She quickly scanned the dimly lit room. It was early yet and there were only a few customers. There was no sign of a familiar man in a designer suit, looking as if he’d just stepped out of the pages of some elite men’s magazine. Her gaze slid to the table where she’d been sitting when they met. It was available. She asked the hostess if she could be seated there.
Once she was sitting down, she realized that her hands were trembling. She hadn’t been this nervous on her very first date. She’d never been this afraid of being stood up. She ordered a glass of white wine and the shrimp, the same meal she’d had a year earlier. For luck, she told herself.
“More coffee?” The seductive masculine voice sent a jolt of pure electricity sizzling down her spine.
“I’m not drinking coffee,” she said in a voice that went breathless in midsentence. She looked up into serious brown eyes that studied her with relentless intensity.
“You came,” she said softly, fighting to hide the sigh of relief that whispered through her.
Dillon’s smile seemed to hold a similar measure of satisfaction. “So did you.”
“I didn’t think you’d remember,” they said together, then laughed. The laughter broke the tension and made Catherine delightfully aware that she’d never wanted to be anyplace more than where she was right now with this handsome, kind man regarding her with such obvious warmth.
“You look wonderful,” he said as he sat down, his appreciation evident in eyes that caressed, paying loving attention to every detail from head to toe. Catherine’s skin burned under the intense scrutiny. “I’m sorry I’m late.”
“You’re not. I mean we really didn’t set a time exactly. I wasn’t even sure if you’d bother to come all this way for a dinner. Or did you get that account down here? Do you come often now?” She had to bite her tongue to stop the nervous rattling off of questions.
“Yes, I got the account and I do come down occasionally. I made it a point to be here tonight. I was hoping that you’d remember, that you’d want to see me again. I can’t tell you how many times in the last year I’ve regretted not getting your last name, not being able to call you to see how you were doing.”
She regarded him curiously. “I’ve felt the same way,” she admitted with unfamiliar boldness. “Why didn’t you ask for the phone number?”
His expression turned thoughtful. “I suppose it was because we were both at a low point in our lives that night. We were both reaching out for something that, amazingly enough, we each had to offer, but that’s a dangerous time to start something. For once in my life I listened to my conscience, instead of rushing into something. I knew in my gut that we needed time to sort out our lives. I took a risk and turned things over to fate.”
This once, then, the Fates had proved kind. Generous, in fact. She propped her chin in her hand and asked, “And did you sort out your life?”
“As best I could. The divorce is final. I’m working on building a better relationship with my children. Ironically, I seem to spend more time with them now than I did when I was married, maybe because I make the time. I’ve stopped taking them for granted.”
“Ah, yes, one of life’s greatest sins, taking those we love for granted.”
“What about you? Have you sorted things out?”
“I’ve survived. I’m learning to rely on myself. I’m building an identity that’s separate from being Dr. Matthew Devlin’s wife. I don’t have it entirely together yet, but I’m trying.”
“Is there a man helping you to find your way?” he asked. Catherine thought she heard a note of caution in his voice, an unexpected tentativeness.
“No,” she said adamantly, drawing a broad smile. “This time I thought it wise to find my own way, to discover who I really am and then see if a man fits into that picture, instead of the other way around.”
“See,” he teased, “it is possible to learn from our mistakes.”
Catherine found herself smiling back at him. She was slowly relaxing, falling under the magical spell of his interest all over again, wanting to share things with him that she’d never shared with anyone, not even Beth. “It seems to me we’ve both paid quite a price to learn that lesson.”
“Ah, but we’re much better people now. Think how good we’ll be to each other.”
The low, seductive taunt set off a fire in her belly. She wanted to look away, but his gaze held her, demanded that she acknowledge the desire that was building so quickly between them, a longing so intense that it made her weak. He took her hand in his, rubbing her knuckles with the pad of his thumb.
“I can’t believe how I’ve missed you,” he said softly. “How is it possible that two people could connect so easily after one brief meeting?”
“Are you certain it’s not just wishful thinking?” she asked shakily, clinging to reality even as it seemed to be falling away, leaving her senses raw and vulnerable.
“I’m not certain of anything, but I do know that if you hadn’t been here tonight, I would have moved heaven and earth to find you. I would have come after you sooner, but I forced myself to keep my word, to wait a year. Even so, there wasn’t a trip to Savannah that I didn’t stop by here hoping to catch a glimpse of you again, not a moment that I didn’t look at every tall, dark beauty to see if she might be you. There were so many things I wanted to talk over with you, so many times I’ve wondered what you’d think about an ad campaign I was creating or a play I was seeing or a book I was reading.”
“But why?” she asked, bemused by the passionate declaration. “Why would you want the opinion of someone you barely knew?”
He shrugged ruefully. “I wish I understood that. I know all about the psychology of advertising, all about titillating the public, but I don’t understand what’s going on between us. There was just something about that night, an overwhelming intuition. I knew at once that you and I were on the same wavelength, that what we had was too special to lose. You must have felt it, too, or you wouldn’t be here now.”
