His Allure, Her Passion (2 page)

Valentine’s Day? Was he kidding? The most obnoxious date of the year?

More important, it was two months away. Stuff like that needed many months, if not years, to be arranged.

Dylan glanced at Alexis. “You knew, right?” Without looking him in the eyes, she nodded. “Of course.”

“Clear your agenda, dear, and be there,” his mother said.

“No,” his father snapped. “Even though it’s an opening celebration, it’s Valentine’s Day and it’ll be thematic. Only couples can go to the ball.”

“What?” His mother sounded shocked.

“That’s right. Only couples allowed. Since you’re dating half the girls on the east coast, you can’t go.”

Now who was being immature? However, that statement hurt Dylan more than he wanted to admit.

“What about Celine? You don’t like Robert. Will you invite them?” He didn’t mean to turn this on his younger sister. The words just flew out of his mouth.

“They have been together for over a year,” his father said, his tone cold. “I may not like him, but at least Celine doesn’t spend fortunes on him, like you do with every girl you pick up.”

Dylan’s teeth hurt as he ground them together. “Fine. I won’t go. Have fun at the ball.”

This time he walked out and nobody stopped him. His strides grew more hurried with each step he took away from the house.

Once Dylan drove through the gates, he fished his cell phone from his pocket and called his friend.

“James, what are you doing, man?”

“Nothing, since my ride is in New York,” James teased.

“Then get ready.” There was only one thing he could do to get rid of the tension and the stress, the only thing his father knew him for. “Hop on the next train, and I’ll pick you up at Penn Station. We’re partying in New York tonight.”

Chapter Two

“Goddamn it, girl, have you gained weight?” The guy pulled at the zipper. “How much? A pound? Half a pound?”

She glared at him over her shoulder. “Not even half a pound.”

“This dress is supposed to be super tight.” The guy tsked, still trying to close the zipper. “Even one ounce will make a difference. You should have dieted during the last three days, Hayley.”

She jerked out of his hands. “I did!”

For four days, she had dieted, but her nervousness got the best of her, and she’d attacked a box of Swiss bonbons the night before.

Irritation mixed with her uneasiness. She darted away from him so she wouldn't throw up at his feet. Among the sea of pretty faces and perfect bodies, she felt lost and alone. Desperate, she looked for a familiar smile.

She found none.

Tears burned her eyes, threatening to mess with her artistic make-up.

“Ms. Allen.” She turned to whoever was calling her. Damn. The designer. “I hear you’re having trouble with my dress.”

“Yes, sir.” She lowered her gaze, feeling very small beside him, even though she was actually taller than he was.

The designer snapped his fingers and as if by magic, two assistants appeared beside him.

“Yes, Luc?” one of the model-like assistants asked, holding a clipboard on her hands.

“I need my emergency sewing kit,” Luc said as he turned Hayley around by her shoulders.

The assistant left and Luc tried to pull the zipper closed. “How many pounds did you gain since the last fitting?”

“Not even a half,” she muttered.

“Well, it was enough to ruin my design.” His tone was calm, too calm. The assistant came back with a black box-like bag and opened it. He grabbed a needle and thread and worked on the zipper. “I’ll be able to close it for this pass, but we’ll have to cut it open later.” He pushed the needle in, pricking her back. Determined to be strong and hang on, she held a yelp on the tip of her tongue. “But be warned,” he whispered in her ear, “you’ll never model for me again.”

Hayley held her breath and willed her mind to stay blank, otherwise she would break down and run away as if she were twelve, not twenty. Luc finished the work on the dress and left without looking at her.

The assistant halted before her. “You’re on in two minutes.”

The weight of it all fell on her shoulders, and the pit of her stomach filled with nausea. Holy hell, she was going onto a runway. A runway surrounded by hundreds of people and reporters and cameras. Flashes and shouts and applause and loud music.

She had been modeling since she was sixteen. But, every single time she stepped foot in a studio or onto a catwalk, the butterflies in her belly forgot she was veteran and her psyche acted as if it was the first time, as if she was afraid of standing before strangers. And she was. She truly was. She loved modeling, but she was too much of a chicken to really put herself out there.

