Next Time...Forever

by Sherryl Woods

  The phone rang as she was contemplating the irony. Her heart skipped a beat. Only Dillon had this number.

  “Yes,” she answered shakily.

  “It’s Dillon.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Someplace over Virginia, I think. There’s a phone on the plane. I called to say I’m sorry.”

  “No, I’m the one who’s sorry. I shouldn’t have added to your stress.”

  “And I shouldn’t have shut you out. Want to try this again in a couple of weeks and see if we can get it right?”

  Catherine felt a wave of relief sigh through her. The familiar pins-and-needles excitement began again. “Absolutely.”

  “I’m glad. I’ll call you again when I get home.”

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  Forever, she thought as she hung up. If that’s what it took for them to make a life together, she would wait forever.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Oktoberfest

  It was nearly midnight by the time Dillon finally called Catherine back. She was still sitting up in bed, half-asleep, trying not to worry and already beset by loneliness.

  “Sorry to call so late,” he murmured in the familiar low tone that sent her pulse racing. “Were you asleep?”

  “Almost.” She curled up and held the phone tighter, as if that would bring him closer.

  “What happened? There wasn’t a problem with the plane, was there?”

  “No, nothing like that. I stopped by the office. My assistant was there trying to resolve a crisis. Before I knew it the night was shot.”

  Catherine felt a chill creep through her at his words. So much for good intentions. She sat up just a little straighter. “Are you home now?”

  “Yes. I just got here. I wish I were still there with you, though. I miss you already. I wish I’d had one last kiss to think about, instead of all those harsh words.”

  “Me, too,” she said in a voice thick with regret. “Any idea when you can come back?”

  “Actually, I did have one idea. I was reading an article in the in-flight magazine about Oktoberfest in Savannah. It’s one of those first Saturday things they do down on the waterfront. We could drink beer and eat sausages and maybe dance a polka or two. How about it?”

  She could tell he was trying to make amends, trying to prove to her that the next visit would be different, that they would have more time together. No matter how many doubts she had that he could change, she owed the relationship that chance. “Oktoberfest in Savannah, huh? It may not be Munich, but it sounds like fun. I’m up for it, if you are.”

  “I wish I could get back there sooner, but the way my calendar looks, it’s not likely.” His voice dropped seductively. “Will you keep my spot warm?”

  “Absolutely,” she said, rubbing her hand across the pillow that was still fragrant with the scent of him.

  “Good night, sweetheart. I’ll dream about you.”

  “I’ll dream about you, too,” she said softly. And count the days until Oktoberfest, she thought as she finally turned out the light and pulled his pillow into her arms.

  As it turned out, the days flew by for once. Her classes began and were far more demanding and twice as exciting as she’d anticipated. She spent long hours after class talking with her fellow students and her professors. Dillon had been right. They did tend to look at her as a natural leader because of her experience. She basked in the mental stimulation. It was like being exposed to sunshine after a long, dreary winter. She had to force herself to go back to Atlanta on the weekends and face her mother’s frowning disapproval. Her father made the trips bearable. Though he seemed somewhat bemused by her decision, he quietly gave her his support.

  “You finish that program and we’ll start looking around Atlanta for a worthwhile project,” he said, ignoring his wife’s scowl. “Maybe it’s time I gave something back to this city by saving one of those fancy old buildings.”

  Pleased, Catherine threw her arms around him. “Dad, thank you for understanding.”

  “It’s good to see you find your own purpose in life,” he said, amazing her with his perceptiveness. “What about that young man your mother tells me you’ve been hiding from us? How does he feel about this?”

  “He’s the one who urged me to go back to school. I think he’s really happy for me. We talk every day and he’s coming down from New York next weekend.”

  Her mother looked up at that and her frown of displeasure grew. “We’ll finally meet him, then?”

  Catherine winced at having opened up an all-too-familiar can of worms. “Not really. He’s coming to Savannah. We thought we’d go to Oktoberfest.”

