end of her kitchen counter, he said, “I assure you, Mrs. Alexander, I am not here to make a pass.” Although he’d damn sure like to be, he thought. Hayley Alexander was one sexy woman.
“So why are you here?”
Dillon edged closer, wishing he knew enough about plumbing to offer to lend her a hand. “I thought I’d stop by and see if there’s anything I could do for you, because I cared about Hank.” He paused, thinking briefly about the loss they’d both suffered. “I would’ve come sooner, but as you’ve already figured out, I just got back in the States myself.”
Hayley stood on tiptoe and put her weight behind the wrench to turn it.
“You don’t believe that’s all there is to it, do you?” Dillon asked when she continued to concentrate on her task. He wasn’t used to being ignored by women, period, and especially not pretty young ones.
She sighed. “The words are nice. My past experiences with NCN News guys says otherwise.”
“They all made passes at you?”
“Twenty-one of them,” she said flatly.
“Which is reason enough to be wary,” Dillon added pragmatically. “But it doesn’t surprise me that a lot of your husband’s colleagues would want to make a condolence call. Hank was respected. As for the passes—” Dillon sighed ruefully “—what can I say? I’m sorry anyone made you uncomfortable. On the other hand, let’s face it. You are a very beautiful woman and—”
“And what?” she interrupted. She faced him, hands on her slender hips. “Because I have looks, men aren’t responsible for keeping their hands to themselves?”
“Not at all,” Dillon said, trying hard not to notice how the preemptive action had drawn her blouse against her breasts.
Waving her wrench around dangerously to emphasize her point, she advanced on him. “I am not lonely, Dillon Gallagher. Contrary to popular opinion, I am not hot to trot! So try spreading that around NCN, would you please?”
Dillon chuckled and capturing the wrench from her hand, lowered it to waist level before she did any damage with it, and held it between them. “Watch where you’re swinging that thing, would you?” Dillon asked, tightening his grip on her hand.
If she weren’t careful, she’d be swinging it below his belt. He didn’t need any more pain in that area; the ache he had from just looking at her was torment enough.
“Sorry.” Hayley had the grace to look embarrassed for her outburst. “I’ve just had enough tea and sympathy to last me a lifetime, you know?”
“I know.”
“I want to get on with my life.”
“You should.”
“Out of Manhattan. Somewhere safer, where Christine can have plenty of fresh air and sunshine, and a backyard to play in and plenty of friends her own age.”
“Sounds like a reasonable goal.” Even if that kind of life wasn’t for him, he thought. “As long as I’m here, is there anything I can do to help you?”
“Thanks for the offer,” Hayley said. She turned and went back to her faucet. “But as you can see, I’m getting along fine.”
More than fine, Dillon thought, as he watched her replace the washers.
He knew she’d just given him his cue to leave, but oddly enough, he wasn’t ready. And his wanting to stay had nothing to do with the way she looked in those close-fitting ivory leggings and that stylish thigh-skimming tangerine top. He just wanted to see she was all right. “Where are you moving to?”
Hayley frowned as she began to put the faucet back together again. “I don’t know yet. It will depend on where I get a job.”
“You’re a financial analyst, aren’t you?” The last he had heard, she’d worked for a high-profile Wall Street firm.
“Yes,” Hayley admitted, “but I’m not going back to it.”
“Why not?”
“Christine. I don’t want to leave her with a sitter all day.” Hayley knelt down to turn the incoming water back on. Straightening, she turned the tap on. Water came out in a steady stream.
“You could free-lance and work out of your home.”
“I know—”
“But?”
“I just went into the field because it would allow me to make a good living, but I hated the work.”
“So, what do you want to do?”
“Illustrate children’s books.”
That explained the paintings of teddy bears and bunnies he’d seen.
“Unfortunately I haven’t got the writing talent to go with it. So I’ll either have to find a partner who can write but not draw, or get hired as a free-lance illustrator by a publisher here in the city.”
“I’ve got a few friends in the business,” Dillon offered, finally seeing a way he could ease his guilt about what had happened to Hank. Though everyone had told him, from the lowliest camera grip to the chief of the network, that Hank’s death wasn’t Dillon’s fault. “Maybe I could help—”
“No.” She cut him off, her voice unexpectedly sharp. “Thanks.” Taking a deep breath, she softened her voice with obvious effort, “I do it on my own or I don’t do it.”
“All right.” He watched her replace her tools in the metal box on the counter. “Don’t you have a super who takes care of things like that for you?”
“I can take care of myself.”
“So I’ve noticed,” Dillon drawled.
In the distance there was some shuffling and then a thud, followed by the sound of a baby’s happy gurgling. Hayley’s face lit up. “That’s Christine.” Her infectious smile widened. “Would you like to see her before you leave?”
Dillon hesitated. He didn’t know anything about babies, but not wanting to insult her, he nodded. “Sure.”
He waited in the hall. Hayley returned a moment later, balancing the baby on her hip. “This is Christine.”
Dillon stared at Hayley’s daughter, searching for something to say. “She’s beautiful,” he said finally, because it was true. Christine had Hayley’s same naturally curly, honey blond hair, heart-shaped face and dark green eyes with long gold-tipped lashes.
“I think so, too,” Hayley admitted, casting an adoring look at her baby daughter.
Dillon glanced at his watch. “Well, I’d better get going. I’ve got to interview some housekeeper over in Bridgeport.” Not that he actually intended to hire the old battle-ax, he thought. He was just going through the motions to humor his sister, Marge.
“For
