Regrets Only (Sequel to The Marriage Pact)

by Pullen, M. J.

  Dylan sighed in his sleep and rolled away from her, settling once again into soft snores after just a moment. It was time to decide. Suzanne took a deep breath and willed herself not to cry. She eased herself out from under the sheet and out of the bed. Her hand trembled as she opened the front closet door, where her little suitcase stood waiting like a tiny, comforting sentinel.

  Chapter 28

  The early morning sun streamed through the giant windows. Dylan woke with the usual confusion he felt when he was not in his own bed, which was most of the time. In fact, he wasn’t sure which bed he would consider his own at this point in his life, so often did he wake up in a new place. But as his eyes adjusted to the light, the view of the city below helped clear the fog and reminded him where he was, who he was with. He smiled and rolled over, reaching for her, but the sheets next to him were cold and empty.

  His heart sank. Suzanne was gone. Part of him had known this was still possible, and he had sworn to them both that he was protecting himself from it. Hell, he had seen the list of guys on the dining room wall firsthand, and told Suzanne yesterday he might be added to it. But now that the moment had arrived, he knew he’d done a piss-poor job shielding himself. In fact, the whole concept was ridiculous. He had been in love with her for months. The minute he had allowed himself to touch her soft ivory skin, to kiss her throat and feel himself slide inside her…it was over. And he knew it.

  A sudden sob rose in his throat, surprising him with its forcefulness. He willed it down, the way he sometimes had to will himself to hold a long note at the end of a show. But it escaped anyway, and all he could do was stifle it to a groan into the pillow. He punched the bed with a force that surprised him, causing his arm to ache and vibrate. How could he have misread her so completely? He had never really been in love before, but everything yesterday—the way she looked at him, the way they kissed, the way her body responded to his touch—had told Dylan that she felt it, too. What a fucking chump I am.

  He got up, growling, and wrapped a sheet around his waist. He washed his face and brushed his teeth, scowling at himself in the mirror. You look ridiculous, he chided himself, looking at his bed-tousled hair and one side of his face red with the deepest sleep he could remember. He turned away from the asshole in the mirror, threw on a clean pair of boxers and started aimlessly picking things up to throw in his bag. There was no point in staying here another minute after making such an ass of himself. I told her every damn thing, he thought. Never again.

  The towels they’d used were in a pile outside the bathroom door, and his jeans and boxers from yesterday piled next to them. The pink and brown suit was gone, of course, and her purse was missing from the table where she’d left it. Dylan knew if he checked the coat closet he would find her suitcase gone as well. The stupid, too-big penthouse was silent except for the muted sounds of car horns far below. He could still smell sex, sweat, and traces of her perfume. And coffee.

  Coffee?

  He followed the aroma to the penthouse’s kitchen area around the corner, where a cheerful pot of coffee sat on the warming plate. Did the staff of the hotel come in and make coffee? Or did she make it before leaving? Both seemed ridiculous possibilities. He looked around for a note or something, but didn’t see one. The views on this side of the suite were equally stunning, though instead of the park they showed the bustling city and Hudson River in the distance. There was a seating area with a small couch and two overstuffed chairs, all empty, and a dining room table with space for six. The placemats and plates were untouched, exactly where the hotel staff had staged them amid candles and a floral/fruit centerpiece.

  A glass door to the balcony was beyond the table. He had not noticed it at first, but now his heart leapt when he saw a long ivory leg propped on the balcony railing outside. She was wearing pink sneakers and khaki shorts more suitable for Atlanta than New York this time of year; even where he stood he could see that she had goosebumps on her legs from the cool wind outside. She was facing away from him, sitting in a reclining patio chair and talking on the phone. He recognized the tail of his own white Oxford shirt sticking out from beneath her. Her long blonde hair flapped in the wind, not at all contained by the sunglasses perched on top of her head.

  Without stopping to consider that he was in only his boxers, he crossed the room and went straight outside, letting the door close behind him. She turned in surprise, but smiling, and he heard a woman’s voice trailing off on the phone she now held out to the side.

