Next Time...Forever

by Sherryl Woods

  * * *

  Always only lasted an hour. They showered together, made love again, then Catherine finally sighed ruefully. “I really do have to study.”

  Dillon pulled her back into his arms. She buried her face against his still-hot flesh. Her tongue savored the salty taste of him, but this time the thought of all the work she had to complete before Monday wouldn’t vanish in the haze of sweet sensations that had held them captive.

  “I’m sorry, Dillon. I really do have to get back to work,” she said.

  “Couldn’t you study after I leave tomorrow night?”

  “There’s too much to read. I’d be up the whole night. I may be anyway, even if I get through this one text today.”

  “Are you going to stay with it all day?”

  “Just another hour or two. I promise.”

  His brows lifted. “I suppose if I objected you’d say something about turnabout being fair play.”

  “I would never hold up your own behavior as an excuse,” she said with exaggerated piety. She grinned. “But if the shoe fits…”

  “Go. Study. I can sneak in some time on my own paperwork now without feeling guilty.”

  “I suppose you can,” she said. She went back to her place on the sofa and Dillon spread his papers over the dining room table. They took turns refilling the coffee cups. As she poured what she’d vowed would be one last cup, Dillon snagged her arm.

  “See how companionable this can be.”

  She compared the long nights of studying alone to the past few hours. She supposed he did have a point. “We are together.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Maybe the problem last time was that I had no real interests of my own to pursue,” she admitted.

  “Maybe so.”

  She regarded him with an arch expression. “What happens when I get to be even busier than you?”

  “Then I’ll be the one grumbling about being abandoned.” He smacked her on the bottom. “Until then we’ll be content with what we have. Won’t we?” he said pointedly.

  Catherine realized suddenly that she truly was content. She went back to Dillon and slid her arms around his neck from behind, resting her head atop his. “We’re very lucky, you know that?”

  “I think I do.”

  “Do you think it’ll get better than this?”

  She felt his shoulders grow stiff. “Better how?” he asked cautiously.

  “I don’t know. We can’t spend the rest of our lives running back and forth between cities.”

  “Right now that’s the only choice we have,” Dillon said.

  “I know,” she lamented.

  She could tell from his tone of voice and his almost imperceptible withdrawal that it was not a topic to be pursued now. Though her remark had been made without thought, now that the seed had been planted she couldn’t get it out of her mind. It sprouted and thrived like a deadly weed, choking off all the good thoughts. Contentment fled in the blink of an eye.

  How long could they go on like this? It was unrealistic to expect that a commuter arrangement could work indefinitely.

  How long, she wondered time and again. Those two words, hanging like a shadow over the future, threatened to take away every bit of pleasure she had felt in the wonderful present she and Dillon were sharing.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Halloween

  “Where would you like to meet for Halloween?” Dillon asked in a low seductive murmur. Since he’d returned to New York this last time, the calls had grown more frequent than ever. He woke Catherine up each morning and was on the phone again to whisper good-night. Since his day often didn’t end until midnight, it was wearing her out. Dillon seemed capable of surviving on four or five hours of sleep a night. She could not. She was turning into a walking zombie.

  “I can hardly wait to see you in a costume,” he said. “What would you choose, I wonder?”

  “A witch,” Catherine murmured sleepily. “Dillon, it’s almost one o’clock. Can’t we talk about this in the morning?”

  “I love talking to you when you’re all muddleheaded,” he argued. “I get my best responses then.”

  “You mean I give in more easily then, which is exactly my point. I’m hanging up so I can get some sleep. If I don’t, you’re liable to talk me into wearing harem garb and going trick-or-treating.”

  “An interesting possibility. You’d be fascinating in all that billowing, see-through stuff. Now all we have to decide is where to go. Halloween is only a couple of weeks away.”