Catherine was shaken by how closely his feelings matched hers. “I suppose I did,” she admitted finally. “Beth—she’s a neighbor I’ve grown close to this last year—says I’m still quoting you after all this time.” She flushed. “I probably shouldn’t tell you that.”
“Why not? I just told you how I felt.”
“But women are supposed to be coy. Don’t you know that in the South at least it’s something we’re trained to do from the cradle on? My mother would be horrified if she knew I was giving away my feelings like this. Frankly, I’m a little surprised at myself.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve always been so cool and reserved, not just coy, mind you, but private. For some reason I open up with you.”
“Because you know I’d never hurt you.”
She stared at him and thought about his statement. It could have been nothing more than glib charm, but she believed it was true. She knew in her heart that Dillon would do anything in his power to keep from hurting her, that he was a gentle, compassionate man. And she was responding to that knowledge like a flower opening to sunshine.
That didn’t mean the feelings didn’t confuse her. “How do I know that?” she wondered.
“You have superb instincts,” he suggested lightly.
“I chose Matthew,” she reminded him.
“Maybe it’s my honest face, then.”
“You have the face of a heartbreaker.”
“Then maybe it’s magic.”
“Or illusion.”
“Cynic.”
“Realist,” she countered, laughing at his crestfallen expression.
“We are going to have a wonderful time finding out, though, aren’t we, Catherine?”
“Yes,” she said quietly, folding her fingers around his. “Yes, I think we are.”
* * *
For the first time in years, something other than work was on Dillon’s mind the instant he woke up. Catherine! The memory of the trusting way she’d looked at him last n
ight, the delight that had come over her fragile features when he’d appeared at her table, the yearning he’d recognized when he’d left her at the door of her hotel room at 1:00 a.m. with one sweet, lingering kiss. He’d wanted so much more, but he’d sworn to move slowly with her, to take the time to treasure these rare new feelings that were bursting within him. Restraint was far from a habit for him and he was just now discovering it was the pits. His whole body ached from the effort.
Though his actions had been restrained, he hadn’t minced words. He’d told her the absolute truth. Not a day had gone by in the past year, when she hadn’t crossed his mind, when he hadn’t recalled her combination of sophisticated looks and gentle vulnerability. He’d wanted to explore her quick intelligence just as much as he’d wanted to savor her incredible body. The fact that he’d given her mind precedence over her sensuality told him exactly how far-gone he was. From the very first, he’d known that she was going to be someone important in his life, someone to respect and cherish, not use and discard. Thank heavens for once he’d listened to his conscience.
Right now, though, he was damning it. He was lying in bed, aching with the need to touch her. Aching was the operative word, too. It was not the first time that thoughts of Catherine had driven him into an icy shower. This morning though, he would be seeing her again, albeit far too briefly. He had a noon flight back to New York to make a three o’clock meeting that couldn’t be postponed. He’d had to rearrange half a dozen appointments to get here at all, but it would have taken a collapse of the airline industry and the force of a hurricane to keep him away from Savannah last night. He’d spent three hundred and sixty-five days dreaming of holding her in his arms again.
He reached over, picked up the phone and dialed her room. “Wake up, sleepyhead,” he said cheerfully.
“It’s early,” she murmured in a whispery voice that set his blood on fire all over again.
“We only have a few hours. Let’s not waste them. Breakfast in twenty minutes. I’ll pick you up.”
“An hour,” she bargained.
“Thirty minutes and not a second more.” He hung up on her protest.
She met him at the door of her room, still barefooted and with her long, dark hair curling damply about her perfect, just-scrubbed face. If anything, she was even more beautiful without makeup. She smelled of soap and lavender. If he’d recognized the product he would have offered to write an entire ad campaign for free. The scent was heady, deliciously provocative, yet innocent of artifice.
“You’re early,” she accused.
“I’m right on time.”
“I’m not ready.”
“You look beautiful.”
“I look wet.”
He brushed a damp tendril back from her face and watched the heat flare in her blue eyes. “Beautiful,” he said huskily, claiming her lips. They were morning soft and mint-scented moist. He wanted to taste them for hours, to discover the shape and texture at every stage of arousal. He let her go on a ragged moan. It took all of his strength to resist the urge to demand more, to release her when he felt her body molding itself to his.
“You’re dangerous, lady.”
Surprised pleasure registered on her face. “Me?”
“Yes, you. Have you no idea how tempting you are?”
“No.”
The honest admission made his heart flip over. What a glorious feeling it would be to show this woman exactly how desirable she was, to tap her passions in a way he suspected her ex-husband had ignored. Not now, he warned himself. As badly as he wanted her, as convinced as he was that she wanted him, he wasn’t going to rush her and scare her to death. She might enjoy their passion, she might come to life under his touches, but she wouldn’t thank him for it. She reminded him of an orchid, hothouse sultry, but fragile.
“Hurry,” he said, sending her off to dry her hair. “I’m a hungry man.”
A short time later, Catherine picked daintily at her breakfast of dry toast and half a grapefruit, while he wolfed down eggs, bacon, grits and toast, then wondered about the blueberry muffins.
“Surely not,” she said, her eyes widening incredulously.
“Just one. You can share it with me.”
