His Allure, Her Passion (5 page)

What was he thinking? He shook his head and picked his shirt up. “Hey,” he finally greeted her.

With the blonde behind him, scratching her nails on his back, he went to the deck, where more girls drank and danced. Russ, James, and blondie number one stood by the bar, laughing and preparing some colored drinks.

“Dance with me?” Blondie number two grabbed his hand and pulled him farther onto the deck.

Dylan danced, but didn’t feel it. “What’s your name?”

“Nena.” She twirled, making sure her body brushed against his. “And you’re Dylan Deveraux, the multi-millionaire heir.”

“Right.” Did everyone only think about his money? “What do you do, Nena? For a living I mean.”

“You know,” she stopped dancing and leaned to him, her hands on his hips, “you talk too much.”

Blondie number two pulled him close and crushed his mouth with hers. For a second, Dylan stilled. But his playboy side kicked in, and he responded, his hands joining in the seduction dance, traveling down her back, to her hips…. Hayley’s hips weren’t this big, nor this flaccid.

He broke the kiss, his eyes wide.

“What?” Nena asked.

“Nothing.” He pushed Hayley out of his mind and pulled the girl back to him.

Dylan kissed her, and she answered it with more eagerness and hunger. He liked girls who weren’t afraid of admitting, or showing, they liked sex. Sometimes he even let them take charge and just enjoyed the moment. Her tongue traveled to his ear, sparkles of pleasure spread through his skin, wherever it touched. He moaned at the warmth building up in his chest and reaching down. He bit her neck and inhaled deeply, expecting the teasing scent of berries and peaches. Instead, he smelled cigarettes and cheap cologne.

Dylan pulled back.

Damn. Why were his thoughts going back to Hayley? Why was his body expecting Hayley? They had a deal. That was it. Nothing more. A deal that didn’t allow him to do anything more than just hold her hand and smile at her. Smile at her pristine beauty, enjoy her comfortable company, and feel inebriated with her sweet scent.

Nena put her hand on her waist. “What now?”

“Nothing,” he said. Though this time he turned his back to her and marched through the dancing crowd straight to his room, cell phone in hand.

As he hastily threw his things back into his bag, he called his younger sister. “Where are you?”

Celine snorted. “Is that supposed to be funny?”

Her sarcasm told him she was in Switzerland as planned. “And mother and father?”

“In Paris. With Alexis and Mike, and grandma and grandpa. Why?”

“What would you think if I joined you?”

“For New Year’s? Why?”

“Damn, stop with the whys. Want my company or not?”

“You know I want.”

“See you tomorrow then.”

***

Hayley arrived home reinvigorated after spending two weeks with her parents.

She ended up having a nice holiday after all—because of Dylan. First, she’d wanted to smack him for the unexpected gift. But after she couldn't reach him, it weighed on her that she hadn't seen her parents in almost two years.

After unpacking, Hayley checked her voice mail and the many envelopes on the kitchen island. To her surprise, she had a voicemail offering her a spot in a show in two days. It was nothing big, but she would have four entries and there would be headhunters in the audience. She called to confirm her attendance and promised to stop by later for a fitting.

With butterflies ready to take flight in her stomach, she called Dylan’s phone, but she received the answering machine. Apparently, he was still somewhere unreachable.

Whatever. She had to get ready to go to the designer’s studio and commit to a two-day diet.

After a shower, she put on a nice outfit, grabbed her purse, and headed to the door just as it opened and Chloe stepped in.

“Hey there. You’re home early.”

“Yes,” Chloe said, her tone serious.

Hayley thought that after two weeks, her roommate would be happier about seeing her. When Chloe walked toward the kitchen without giving her a hug, she knew something wasn’t right.

“What happened?”

Chloe raised her hand, asking Hayley to wait, went to her room and came back with three magazines in her hands. “This happened.”

Confused, Hayley squinted at the magazines. “What’s with this?”

A crease formed in between Chloe’s brows. She flipped the pages of the three magazines and spread them over the kitchen island.

If it wasn’t for the stool behind her, Hayley would have fallen on the floor.