  She yawned and tried to think coherently. Halloween was not a national holiday. Apparently, though, Dillon was ready to use any excuse to see her again. At any other hour of the day that realization might have pleased her. “People do not get a day off for Halloween,” she informed him. “Don’t go getting some crazy idea about a long, wild-and-crazy-weekend. I have classes.”

  “Couldn’t you play hooky for a day? People who’ve just won a potential six-figure account for a candy company practically swoon at the thought of Halloween, official holiday or not.”

  That jolted her up. “Six figures for candy corn?” she said incredulously.

  “Well, not candy corn,” he admitted. “Something slightly more upscale.”

  “You must live in a ritzier neighborhood than I do. Not even my parents give out Belgian chocolates to trick-or-treaters.”

  “Maybe not this year, but by the time I finish with this ad campaign, they will next year.”

  That piqued her curiosity. “You’re representing some Belgian chocolate manufacturer?”

  “Not exactly. Actually, I took on that candy company on the waterfront in Savannah. It’ll give me a third reason to come down there more regularly.”

  “Third reason?”

  “White Stone, you and now the candy company.”

  “I’m glad I rank higher than nuts and chocolates. Is this the place where we spent a fortune the last time you were here?”

  “Where you spent a fortune,” he corrected with ungentlemanly accuracy. “Yes, that’s the one.”

  “Dillon, I thought you said this account was going to be profitable. That’s a tiny little operation.”

  “With huge mail-order potential.”

  At first she’d thought his decision entirely capricious, but she was beginning to see the sense of it. The candy was delicious. “So that’s what you were talking to the owner about while I was overdosing on pralines.”

  “That’s right. Even chocophobics won’t be able to resist, once I get finished with touting the virtues of their pecan fudge and pralines.”

  “And that gives you satisfaction?”

  “That gives me the time and money to meet you someplace over Halloween and, yes, it brings me tremendous satisfaction to watch some small local company go big-time because of my work.”

  “Remember that the next time you want to spend an entire weekend wooing a jerk like Ruben Pruneface. He doesn’t need you.”

  “That’s not what you were saying when you ripped apart his image. As big as he is, he definitely needs a make-over. I think this firm can do it for him.”

  “At heart, though, he’ll still be an arrogant, egotistical boor.”

  “A rich egotistical boor. And I thought you liked him. Once you robbed him of his cigar in L.A. and discovered he could polka, you seemed to get along famously.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far. But you’re missing my point.”

  “Which is?”

  “If you applied the same high standards to your clients that you do to your ads, you would not deal with the Ruben Prunellis of the world.”

  When Dillon stayed silent for several seconds, Catherine wondered if she’d gone too far. Just because she hadn’t liked the studio executive didn’t mean Dillon shouldn’t work with the man. She had no place meddling in his business decisions. Handling Prunelli’s studio probably did bring Dillon a certain amount of prestige, despite the man’s personal obnoxiousness.

  “Maybe you’re right,” h
e said finally, cutting off the apology she was ready to offer. “I never thought of it that way. You are judged by the company you keep. I tell my clients that all the time. Maybe it’s time I started practicing what I preach. Of course, Prunelli did take me on to change his image, along with selling his movies. Doesn’t that show that his heart’s in the right place?”

  “Or his pocketbook. Let’s drop it. When you get right down to it, I had no right…”

  “Of course, you have a right to your opinion. That’s one of the things I love about you. You’re honest to a fault once you finally get the courage to open your mouth. Poor Prunelli didn’t know what hit him, when you told him you thought his last blockbuster success was a manipulative piece of trash.”

  Catherine groaned. “I might have hated that Ninja garbage, but I could have been a little more diplomatic for your sake.”

  “Absolutely not. Even I enjoyed watching the way his eyes bulged and his mouth kept opening and closing like a fish. I doubt he’d ever been rendered speechless before. Unfortunately, in no time he probably forgot all about it.”

  “Certainly by the time he’d finished the second bottle of wine.”

  “Tell me the truth. You enjoyed telling him what you thought, didn’t you?”

