Next Time...Forever

by Sherryl Woods

  “I don’t give a good damn whether or not you have a career,” he retorted with obvious impatience. “Can you honestly tell me you were totally happy being a housewife? Did that satisfy you? Were you content with running a house and doing good deeds?”

  The harsh words hammered at her. “No, dammit,” she exploded finally, shocked by the anger that was racing through her like a heady wine. She was shaking with years of pent-up fury. “I hated it. I deplored the sameness of it, but it was expected of me and I was good at it.”

  Surprisingly, Dillon heaved a sigh of relief at the explosion. “I’m sure you were,” he said more gently and Catherine felt the anger begin to ebb. “I think you’d be good at whatever you did.”

  She turned tear-filled eyes to meet his as he added, “This time, though, make it something that means something to you, something important, something your very soul needs to feel fulfilled.”

  Suddenly it dawned on her what he’d done. She wasn’t sure which irritated her more, that he’d tried it or that it had worked. “You made me fight with you on purpose, didn’t you?” she said suspiciously.

  “Maybe.”

  “Don’t try to manipulate me again, Dillon,” she said seriously. A new strength seemed to fill her. She probably should thank him for that, but she didn’t. She warned instead, “You might win the battle, but I guarantee you’ll lose the war.”

  Rather than looking one bit intimidated, he looked pleased. “Deal,” he said.

  Unconvinced by the sudden reversal of tactics, she stared into brown eyes that never once wavered. Finally, she nodded and sank back into her chair. She took a long, grateful sip of coffee. Her voice calmer, she asked, “Is that the way advertising is for you? Would you feel empty without it?”

  “Sometimes,” he said with surprising caution.

  “I thought you loved it. Every time you talk about White Stone Electronics you get this spark in your eye, like you can’t wait to get back to it. I was envious of that. I want something I care about that much.”

  “White Stone has made me see how much I’ve lost by becoming a success.”

  “Isn’t that a contradiction?”

  “I don’t think so. Not if being a success takes you away from the part of the job you love the most. It’s like a teacher who adores working with students suddenly being tapped to be principal. That’s success. He’s still an educator. But he’s no longer in the classroom.”

  “What does that mean for you?”

  “I’m not sure yet. Maybe, like you, I’ll find the answers here in Savannah. Are you game?”

  With a deeply indrawn breath, she finally nodded. “Where do we start?”

  “Let’s visit that school. We’ll take the rest one step at a time.” At her doubtful look, he emphasized, “Both of us.”

  “Sure,” she said at last. “What have I got to lose? A job in a thrift shop that doesn’t pay, has no fringe benefits and could be done by any able-bodied adult with a speck of sense.

  Almost anything would be better than that, right?”

  “That’s the right attitude,” he said approvingly.

  “Spunky?” she said with apparent distaste.

  Dillon chuckled. “Definitely spunky.” He picked up her hand and kissed the palm. “Sexy, too.”

  The lightest touch of his lips generated the force of an earthquake. Catherine felt the tremor clear down to her toes. Maybe spunky was going to turn out to be all right, after all, she thought as she met Dillon’s bold, heated gaze. He winked slowly and her pulse quickened.

  Then again, she decided with equal parts regret and anticipation, it was probably just going to get her into trouble.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Fourth of July

  “What’s this?” Beth asked with feigned innocence as she picked up the sheer negligee tossed on Catherine’s bed.

  Catherine snatched it back. “What does it look like?”

  “Pure seduction.” Beth settled herself on the bed and turned a curious gaze on Catherine.

  “Tell me again about this weekend. What does Dillon have in mind?”

  “He’s rented a cottage at Hilton Head.”

  “Well, well,” she said with gloating approval. “I take it things are working out.”

  Catherine glared at her friend. “He’s a nice man,” she declared defensively.

  “Did I suggest otherwise? Even if I had, you certainly don’t have to justify yourself to me.”

