Honeymoon For Hire

“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.”