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