He placed the order and when the huge muffin came, he broke off bits, buttered them and fed them to her. He talked of his meeting in New York, keeping her attention diverted from the food she was accepting. She’d finished the whole muffin before she realized that he hadn’t had a single bite. “You tricked me,” she said.
“How did I do that?” he asked innocently.
“You didn’t want that muffin at all.”
“But you obviously did.”
She studied him with apparent astonishment. “How did you know?”
His expression sobered as he took her hand, slowly licking the last crumbs of muffin from her fingertips. The pulse that beat in her neck leaped at his touch. “I know everything about you.”
“Oh?”
“Well, maybe not everything, but what I don’t know now, I will soon.”
“Soon?”
“I’ve been thinking.”
“Why do I think that’s a dangerous precedent?”
He scowled at her. “Memorial Day is coming up. Could you get away and meet me here again? We’d have the whole weekend then to explore the area, to get to know each other.”
She hesitated and his heart seemed to stand still. “Maybe we’re trying to turn this into something it isn’t,” she responded cautiously.
“And maybe we’re not. How will we know unless we explore the possibilities? Are you willing to walk away again without trying?”
“No,” she said finally, then lifted her gaze to collide with his. Her chin rose almost imperceptibly. “No, I’m not.”
Dillon grinned. “One week from tomorrow then. Same time. Same place.”
She nodded slowly. “Same time. Same place.”
CHAPTER TWO
Memorial Day Weekend
Dillon’s plane was late. An impatient man under the best of circumstances, today he was infuriated by the delay. He paced. He cursed the airline. He cursed the cluttered skies over New York. He cursed himself for having sold his private jet. And while he was at it, he cursed Catherine for so quickly becoming an obsession. From that very first meeting he’d known that she was capable of driving him mad with longing. Still, he hadn’t been able to resist her.
In fact, had it not been for Catherine, he’d never have made the rash decision to take the Savannah account in the first place. Every finely honed business instinct had told him to turn it down. White Stone Electronics was a small company and though the potential was great, it could be years before the account became really profitable for him. Yet, during those brief hours he’d spent with Catherine, he’d known he was going to accept, known he was going to grab the excuse to return to the city where they’d met, to cling to the one link between them.
Oddly, the small account had become the most satisfying he’d handled in years. Most of the Fortune 500 firms with which he worked didn’t really need his help. They wanted catchy ads to maintain an already high profile or a public service program to enhance an already established image. This company had no national reputation, except among a few discerning clients. It needed everything, and the results, the sudden spurts of growth that had followed the first ads had been gratifying in ways he’d almost forgotten.
Even so, even though he’d proven that his faith in the company was justified, no one in the New York headquarters of his agency could understand his continued involvement, much less the all-too-frequent trips to Savannah. After the first few years in business, his role had been to land the most illustrious new accounts, set the direction of campaigns and keep the major clients happy. As a result, it had been years since he’d experienced the satisfaction of seeing one of his own creations move from conception to television screens or the pages of a slick magazine. In the past few months he’d found himself reliving the gut-level kick of he
aring people on the subway or in the supermarket talk about one of his commercials.
For the past few months, he’d found himself increasingly anxious to get back to Savannah where his creative juices flowed more freely than ever before. Today, though, his impatience was caused by something else entirely.
Catherine.
Since he’d left her this last time, he hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind. If the memories had tantalized him during that long year apart, the past week or so had been sheer torture. She was in his blood, heating it in a way that no woman had in years. With her pale-as-cream complexion, those huge vulnerable blue eyes and that regal aura of self-containment that taunted a man, she was a delightful challenge. He’d said it all when he’d told her she had class. To a kid from his poor background, a man who’d struggled for every single success that had dragged him from a lousy neighborhood to the Upper East Side, she represented the unattainable, the sort of woman to be put on a pedestal. She was a dream for him, but she was also flesh-and-blood real.
A dozen times he’d picked up the phone to call, but held back. Sensing her skittishness, he hadn’t wanted to pressure her. Or maybe he’d simply panicked, fearing the rapid deepening of his own involvement. Suddenly, after discovering that her hold over his senses hadn’t diminished, maybe he was running scared, maybe that—not sheer lust—explained the way his pulse quickened at the thought of her. However strong the fear though, he hadn’t been even remotely tempted not to fly down to meet her tonight. If the plane didn’t take off in the next ten minutes, he was going to change airlines, charter a jet, whatever it took to get him there.
Two hours later, when he finally walked off the plane and saw her waiting for him, his heart caught, then hammered. Hanging back for just an instant, he saw her anxious eyes scanning the arriving passengers. As the exodus dwindled down, her high brow furrowed in a slight frown. Unable to hide in the shadows a moment longer, Dillon began striding toward her. When she caught sight of him, the worried frown vanished, replaced by a dazzling, heart-stopping smile of welcome. The warmth in her eyes, the childlike spark of anticipation set his blood on fire all over again. He was hooked all right. No man could inspire a look like that without feeling a fierce swell of possessiveness, a sudden yearning for the sort of passion that was all-too-elusive in life. Matthew Devlin must have been a first-class fool to let her get away.
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