They called her name and, somehow, she walked to where Luc stood, approving models before they stepped onto the stage.

Her stomach revolving in queasiness, Hayley halted before him, a plastic half-smile on her lips. He looked at her sideways and shooed her off past the curtains and onto the runway.

Her heart stopped and the sickness surged up as applause reached her ears and bright white light blinded her for a moment. Then it kicked in. Her job, the modeling part. She had to do it. With slow breaths, she sent the sickness back down her throat and walked, the red dress hugging every inch of her body, from her breasts to her knees, where it opened like a fluffy mermaid tail. The applause of the public was of approval, and that sparked a little confidence in her. Her strides became surer. Her smile widened. Her turn evoked some surprised gasps and whispers.

When she left the stage, someone cut her out of her dress. She changed into another outfit—the next two weren’t as tight—and entered twice more. Each time, her confidence grew and, at the last turn, she almost felt like Gisele Bündchen, owning the runway and everyone around it.

And it was all over before she could really feel at ease.

Luc and his team opened champagne and offered a few flutes around to the models that had highlighted the night. She hadn’t done badly, but he ignored her completely, even during goodbyes.

Hayley picked up her things and her purse, then left the pavilion, disappointed in herself.

If she hadn’t become so nervous before the show, she wouldn’t have eaten so much chocolate, she wouldn’t have gained half a pound, she would have fit in the awesome dress, and she would have made Luc’s short list of employable models.

Her mind on her failure, Hayley tried to hail a cab for almost twenty minutes before giving up and taking the subway.

The ride to Brooklyn was cold and long and tiring, and by the time she got home, her roommate was already in bed. Chloe had left a note over the kitchen counter, saying her mother had called and that there was a chicken salad in the fridge. She smiled. Her friend, always the thoughtful one.

She wanted to skip dinner, to fall on her bed in her dirty clothes and sleep her disappointment away, but she knew a warm shower would do wonders.

Afterward, in her flannel pants and tee, seated at a stool at the kitchen island, she was watching some
Lifetime
movie and eating the salad, when the intercom rang.

“Hello?”

“Hayley, baby, it’s me.”

It took her a second to recognize his voice. “Dylan? What are you doing here?”

“Can’t you open up, then we talk?”

“Yeah.” She pressed the button that released the lock of the main building door and ran to the front door of her apartment. “Crap,” she whispered when she realized she was in her PJs. She turned to go to her room, but the knock on the door stopped her.

With a loud sigh, she opened the door then caught her breath.

Leaning against her doorway, stood Dylan Deveraux. He wore a fitted blue sweater over his large shoulders, which accentuated his blue eyes, dark jeans that hugged his hard butt and thighs, and fancy black shoes. His black hair was shorter than she had last seen, but he still kept longer bangs over his tantalizing eyes. And he was tall. About six-four, just the right height for a tall girl like her. Dylan was perfection.

“Hey, Hayley, long time no see.” Even if his tone wasn’t slurred, she would have known he was drunk because of his terrible whiskey breath. And, just like that, the perfection was gone.

She beckoned him in and closed the door before he could wake the whole building. “What are you doing here?”

He wobbled through her tiny living room. “That isn’t a nice way to talk to a friend.”

“Cut the crap, Dylan.” Hayley stood her ground and crossed her arms to cover her bra-less breasts. “It’s two in the morning, and you’re totally wasted.”

“Caught me.” He smiled at her, making her heart flutter.

Damn, he shouldn’t affect her like that. She knew him. She knew his reputation. The whole world knew. Besides, even if he were a serious guy, what were her chances with him? Zero. Well, if he were a serious guy, he wouldn’t hang out with her every now and then and consider her only a friend.

Dylan continued his uncoordinated walk to her bedroom. She rushed behind him, but he had already sprawled across her bed.

“Dylan, get off my bed.” She shook his arm. “I had an exhausting day. I need to sleep. Soon. Now.” But he didn’t answer. She shook his arms with both her hands this time, but that also did nothing. “Dylan. Wake up.” She wanted to yell at him, but she didn’t want to wake up her roommate.