  “Hey, you,” she said, ignoring the phone. Her voice was as sweet as he had ever heard it. Relief washed over him. “Thought you’d never wake up. I made coffee and cleaned up a little. Didn’t think you’d mind.”

  “Hey,” he said and then repeated dumbly, “You made coffee.” Me Tarzan. Jane make coffee. Idiot.

  “And I ran out for bagels.” She gestured at a brown paper bag on the patio table, next to her own coffee cup. She stood and grinned at him, both of them knowing the significance of her still being here. With the wind whipping in her hair and the morning sun glinting off her skin, she looked so incredible that words seemed inadequate. “I borrowed your shirt. If we’re going to be here for a few days, I might have to get more clothes. Marci can send some—”

  He moved toward her, taking the phone from her hand. “She’ll call you back,” he said and snapped it shut. He laid it carefully on the table, waiting for a protest that didn’t come, and then took both sides of her pretty blonde head in his hands and kissed her.

  She kissed him back, and he felt none of the tension he usually sensed when he was with her. She melted into him easily, and he could feel her body relax toward his. “You’re not going to run away? You’re not scared?” he asked.

  Suzanne looked up at him with clear blue eyes that matched the sky around them. “I’m terrified,” she said. “But, no, I’m not going to run away.”

  “Does Marci approve?” he said, nodding toward the phone he’d just put down, expecting that he knew the answer.

  “A qualified ‘yes,’” Suzanne said, and Dylan raised an eyebrow. “She adores you; she’s just worried about me losing myself.”

  “Are you worried about that, too?” he asked, letting his hands fall to her shoulders. He had to admit he had thought about that himself. Suzanne was so independent and ambitious, Dylan had wondered whether she would adjust to life while he was on the road so much. Would she come with him? If so, would she be bored and miserable? If not, would phone calls and emails be enough for them?

  “Sure,” she said without artifice. “But I figure we’re a couple of smart people who love each other, and if you got me to stay last night, you must have a few more tricks up your sleeve. Or lack thereof.” She glanced at his bare chest and arms.

  “Anyway,” she said. “We’ll figure it out, right?”

  “Yeah, I guess we will,” he said, kissing her again. The wind was picking up. Even though the sun shone brightly, early fall was certainly in force. In only his boxers, the chill was starting to seep through him. He felt like a little boy asking her, but did it anyway. “So you really love me? You’ll really stay?”

  She smiled at him, radiant. “Yes and yes.”

  “I love hearing you say that,” he said, adjusting his shirt’s collar on her shoulders. “I wouldn’t mind getting a few more yeses out of you before today’s over. And you should always wear this shirt. If you’re wearing anything, I mean.”

  She shimmied closer to him, and he could feel her firm breasts pressing against his bare chest through the shirt in question. “I think that can be arranged.”

  Dylan turned with her hand in his to take her back inside, and hopefully, straight back to bed, to restart the day the way he had originally wanted. He remembered the hurt and anger he’d felt only moments before and felt ashamed of himself. Will she always have this kind of power over me?

  He reached the doorknob, stopped abruptly, and faced her again. “Give me your phone.”

  “My phone? Why?” Bu
t she handed it over without waiting for an answer.

  He found the number he was looking for and dialed. Suzanne stared at him, incredulous. “Mrs. Hamilton?” he said, when the lady answered. “Hello, it’s Dylan Burke. Yes, ma’am. Well, thank you, ma’am.”

  “What are you doing?” Suzanne mouthed. He ignored her.

  “That’s very nice of you to say, Mrs. Hamilton. I’m very glad you enjoyed the album.” He shot Suzanne a pointed look and she rolled her eyes. “Well, yes, ma’am. I actually had two reasons for calling. The first is that Suzanne and I will be coming to Atlanta next week—next week okay, Scarlett?—yes ma’am, we’ll be there together, and I wondered whether we could take you and Mr. Hamilton out to dinner?”