  “That’s right.” Noting Beth’s increasingly amused expression, Catherine sighed and sank down on the edge of the bed beside her, twisting the sheer negligee fabric into knots. “I sound so self-confident. Why do I feel as though I’m still a teenager sneaking around behind my parents’ backs?”

  “Because you haven’t mentioned Dillon to your mother,” Beth said at once. “Why does that bother you so much? You’re way past the age when you should have to account to anyone other than yourself for your actions.”

  “I know that, but mother is hurt that I won’t be spending the holiday with the whole family while they’re in North Carolina. She’s also convinced that I’m going to sit around here by myself moping. You know how she feels about that sort of self-indulgence.”

  “Then tell her the truth. Tell her moping is the last thing on your mind these days.”

  “Beth!”

  “Well, it’s the truth, isn’t it? You’re the happiest I’ve seen you. Maybe it would be good for her to know that there’s a new man in your life. She’d stop worrying so much.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding. My mother has turned worrying into a full-time profession. No, if I tell her, she’ll just ruin it for me. You’ve seen her in action. She’ll have Dad investigating Dillon’s credit rating. Then she’ll call him herself and invite him to Atlanta for a full-dress inspection. I’m not ready to face all that. I doubt Dillon is, either. He’s not the kind of man who’ll enjoy being trotted out for a stamp of approval like a hunk of meat.”

  “Don’t you think he’ll measure up? From everything you said this man could pass a government security check and the judging for hunk-of-the-month.”

  “Mother’s standards are higher. Even so, Dillon could meet them.”

  “Then maybe the real issue is that you’re afraid to have him meet your family. The Devereaux clan can be a bit intimidating.”

  “I doubt that the Ayatollah could have intimidated Dillon. It’s just that the timing is all wrong. The whole relationship is still too new. It may not even be anything important. Why subject it to all this outside scrutiny?”

  “You don’t believe for a single minute that it’s unimportant,” Beth said with feeling. Catherine stared at her in surprise.

  “You sound so sure, far more confident than I do. How come?”

  Beth rescued the filmy negligee from Catherine’s nervous grasp and waved it in the air. “This. You’re far too proper and cautious to be taking along something this provocative if you’re not already head over heels in love with the guy.”

  Beth’s observation made her heart thump erratically. “I’m intrigued. I’m hardly in love,” she contradicted, ignoring the thumping.

  “Intrigued doesn’t call for silk and lace. Mad, passionate love calls for silk and lace. Are you trying to convince me you don’t have the hots for Dillon?”

  Catherine recalled the tender seduction of his lips, the provocative caresses. Heat flooded through her. “I’d say that’s a pretty apt description,” she admitted ruefully. She gazed at her neighbor beseechingly. “Beth, what am I going to do? I am not the sort of woman to have weekend flings. It goes against everything I was brought up to believe in.”

  “We’re not talking casual sex here. You and Dillon are beginning to care for one another. And there’s absolutely nothing wrong with a weekend fling,” Beth said staunchly, “especially if it’s the natural progression of a meaningful relationship.”

  Catherine regarded her skeptically. “What pop psychology book was that in?”


  “No book. That’s from a romantic bill of rights. It’s about time you studied them. The next one is don’t be late. Finish packing and get out of here. Have yourself a wonderful time. If Dillon can put those sparks in your eyes, then he has to have something pretty special going for him.”

  From the envious gleam in Beth’s eyes, Catherine could tell exactly what her friend thought that something was. And while sex appeal was a very strong part of the attraction, Dillon’s kindness and strength were equally important. She could feel herself blossoming under his interest. She’d never felt brighter or more enchanting. She’d never felt more like a woman.

  If only their lives weren’t so very different. If only they lived in the same place, so the relationship could evolve more naturally. As it was, all this chasing around the country to be together added an unrealistic edge of adventure to the relationship. How well would it hold up under the light of everyday living? Since there was absolutely no way to know that yet, she finally decided to give up making herself crazy over it.