  She thought it over. To be honest, it had felt good. “I have to admit, I did. Does that make me a terrible person? I actually liked seeing that sleazy man squirm.”

  “That just makes you human, sweetheart. You spent too many years reining in your opinions. I’m glad you’re learning that the walls won’t collapse if you say what’s on your mind.”

  “The walls may not collapse, but I could cost you millions.”

  “In my business, knowing when to be blunt is an art. I think you’re a natural at knowing the best timing. Prunelli asks about you every time we talk. You’ve definitely made a lasting impression.”

  “He’s probably trying to make sure I’m not in the vicinity,” she said, unable to control another yawn. “Dillon, I have to get some sleep. People are beginning to ask about the circles under my eyes. They seem to think I’m suddenly leading a life of nonstop debauchery.”

  “If only that were true,” he said with a heartfelt sigh. “Go to sleep, my beauty. We’ll settle this Halloween thing in the morning.”

  True to his word, Dillon was back on the phone before 7:00 a.m. He sounded wide-awake and disgustingly cheerful.

  “I’ve made a decision,” he announced.

  “Good for you,” she grumbled, wondering just how guilty she’d feel if she skipped her nine o’clock class and slept until noon.

  “Don’t you want to hear it?”

  “Tell me,” she said. Maybe then he’d go away and let her dream about the nicer, gentler Dillon who only kept her awake to do wonderful, exciting things to her body.

  “I’ll fly in on Friday and then first thing Saturday we’ll drive over to Hilton Head for the weekend. The weather’s still nice. Most of the tourists have probably headed home. We should have the whole beach practically to ourselves. We can sleep late Sunday morning, have breakfast in bed.”

  Sleep late? Breakfast in bed? Now the man was talking her language. “Make the reservations,” she said, then hung up and pulled the pillow back over her head.

  * * *

  The trip to the beach turned out to be just what they needed. They arrived by midday on Saturday, checked into their hotel, then for lunch, found a place with a view of the water. They lingered for hours over the seafood and wine, talking and catching up on all the little details of their lives that they never seemed to find time to discuss in their hurried phone conversations.

  With sweaters wrapped around their shoulders and their pant legs rolled up, they walked the beach hand in hand until the sun finally began to fade and the pine- and salt-scented air grew uncomfortably chilly.

  As they walked back to the hotel, Dillon slowed and turned her to face him. Catherine reached up and smoothed the lines of his face. “You look more relaxed than I’ve ever seen you.”

  “And you look even more beautiful.”

  A sigh of pure pleasure caught in her throat. There was something almost bittersweet about the rare quiet moment. Deep inside, where her heart called the shots, she had this weepy, desperate feeling that they were reaching a terrible turning point, a make-or-break time in their lives.

  Over the past couple of weeks whenever she’d allowed herself, she’d thought about where the two of them were headed with their lives. No matter how romantically she viewed their love, she couldn’t avoid the reality. What they had wasn’t the stuff of happily-ever-after. Oh, she loved Dillon and deep in her heart she believed that he loved her, but what they were building together was a make-believe existence.

  That night, as she slept in his arms, she felt as though it was all slipping away and there was nothing she could do to change it. Tears clung to her lashes, then spilled onto his chest. He stirred restlessly, but fell into an even deeper sleep when she brushed his face soothingly with her fingertips. She traced his wide brow, his nose, the tiny scar at the corner of his mouth. When she stopped to think about what she was doing, she realized she was trying to memorize Dillon, to learn the scent and texture and shape of him for the empty nights she feared were ahead.

  In the bright, clear light of morning, she tried to tell herself to stay silent, to hold on to what they had for however long it lasted. Their love was special. There was no reason to ask for more, but then she realized that was exactly the problem. As good as it was, she did want so much more.

  At breakfast she toyed with her food. Dillon watched her closely, but apparently her odd mood had communicated itself to him because he was far more subdued than usual. There were no teasing remarks, no provocative looks.

