in a brittle smile. “One penny less and I walk!”

“That’s highway robbery!” Dillon exclaimed.

“You’re catching on,” she said.

Dillon’s jaw set. “That’s way too much money!” he volleyed back.

She lifted her delicate shoulders in a careless shrug. “Considering all you’ve asked me to do here, Dillon, I don’t think so. Besides,” her voice turned practical again, “we’ll easily get double the money you paid for the place when I’m done with it, if we bide our time during the sale and pick the right realtor. Marge was right, you got this place at a steal.”

Dillon was silent. “All right,” he said finally. “Because you’ve already ripped the house to shreds and I’d lose more money if I had to hire someone else at this point, I’ll—” He choked. For a moment he was unable to go on. “I’ll give you fifty percent,” he finished irritably.

Hayley’s face lit up. “Great.” She turned away from him and methodically opened up the second suitcase she’d laid across the bed. “I’m still moving out first thing tomorrow, but I’ll—”

“Moving where?” He was vaguely aware he was beginning to panic all over again. His insides twisted into a pretzellike knot.

“I don’t know.” Hayley made another beeline for the dresser. This time she returned with a stack of workout clothes and leotards. She placed them neatly in one corner of the suitcase, then pivoted back for another handful. “Your sister Marge and I get along well. Perhaps she’ll let Christine and me stay there temporarily and pay rent. Her kids are off at college and she has extra space.”

Being humiliated in the neighborhood, by having Hayley walk out on him, was one thing. Having his sister not only in on the mess he’d made, but cleaning up after him, was quite another. “You can’t do that,” he said. By God, if she was going to get fifty percent of the profits from the house out of this, then he was going to get something out of it, too. He wanted their budding friendship back.

“After what you did to me tonight, I have no choice.”

“I told you. I’ll straighten it out.”

She sent him an exasperated look. “I only wish it were that simple, Dillon, but you know as well as I that once a woman is considered involved with a man that’s a hard assumption to shake off, particularly in a conservative neighborhood like this. I have Christine to consider. I want to reside in Connecticut permanently. I don’t want this assumption about us coming back to haunt me years from now. I have an example to set for Christine.”

“Don’t you think you’re overreacting a bit?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. I only know I’m upset by this. If I’m upset by gossip, I expect she will be, too.”

“Then I’ll marry you,” he repeated sternly.

Hayley scowled at him. “I told you before I didn’t think that was funny.”

Dillon slid his hands into his back pockets. He just didn’t want her to leave. “Who’s joking?” Dillon asked calmly.

“Dillon—”

“We could make it work, Hayley. Just until you finish the house and we sell it, you understand. Then we’ll get an annulment. In the meantime, we could go on as we have been.” It made perfect sense.

“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?”

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