  “Catherine!”

  “What?” she said, her expression deliberately blank, though she knew exactly why her mother had reacted the way she had.

  “That’s so common.”

  “Mother, really,” she said, unable to prevent a laugh. “It should be fun. Maybe you and Dad should drive down.”

  Her mother looked horrified, but there was a glint of amusement in her father’s eyes as he said, “What about it, Lucinda? As I recall, there was a time when we could do a pretty mean polka.”

  Her mother flushed prettily. “If you think I’m going to swill beer and dance in the streets at my age, you have another think coming, Rawley Devereaux. Besides, we have theater tickets next weekend. We couldn’t possibly go to Savannah.”

  Catherine sighed. “Maybe next time then. I really do want you to come down and see my apartment.”

  “It is hardly your apartment,” her mother objected. “It belongs to some landlord. I really don’t see why you insist on living like some transient.”

  “Would you rather I had bought a house in Savannah?”

  “Of course not. You have a perfectly good house here in Atlanta.”

  “I can hardly commute from Atlanta to Savannah on a daily basis.”

  “You don’t need to commute at all.”

  Catherine turned to her father and gave a helpless shrug.

  “Don’t mind her,” her father said. “She hates having her chicks leave the nest.”

  Catherine regarded him and then her mother in astonishment. “But I left the nest when I married Matthew.”

  Her father grinned and patted her mother’s hand consolingly. “Ah, but she thought you might come back after the divorce.”

  “I did not,” her mother denied hotly, but the pink tint in her cheeks said otherwise. “I know perfectly well that Catherine is a grown woman now and has every right to make her own decisions. If she wants to live in somebody’s garage, I suppose that’s her business.”

  “I’ll remind you of that, Mother.”

  To her amazement, there was a twinkle in her mother’s eyes as she said mildly, “Yes, dear. I’m sure you will.”

  * * *

  At the airport on Friday, Catherine studied Dillon’s expression and determined that he looked decidedly guilty. She regarded his luggage suspiciously, then poked at his briefcase. “How much work is hidden in there?”

  “Hardly anything,” he vowed, though he didn’t quite meet her gaze.

  She gestured toward the carry-on suitcase. “And in there?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Then why do I get the feeling that this weekend is going to be very much like the last one we spent here together?”

  “Because, unfortunately, you are a very intuitive woman.”

  “Oh, Dillon.”

  “It’s not so much the paperwork this time,” he said, his attitude so determinedly cheerful that Catherine’s fears mounted.

  “What then?”

  “Ruben.”

  Her stomach plummeted. “Pruneface?”

  “Prunelli. He has a big public appearance coming up and he needs my assistance to prepare himself for it. He’s getting an award for his contribution to the trend bringing back family pictures.”

  “Who on earth’s giving it to him?”

  “Catherine, he has made a contribution. There wer
e three pictures in a row that no one else would take a chance on. Everyone thought the market for G-rated pictures was too soft. He turned them into box-office blockbusters.”

  “Okay, I won’t try to take that away from him, but what about Ninja Chaos or whatever it is that came out last week? Now there is a really high-class piece of filmmaking. At least fourteen people had been killed or maimed before the opening credits finished rolling.”

  She almost laughed at the expression of horror that crossed Dillon’s face. “What on earth do you know about that? You didn’t see it, did you?”

  “I can understand your astonishment. Actually, I did. Some of the kids from school were going. They invited me along.”

  Dillon started chuckling, which only made her more indignant. “I would have given almost anything to be there,” he said. “How much of the movie did you actually see?”

  “Not much,” she admitted. “After the first ten minutes, I concentrated very hard on eating my popcorn one kernel at a time. I do not want the producer of that awful movie in my house.”

  “He won’t be. He’s taking us to dinner.”

  “Pruneface? Here? Why isn’t he out in L.A., where they apparently think he’s a genius and he can take four meetings in a night?”