Her heart squeezed, a painful jolt spreading through her as she stared at pictures of Dylan, on a boat, making out with a bodacious blonde.

“Crap,” she whispered, her mind numb.

“I’m sorry, Hay, but I had to show you these myself.” Chloe walked up to her and placed an arm around her shoulders. “That’s why I came home early. I knew you would have just arrived and, if you went out, you would have seen this. And I didn’t want you to find out about this alone, in the streets, among strangers.”

How could he?

She glanced at the pictures again. He was leaning over the girl, his hands on her hips. Holy hell!

Tears brimmed in her eyes, pain stuffed her chest, and her throat dried out. The kitchen spun around her. And all she could see was Dylan and that tramp.

How could he? How could she have actually believed him? Had she really thought he would behave? That he wouldn’t sleep with any girl for two months? Only two months?

Releasing a scream and hurting her throat on the process, Hayley grabbed the magazines and ripped them in pieces.

“I can’t believe I was so blind,” she whispered, tears rolling down her face, burning her skin.

“I’m so sorry.” Chloe pulled her close. “I don’t want to say I told you so because I know you’re hurting. I know you let your guard down.”

Hayley wiped her tears. He didn’t deserve them, though she couldn’t stop their flow.

“What I’m going to do now?” She rested her head on her roommate’s shoulder, feeling as if she was eighty years old.

A pleased but evil snicker came from Chloe. “Now you slam the door in his face.”

Chapter Seven

Dylan called Hayley’s phone for the hundredth time since arriving from Europe the day before. She never answered.

“What bug bit you?” James asked as he entered their apartment, an ad for a beginning of semester party in his hand.

“I’m calling Hayley, and she doesn’t answer.”

James shook his head. “Man, you got it bad.”

“Got what? I got nothing.”

“Of course you do. Come on. I have noticed you’ve been laying low for a while, but leave a boat full of hot chicks? That was kinda extreme, wasn’t it?”

Dylan averted his friend’s inquisitive eyes. “I wasn’t in the mood, that’s all.”

“Yeah, right.” James snickered. “And I’m the prince of the Deveraux empire.”

Dylan walked away before he punched his friend. “Shut up. You don’t know anything.”

In hurried movements, he grabbed the keys to his car and his jacket and marched to the door.

“Where are you going?”

He glanced at James, trying not to glare. “To New York.” He closed the door behind him, but heard James through the door. “Fool.”

Dylan called Hayley’s cell phone and her apartment all the way from Princeton to New York. Nobody answered. Worry taking hold of his chest, he stepped on the gas and arrived in Brooklyn in a little less than two hours.

He parked in front of her building, not caring that the car could be towed. The only thing that mattered was that Hayley was okay. He would bicker with her if she was well and not answering for another reason.

He buzzed her apartment and Chloe answered.

“Hey, it’s Dylan. Is Hayley there?”

“Just go away,” Chloe said before turning off the intercom.

Now he was enraged. He buzzed a couple of times, and Chloe didn’t answer. But he didn’t leave. Hayley would have to come out at some point. Or come in, if she wasn’t home.

Luck struck when, fifteen minutes later, an old lady left the building, and he was able to sneak in under her protests that he wasn’t supposed to do that.

He knocked hard on the apartment’s door. Chloe opened the door, her eyes wide and furious.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked, blocking the door with her arm.

“I don’t know what is going on here, but I want to know why the hell nobody is answering me.”

“That’s not my business.” Chloe began closing the door, but Dylan put out his hand and pushed it back.

“Where is Hayley?”

Chloe crossed her arms. “Not here.”

“Where is she?” It took a lot to make him mad. The only one who ever made him mad very fast was his father. But at this moment Chloe was rivaling the old man. “Tell me where she is.”

“I won’t.” Chloe faced him, courage in her stance. “If you care about her in any sick way of yours, you would stay away from her.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Just leave her—”

A young girl stepped out of the apartment across the hall and paused in between them. “Is Hayley already gone? I wanted to wish her luck on her show tonight.” The girl peeked into the apartment over Chloe’s shoulders. “I wish I could go see her. Joan Lainy is a great designer. I bet she’ll be gorgeous.” The girl sighed, a dreamy shine on her eyes. “Maybe next time.”