  In the ensuing pause, he could hear Suzanne’s mother calling to her father somewhere in the background. In front of him, Suzanne rubbed her upper arms in a not-subtle hint that she was getting cold, too. He heard a brief, hissed skirmish during which he was pretty sure Mr. Hamilton asked his wife who the hell Dylan Burke was and why they should want to have dinner with him. Then Mrs. Hamilton covered the phone and he heard emphatic but inaudible whispering before she returned to the phone, suggesting Tuesday night would be best and wondering whether there were any special occasion.

  “Tuesday would be perfect,” Dylan said. “And, yes, it is a special occasion. I know it may sound sudden, but I’m planning to propose to your daughter and I’d like Mr. Hamilton’s permission first.”

  Both women gasped in the same way at the same time, one on the phone and one on the balcony in front of him. Suzanne’s eyes were wide with shock. He covered the receiver with his hand and said with a grin, “Don’t worry, you can always say ‘no.’”

  She flashed him a defiant but playful look that he had seen several times before, and which he knew he’d be seeing frequently for the rest of his life. He stuck his tongue out at her in response, and she rolled her eyes again. But he saw her move incrementally toward him, too. That was a good sign.

  Dylan knew that Suzanne worried about the logistics of their relationship, and sometimes, he did, too. But he had tested his own ability to be loyal to her and passed. Now she had chosen to be here with him when every man before him had gotten the boot. With the stubborn tenacity he’d had his whole life, and the fiery spirit of the woman in front of him, he knew they could make anything work. She might not want to get married, and that was fine but he’d be damned if she could keep him from asking.

  Mrs. Hamilton was fretting and sputtering on the other end of the phone, whether in dismay or excitement, he didn’t know. Or care. At least right now. The wind was making it both colder and harder to hear through the phone. “Yes, ma’am. We’ll meet you at the country club at seven on Tuesday. I’m sure Suzanne can tell me how to get there. And, Mrs. Hamilton, if I could just ask one additional favor?”

  Beyond the wind, he could hear the sputtering had slowed and he heard something that might have been a high-pitched assent. “If you could just write this down for me, please? Okay, good. Could you please call the CityRock Hotel—yes, ma’am, it is very nice—and ask for Daniela, the concierge? Yes ma’am… D-A-N-I-E-L-A. Could you tell her that Rhett Butler asked you to call? That’s me; I used that name for privacy, and then she’ll know it’s really me who asked you. Yes, ma’am, my job is silly sometimes, isn’t it? Anyway, if you could ask Daniela to send a bellman up to the penthouse, please? Have him to come right in.”

  “What’s going on?” Suzanne asked, her playful look turning to a worried frown. He tousled her hair and pulled her close to him, protecting her from the wind and her worry. He wanted to protect her from everything.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he went on, almost yelling now so that Suzanne’s mom could hear him. “Tell her we are locked outside on the balcony and need to be let inside. And if you don’t mind hurrying, Mrs. Hamilton. It’s getting a bit windy out here.”

  He chuckled as Suzanne pulled free from his grasp and tested the door behind him herself. When it wouldn’t open, her eyes grew wide and she smacked his bare chest lightly with the back of her hand. “Ouch!” he said, and shrugged helplessly at her. “No, ma’am, we sure won’t panic. It’s a nice day out. But if you could ask them to hurry, I’d be grateful.”

  He said goodbye and snapped the phone shut again, pulling Suzanne into his arms again, for closeness and for warmth. “Well, this is embarrassing,” she said to his chest. “The bellman will probably snap a picture with his phone and sell it to the tabloids for a million dollars.”

  “More like thirty-thousand, probably,” Dylan corrected. “But at least you look great. I’m the one who’s in my underwear.”

  “I guess public humiliation really is our thing, isn’t it?”

  “I’m afraid so,” he said.

  “Dylan?” she asked.

  “Mmm…” he breathed into her hair. God, he even loved the smell of her hair.

  “If we’re going to stay together, which it sounds like you’re planning with or without my permission,” she pinched him lightly beneath the ribs for emphasis on this point, “let’s get a new thing.”

  He laughed and kissed her forehead. “Anything for you, Scarlett.”