  “Because he needs my advice right now and because I insisted that the meeting would have to take place in Savannah or not at all. Remember when you’re looking down your nose at him that you’re the one who saved the contract for me.”

  “My mistake,” she said with a moan. Then she regarded Dillon closely. “You actually told him he had to fly here if he wanted to meet with you, and he agreed?”

  He nodded. “Actually, I think he’s anxious to see you again.”

  “Heaven help me then. I will try to be polite, Dillon, but do not expect me to keep my mouth shut if the subject of that Ninja thing comes up.”

  “Just be yourself. Even though you’re impossibly bossy, he seems to like you. I, however, have far more passionate leanings where you’re concerned. Do you suppose we could go home?”

  “Home?” she repeated, suddenly smiling. To demonstrate her goodwill, she even picked up his briefcase, then linked her arm through his. “I like the sound of that.”

  “So do I, sweetheart. So do I.”

  * * *

  Catherine’s goodwill almost lasted through the entire evening. Dillon knew the precise moment when she lost patience with Prunelli. He was amazed it had taken so long. She had tolerated the cigar, primarily because the producer had refrained from lighting it until after dinner. She had even ignored Prunelli’s overindulgence in the wine and his enthusiastic consumption of beer when they’d taken a stroll along the busy waterfront. He had plunged into the spirit of Oktoberfest with gusto. Catherine had looked pained, but had kept silent.

  Then the man who was being honored for his family pictures had spotted a trio of women half his age. He’d set out to woo them. When he pinched one and delivered a sloppy kiss to the cheek of a second, the last of Catherine’s patience fled.

  “Mr. Prunelli,” she snapped, pointedly ignoring Dillon’s eyes. “For a man who is about to receive an award for the family values imparted by his films, you are behaving like a juvenile delinquent. If the press ever got wind that you’d been pawing and grabbing at women young enough to be your daughters they’d have a field day. Your production company would become a laughingstock, if that manipulative Ninja thing hasn’t already made it one.”

  Prunelli blinked several times as he tried to focus on the woman who was facing him, hands on hips, eyes flashing with indignation. “Come on, Katydid,” he said, his words slurring. “Don’t be mad. Just having a good time. Nothing else to do in this town.” He peered around for Dillon. “How do you stand it, Ryan? Never mind. You have Katydid. Hell of a woman, Katydid. Hell of a woman. Not scared of me. Like that. Too bad she’s yours.”

  Dillon leaned over and whispered, “I told you he liked you.”

  Catherine struggled against a smile, but lost. She supposed the man did have certain endearing qualities. “Mr. Prunelli, maybe we should just take you back to your hotel, so you can get some sleep.”

  “Sleep?” he repeated, as though the word were alien. “Never sleep more than a couple hours. Lighten up, Katydid. Let’s have fun. Come dance with me.”

  He took her hand and hauled her to her feet. Dillon started to intercede, but Catherine waved him back. “It’ll be okay. Maybe a brisk polka will wear him out.”

  Instead, though, the dance seemed to revive him. It was two in the morning before they were finally able to drop him at his hotel room and go home themselves.

  When they finally got back to the apartment, Catherine kicked off her shoes at the door and collapsed on the sofa. “Are all your business meetings this strenuous?”

  “Strenuous? I’m fresh as a daisy.”

  She regarded him malevolently. “Sure. You weren’t waltzing with the Hindenburg.”

  Dillon moved to stand behind her. His fingers began to work at the tight muscles in her shoulders, massaging until she moaned with pleasure, her head thrown back. The pale column of her neck, exposed and vulnerable, drew him. He leaned down and pressed his lips to the satiny flesh. That exotic floral scent she loved was every bit as alluring as a field of scented wildflowers. He wanted to bury his head between her breasts, to be surrounded by her heat, to be captured by her quick responsiveness.