“Next time,” Chloe repeated, teeth clenched, hard eyes on Dylan’s.

He smiled at her, amused that luck had struck a second time in less than five minutes.

Fishing his cell phone from his pocket, he walked away.

“Where are you going?” Chloe asked.

He didn’t stop.

***

Hayley stepped off the runway and leaned against the wall, taking deep breaths to steady her shaking and the strong sickness in her stomach. It wasn’t working. And she still had one more entrance.

It was supposed to get better. Each time she hit the catwalk, it was supposed to get better, to feel more comfortable, but tonight it wasn’t working.

Topping it all, she couldn’t get Dylan out of her mind. More accurately, him and that blonde from the pictures. The queasiness churned in her stomach, and she pressed her hand to her mouth, hoping it would work, and urged the bile back down.

“Hayley, five minutes,” one of the designer’s assistants said as she walked past.

For a few seconds, Hayley closed her eyes and inhaled all the air she could. She focused on her well-being, on her career, on how much she loved it, and how much she wanted it.

Feeling better, she pushed away from the wall and walked to the hangers where her next outfit waited for her.

She started opening the buttons on her back, but couldn’t reach them all. Counting the seconds, she scanned around. Both assistants were nowhere to be seen, the other models were running amok, changing their outfits or helping others do so. Not a living soul to help her.

Hayley felt sick again.

A hand touched the skin on her lower back, where the buttons were undone, and she flinched away, surprised.

“Need help?”

Hayley whirled and found Dylan looking down at her, his cocky smile in place.

The nausea increased.

“What…how did you find me?”

“The details don’t matter now. The important thing is, I found you. I’m here.” He raised his hand toward her, but she stepped back. He frowned. “I don’t know why you’re avoiding me, but I see you need to change to go out again. Let me help you.”

“No.” Hayley turned around and bumped into a wide-smiling reporter, her microphone and the camera over her shoulder.

Hayley’s heart melted into hot lava and spread down to her legs, liquefying them along the way.

How the hell did she get in here? Hayley scanned the area, searching for a crew member to escort the reporter and her camera man out.

“And here we have the hottest couple of the moment. The multi-millionaire Dylan Deveraux, heir to the automobile manufacturing company carrying his name, and Hayley Allen, a model.” The reporter turned to the camera. “Look at the loving couple. The millionaire is helping the model change her dress for her next entrance.” The reporter smiled to Hayley again. “A question the whole world is dying to know. How did you two meet?”

The reporter placed her microphone in front of Hayley’s mouth.

Hayley’s mind numbed. The only things she saw were the microphone and the camera and the lights and the buzz and the curious and suspicious and reproving eyes of everyone. Hundreds or thousands of people watching the interview. Judging, whispering, gossiping, lying.

The queasiness shot up, bringing cold sweat to her skin. She slapped her hand to her mouth and ran past the reporter, toward the distant bathroom.

Before she could close the bathroom’s door, Dylan put his arm in the crack and pushed in.

“Dylan!” She doubled over, putting her hand back over her mouth, the other pressing her stomach, praying it would be enough to calm it.

He knelt beside her. “Hayley, you’re scaring me. What’s the problem?”

Without taking her hand from her mouth, she said, “Get out of here. Close the door.”

Dylan closed the door, but remained inside.

What did she have to do get him out of there? She wouldn’t hold it for much longer. “I don’t want you to see this, please leave.”

She closed her eyes and took in several gulps of air. In the black world of her mind, the images showed up again. Cameras, people laughing, microphones, people pointing, flashes, people judging.

Still shaking and sweating, Hayley held her hair back and threw up in the toilet.

She felt Dylan’s hand on her back, helping her hold her hair and supporting her weight.

When she was done, she slid to the floor, back against the wall. “I didn’t want you to see that,” she whispered, turning her face away from him.

“I threw up tons of times in your bathroom, and you were there for me. I don’t see why I can’t help you.” He sat beside her. “Are you sick?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Then what is it?”