  “Thanks, Beth,” she said, giving her a hug.

  “For what? Just go and have the time of your life. Thinking about your madcap weekend will keep me occupied while I’m folding the stacks of laundry.”

  * * *

  Catherine was halfway to the car, when she heard the phone ringing. She tried to justify ignoring it, but she didn’t have it in her. She kept imagining a friend in desperate need of someone to talk to, her father being carted off to the hospital, her mother trying one last time to persuade her to come to North Carolina for the long holiday weekend. The last almost kept her right where she was, but the next thing she knew she was fumbling for her house key and running up the front steps.

  “It’s probably one of those computerized calls for a carpet service,” she grumbled under her breath as she yanked up the receiver. “Yes, hello.”

  “Catherine?”

  “Dillon? Is everything okay?”

  “Maybe I should be asking you that. You sound breathless.”

  “I was almost in the car when I heard the phone ringing. My conscience wouldn’t let me ignore it.”

  “For once I owe something to your conscience then.”

  Her spirits plummeted at his dire tone. “Something is wrong.”

  “Yes. I’m sorry. I can’t get to South Carolina after all.”

  Catherine tried to swallow her disappointment. “A problem at work?”

  “Yes. A client in Los Angeles is thinking of switching firms. The account executive has tried everything short of giving him the next ad campaign free. I tried to find a way around it, but I can’t. I have to fly out there.”

  “Of course you do,” she said automatically. “I’ll miss seeing you, though. I was looking forward to those walks on the beach you promised.”

  “So was I,” he said, in a voice so thick with emotion that Catherine went still. “We don’t have to be apart, though. Come with me to Los Angeles instead. I have a friend who’s loaning me his place at Malibu. We can still have those long walks on the beach.”

  To her amazement, she was actually tempted. Changing plans on a whim had never been one of her strengths. Maybe she’d inherited her rigidity from her mother. Whatever the case, her marriage had only solidified her desire for an orderly existence. For a doctor, Matthew had been amazingly adept at maintaining a schedule. Or perhaps it had only seemed that way because he’d blocked such a huge percentage of his time for work in the first place. Personal plans rarely had to be shifted if they weren’t made.

  “Do I sense reservations?” Dillon asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Why? We were going to be together. The only thing changing is the location.”

  “How would I explain that I’m traipsing off to Los Angeles?” She ignored the fact that she hadn’t even had the nerve to explain that she was traipsing off to Hilton Head.

  “You’re thirty-three years old. To whom do you owe an explanation?” he began impatiently, then obviously caught himself. Lightening his tone, he said, “Or is there a jealous lover you haven’t mentioned?”

  Surprised, Catherine noted the edge of anxiety beneath the banter. “No lovers, Dillon, just a family that is not used to my gallivanting off on my own at the drop of a hat.”

  “Sounds like a pitiful excuse to me,” he said, determinedly maintaining his light tone. She could hear the strain of his effort in his voice. “Maybe it isn’t L.A. you’re really worried about.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked.

  “Were you having second thoughts about seeing me again? You sounded fine when we talked the other day.”

  She couldn’t bring herself to admit that he’d hit the nail on the head. She was scared witless at the prospect of a long, romantic weekend alone with him. Though a part of her longed to take Beth’s advice and plunge ahead, another part kept shouting caution. “I just told you that I was already out at the car when you called,” she responded far too defensively.

  “You could have been going out for groceries.”

  “I was about to drive to Hilton Head. Maybe I still should,” she declared stiffly, fully aware that she was trying to pick a fight, but unable to stop herself.

  Dillon sighed heavily and backed away from the argument. “No. I’m sorry. I just don’t understand why you’re so reluctant to do this.”

  Catherine forced a laugh. “Frankly, neither do I. Habit, I suppose.”