  He needed very much to love her. He had watched her tonight as he might a stranger. He had seen new facets in her personality that intrigued him. He had witnessed for the first time the strength she had attained since that night more than a year ago, when she had been lost and alone and vulnerable. He had a feeling that keeping pace with this new Catherine was going to require a man not easily intimidated, a man not threatened by a woman’s dawning self-confidence. This was what he had wanted for her; this was the power he’d suspected was just waiting to be tapped. For a few brief moments, he’d been taken aback by it, but now he knew how right he’d been to encourage her to stretch and grow. Catherine Devlin was definitely becoming a woman to be reckoned with. If he didn’t want her so badly as his wife, he might very well have offered her a job as his partner. Anyone who could tame Ruben Prunelli with a glance could take on Manhattan.

  “Dillon,” she murmured sleepily. With her dark hair spilling loose and her lips pouty from his kiss, she looked more seductress than power broker. The fact that she was quickly becoming both took Dillon’s breath away. He couldn’t imagine what his life would have become if he hadn’t met her.

  “Yes, love.”

  She lifted her arms to him in a gesture that was at once innocent and powerfully provocative. “Take me to bed,” she whispered.

  With his blood pounding through his veins, Dillon scooped her up. “Gladly, sweetheart. Gladly.”

  * * *

  Catherine slid out of bed while Dillon was still sleeping. She was delighted that he finally seemed to be getting some rest. After a quick shower and her usual half grapefruit, she settled herself on the couch to study for a Monday exam. She was still reading and making notes, when Dillon finally wandered out two hours later.

  “What’s all this?” he said, indicating the papers.

  “Homework.”

  He grinned. “My lady the student. I like the glasses. I’ve never seen you wear them before.”

  She pulled them down and peered over the rim. “I just wear them for reading. You want some breakfast?”

  “It’s closer to lunchtime. Why don’t we go up to one of the inns for lunch? Has Ruben called?”

  “Nope. He’s either sleeping in or he’s found his one true love and is chasing her around one of the squares in town.”

  “If he’s found his true love, Mrs. Prunelli is going to be slightly put out.”

  Catherine’s head came up so quickly, her glasses almost slid off. “Some woman is actually married to that man?”

  “Very happily, from what I understand.”
/>   “Since when? Last week? No one could take him longer than that.”

  “Twenty-five or thirty years. Actually, they’re one of Hollywood’s real marital success stories. Don’t you ever look at all those supermarket tabloids?”

  Catherine didn’t deign to acknowledge that. She regarded Dillon suspiciously. “You’re putting me on. Was she some Vegas showgirl or something?”

  “High school sweetheart, actually.”

  “Dillon Ryan, I don’t believe you. I don’t believe that man went to high school.”

  “Your bias is showing.” He actually seemed delighted about it.

  “You bet it is. You’re making it up.”

  “It is in the press releases. I put it there myself.”

  “That doesn’t necessarily reassure me. I know all about Hollywood press releases. The accuracy bends like a willow.”

  His expression turning grim, Dillon advanced on her and bent down. He placed one hand on either side of her hips. “Are you accusing me of lying?”

  She supposed he meant to sound menacing. Instead, he was terribly seductive. She wanted those clever lips of his to come another inch or two closer until she could taste them again. “I am,” she murmured.

  He levered himself between her thighs. “Then I guess you’ll just have to be punished.”

  “Sounds intriguing.”

  His lips quivered, but he managed to hold back the laugh that clearly threatened. “You’re becoming a terrible wanton, Mrs. Devlin.”

  She grinned and shoved aside her books. “I know. Isn’t it wonderful?”

  Then her arms were around him, his weight was satisfyingly heavy on top of her and his mouth found hers with unerring accuracy. The contact released an inferno and as the fire raged between them, she whispered raggedly, “Dillon, I need you so much.”

  “I know, sweetheart. I know.” Clothes were stripped away or pushed aside until finally they were united again. “You have me,” he promised. “Always.”