She sat down beside him and watched as his chest heaved up and down in a calm rhythm. Why the hell did he keep on coming to her like this? Wasted and sleeping it off? What was she to him? A place to crash other than his parents’ house? He had money to pay for any hotel in New York. Heck, he had money to pay for all the hotels in New York. And yet, each time his parents were in town, he came to her. But not before drinking his sanity away.

She pulled his shoes off, grabbed one of the pillows from her bed and the extra comforter inside her closet, and went to the living room.

The couch wasn’t the best bed, but it was better than to try and squeeze herself against Dylan. Not that she didn’t want to. But what if he thought she was one of the hookers he slept with and tried something with her? She couldn’t take that.

She turned off the lights and lay on the couch.

“I don’t know why you put yourself through this,” Chloe’s voice came from the dark corridor. “It hurts you.”

Hayley hugged the comforter closer to her body. “I can’t just send him away when he’s that drunk.”

“Yes, you can.” Her roommate sounded closer now. “Just call a cab and send him to a hotel.”

And then what? Destroy their friendship? Was there a friendship to be destroyed?

“I can’t.”

“I know that, and that’s why I’m talking to you.” Chloe sat on the couch with her. The dim light coming from the window cast a shiny halo around Chloe’s figure. “I can help you with this, if you want. I can help you send him away and make him stay away.”

“I don’t know….”

“Think about it.” Chloe patted her leg before getting up. “Just keep in mind that you’re the one getting hurt here, and the more you let this keep going on, the more hurt you will be.”

Her words echoed through the dark living room, disturbing Hayley’s exhaustion and giving her nightmares.

Chapter Three

Dylan rolled over, hugged the pillow, and smiled at the sweet mixed scent of berries and peaches.

In a swift jump, he was out of the bed, staring at the pink pillow he had been about to make out with.

Shit. He was in Hayley’s room. Again. He didn’t remember how he got here. Again. A faint but insistent throbbing spread through his skull. Again.

Frowning, he scanned the tiny but organized bedroom. The clock on the white nightstand indicated it was just past noon. Where was Hayley? He usually slept on her couch. If he had taken her bed, where had she slept?

He started for the door to find her and apologize for kicking her out of her own room, but halted upon passing the tall mirror on her closet door. He looked like hell. His hair stuck out in every direction, his sweater was crumpled and smelly, and his breath could kill. No way in hell could he let her see him like that.

Without many options, he went to her bathroom and cleaned himself up—his finger as toothbrush for his teeth, water for his hair and face. Feeling nasty in the stinky sweater, he slipped it off and wore only with his white shirt, which smelled slightly better. He reached down for his shoes from beside the bed, but decided to leave them there and put them on later, so not to make any noise in case Hayley’s roommate was still sleeping. It was past noon, but still. He didn’t want to be responsible for ruining Chloe’s slumber. Damn, he hoped he hadn’t ruined her sleep last night, too.

On tiptoes, Dylan crossed the short corridor and found Hayley sleeping on the couch. She looked peaceful, but he doubted she was really comfortable there. The pillow was on the floor, the comforter pressed in between her legs and arms, as if she was hugging it, her delicate feet propped on the arm of the couch. Her long amber hair fell around her shoulders, her tank top had ridden up, showing a piece of her soft midriff skin, and her breasts barely fit inside her tight top.

Shit. He turned his back to her, ashamed at having stared at her body.

But it was such a nice body, how could he resist? He peeked at her over his shoulder. He didn’t understand how she wasn’t a famous model yet. She was so, so beautiful.

He smiled, remembering the first time he saw her. They were at a party, and he spent over six hours trying to woo her, but she didn’t fall for his bullshit. No girl had ever resisted him—except Hayley. She was the first and only. And that’s how their friendship was born. Even though his instinct was to try and kiss her and sleep with her each time he saw her, Dylan had found a true friend in her, and for that he put his physical needs aside. She was the only one who understood his problems, his dark moments, who endured him, who saw past the bullshit, and didn’t throw herself at him. More importantly, she didn’t care about his fortune.