  “Maybe it’s time to break it,” he suggested with more gentleness. “Catherine, I really want to spend this weekend with you and I think you want to be with me. Don’t let old fears hold you back from taking a step into the future.”

  Basking in his warmth and his effort to understand, Catherine felt her anxieties begin to fade. Finally, her pulse racing expectantly, she whispered, “Maybe it is time.”

  Dillon pounced with the acute sensitivity of one who always recognizes subtle shifts in mood. He obviously knew exactly when to press an advantage. No wonder he was one of the top advertising executives in the country. “Then let’s do it,” he said briskly. “I’ll call my travel agent and she’ll have a ticket waiting for you at the airport. You can help me seduce this guy into keeping his advertising account right where it is.”

  “Dillon, I don’t know anything about advertising.”

  “But you do know all about seduction,” he teased. “You’ve had my head spinning ever since we met. Believe me, the techniques are essentially the same.”

  Despite herself, Catherine felt flattered. “Could be interesting. What do I do if this guy starts suggesting weekend meetings halfway across the country?” she queried innocently, enjoying Dillon’s quick growl of displeasure.

  “Turn him down,” he snapped with what she suspected was only slightly feigned ferocity.

  “Maybe he’s the type who won’t take no for an answer. I hear there are men like that.”

  She heard his deeply indrawn breath, then, “Wait by the phone. I’ll have my travel agent call you about the arrangements, Catherine. We’ll discuss this further when I see you.”

  “Yes, Dillon,” she said meekly, but for the first time in years she wasn’t feeling meek. She was filled with the satisfaction of knowing that she was able to turn the tables on a man, that her quick-witted responses could taunt and tempt. She felt, finally, like the Southern belle her mother’d been waiting all her life for Catherine to turn into.

  * * *

  The beach at sunset was a sight to behold—vibrant orange and the hottest pink splitting a sky of purest blue. There was no suggestion of the infamous smog to mute the colors.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Dillon said, putting his arms around her from behind as she watched the waves wash over the wide stretch of beach.

  “Glorious.”

  “Glad you came?”

  She nodded.

  “Me, too. I only wish we didn’t have to go to this dinner. I’d much rather spend the evening out here with you, listening to the tide roll
in and drinking champagne.”

  “Nice thought, but champagne makes me sneeze,” she said. “The first time it happened, my parents were horrified. They wouldn’t believe that a daughter of theirs had no tolerance for one of the finer things in life. They made my wedding hell because they insisted on serving champagne. I could have avoided it, I suppose, but everyone kept offering toasts and Matthew kept handing me a glass. By the end of the reception my nose was red and my eyes were watering.” She giggled at the memory. “I figure it served him right that in all the pictures the bride looked as if she was just recovering from the flu.”

  “I’ll bet you didn’t laugh about it then,” Dillon said.

  She glanced up over her shoulder. “What makes you say that?”

  “I’m sure you counted on everything being perfect to please your parents and your husband. Causing them even such a tiny embarrassment probably spoiled the whole day for you.”

  She turned in his arms and rested her hands on his shoulders. Her eyes were almost even with his. She felt as if he could see though to her soul. “You’re amazing.”

  “I know,” he said immodestly, his lips tilting in amusement.

  “Stop it. I mean it. No one else saw how I felt.”

  “Probably because they were too worried about appearances and their own feelings.”

  “I’m painting an awful picture of my family, aren’t I? They’re really not like that. They just want what’s best for me. The Devereaux have always maintained a certain life-style and my mother’s family was doubly concerned with tradition. You can imagine what sort of monster a merger of the two families created.”

  Dillon shook his head and pressed his lips to her forehead. “No, sweetheart. That’s not what I see at all. They created you, didn’t they? For that I owe them my undying gratitude.”

  Catherine melted at the sweet sincerity of Dillon’s words and the genuine appreciation in his eyes. “No one has ever said anything so beautiful to me before,” she said, blinking back tears. One escaped and Dillon brushed it away with the tip of his finger.