  With a joy so bone-deep it almost hurt to feel it, Dylan Burke realized that he meant those words, understood them, for the first time in his life. The woman in his arms wasn’t perfect, he knew, and what he wanted to build with her wasn’t anything close to what he had planned for this stage of his life. But he would do anything for her. Last night Suzanne had given him her most prized possession—her freedom—and he would spend the rest of his life protecting that gift, and the heart that gave it. Now he understood, he thought, how knights had once felt as they put on their armor and readied themselves to die for king and country, or for love.

  He sat and pulled her onto his lap. She put her arms around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder. The wind slowed a little, allowing the warm beams of sunlight to reach them in relief.

  “Whatever happens next,” he said, softly in her ear, “I’ll be there for you. Forever.” Once spoken, the words felt inadequate to their purpose. He wished he had his guitar so he could try again and again, until they were a song that she could hear and understand.

  But maybe she understood already. “I know,” she whispered back, her face buried in his neck.

  Then she looked at him, her blue eyes brimming with tears. “Last night I started to panic again, like I have so many times before. I started analyzing and listing: all the things that could go wrong, all the ways that we don’t go together. If I had a friend in this situation, I’d probably tell her to get the heck out of here. It’s just so…explosive.”

  “Yes, it is,” he agreed, remembering their throes of passion the day before, and how angry she had made him before that.

  Suzanne sighed deeply and looked at the city below them, and the peaceful-looking river beyond. “But when I got out of bed and came out here and looked down at the world, I already felt too far away from you. I realized that I made my choice a long time ago, and that not one person out there, anywhere, could make me feel the way you do. You are, we are, the only choice. That’s why it never worked with William. Not because there was anything wrong with him—”

  Dylan growled softly as a surge of jealousy hit him. But he said nothing.

  “—but because he wasn’t you. My heart knew it, and I’m pretty sure you did, too. Now I finally understand it, for the first time ever. So,” she licked her lips in that way that drove him crazy, “are you really sure you want to be stuck with me? This is going to be hard. And you certainly have a lot of choices, country star Dylan Burke.”

  He didn’t hesitate. “You’re the only woman I want to be stuck with, Scarlett. On a balcony fifty stories up, or anywhere else.”

  He kissed her again, and would have done more, if they hadn’t been out on a windy terrace and expecting company any minute. As it was, the bellman had to clear his throat loudly a few minutes later before ei
ther of them even noticed he had arrived.

  They emerged, startled, from a long kiss, embarrassed together this time. The bellman nodded officiously as he held the door for them, as though this were an ordinary part of his daily duties, politely ignoring that Dylan positioned Suzanne directly in front of him as they stood, to hide how much he’d been enjoying having her on his lap.

  Dylan held both of Suzanne’s hands to keep her close to him, and they crossed the threshold together clumsily, laughing, fingers interlaced. The suite was warm and inviting, full of possibilities. Whatever the next steps, the wind, the world outside, and the past no longer mattered, at least for now.

  They were rescued.

  Epilogue

  Mid-January 2009

  Suzanne fidgeted with her pink cashmere sweater and brown suede skirt, assessing herself critically in the mirror as she did. A little plumper than she had been in the past, but still acceptable, she decided. Between the holidays and Dylan’s passion for Southern barbecue, she’d put on a few pounds in the past couple of months, and her body was threatening to burst out of the size six wardrobe she’d been able to wear since high school. Back to the gym next week, she promised herself.

  “Dylan!” she yelled in the direction of the bathroom, pulling on boots and her mother’s pearls. “Let’s go, we’re late!”

  “Okay, okay, Scarlett,” he said. “You don’t seriously think they would start without us, do you? Ow!”

  He grabbed his left foot, which was covered in a thin black sock and had just rammed painfully against a large cardboard box. Suzanne gave him an apologetic look. “Sorry. I’ll unpack that one today, promise.”

  “You’ve been saying that for a week,” he said. “And there are like thirty of them still packed. I never realized how much stuff you had squeezed into that little two-bedroom condo.”