  “It’s warm outside,” he said finally. “Why don’t we take a blanket and spend a couple of hours on the beach? Maybe the fresh air will make you feel better.”

  “I feel fine.”

  “Then why so glum?”

  She stared at him helplessly. “I don’t know if I can explain it.”

  He held out his hand. “Let’s go outside. We’ll talk when you’re ready.” His patience in the face of her inability to communicate her worry made her feel like weeping.

  A few minutes later, they had changed their clothes. Dillon’s gaze traveled over her appreciatively. “I like the duds. Or maybe I should say the lack of them. That’s a helluva bathing suit for a former debutante.”

  She’d thought the bright blue suit was a modest one-piece until she’d seen the look of masculine approval in Dillon’s eyes. Maybe the neckline did reveal a little more than she’d realized of her full breasts. Maybe the high French-cut styling showed off a little too much leg. She reached for a long T-shirt, but Dillon touched her hand.

  “I like it,” he reassured her. “Any woman would kill to have a figure like yours. And every man on the beach is going to envy me.”

  She blinked back unexpected tears. “How do you always know the right thing to say?”

  Dillon appeared startled by her intensity and by the sudden tears. He reached for her and held her close. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

  Once again, she took the coward’s way out and merely shook her head. “Let’s go outside.”

  When they found a secluded cove, Dillon spread out the blanket, then stretched out beside her. Her gaze drank in the sight of his well-muscled legs, the flat stomach and broad shoulders. Without a word, he handed her the suntan lotion. She applied it with fingers that trembled. As if each touch might be her last, she caressed and lingered until she could tell by the look in his eyes and the set of his jaw that he was losing the struggle not to respond.

  “Your turn,” he said finally, his words hoarse.

  His hands were gentle as he massaged in the cool lotion. She gave herself up to the pure sensual delight as he stroked her back. He followed the line of her suit as it dipped to just above the swell of her buttocks. Then he coated each leg, slowly, p
rovocatively, lingering at the erogenous spot behind her knee, the sensitive curve of her calf. He even applied the lotion to her feet, his hands sure and confident as they followed the curve of each instep and tenderly stroked each toe. Her whole body was aflame by the time he was done, the heat spreading from a point low in her abdomen until even her cheeks felt flushed.

  Forcing herself to turn over and sit up, she caught the expression on Dillon’s face. It was a painful mixture of desire and hurt, of longing and confusion. Troubled brown eyes met hers and in a voice that barely held steady, he asked, “Catherine, what’s wrong? Have you met someone else?”

  She reached out and took his hand, holding it tight against her cheek. “No. No, nothing like that. I swear it.”

  A sigh shuddered through him. “Then tell me, please. I think I could take anything but that.”

  She drew in a deep breath, tried to find the right words, then said simply, “I think we’re getting to a turning point and I’m afraid.”

  His eyes filled with puzzlement. “What sort of turning point?”

  “This isn’t enough for me anymore. I don’t want to live from month to month, waiting for the weekends you can get away, praying that some business crisis won’t interfere with our plans.” Avoiding his gaze, she lamented, “What we’re doing isn’t real.”

  Waiting for him to reply, she dug her toes into the warm sand with sensual appreciation. She could feel Dillon’s eyes on her. He reached out and trailed a finger the length of her thigh. The touch raised goose bumps.

  “Deny the reality of that,” he challenged in a low voice that sent yet another shiver of pure delight running through her.

  “Oh, Dillon, that’s very real. I can’t deny all the physical attraction. You’ve brought me alive again. I feel things with you that I’d never imagined possible. It’s the one thing that’s never been a problem with us.”

  “Then nothing else matters.”

  “Of course it does. We can’t spend our lives running away from home for these idyllic interludes. We’re romanticizing the relationship. We live in a constant state of anticipation. We’re so anxious not to spoil what little time we have that we ignore the petty little frustrations. We avoid dealing with anything that isn’t pleasant until it’s almost too late.”