Next Time...Forever

by Sherryl Woods

“I will never grow tired of saying things like that to you,” he promised. “I mean it, Catherine. You’re just beginning to discover how much you have to offer. I hope when you fully realize your worth, you’ll still want me in your life.”

  “I think I will always want you in my life,” she said slowly, her heart suddenly filled to overflowing with tenderness and gratitude and something far deeper, an emotion so overwhelming she was awed by its intensity.

  Dillon’s mouth covered hers, capturing her breath, sharing his. In that passionate mingling a commitment was born, a commitment that she wasn’t at all sure she was ready to make, but one that was undeniably real. When her knees were weak and her body ablaze, he finally pulled away.

  “If we keep this up, we’ll never get to dinner and I will lose that account,” he said, his breath coming in harsh, ragged bursts. Brown eyes devoured her, the look every bit as hot and uncompromising as the kiss had been. “It would almost be worth it.”

  “This must be a very big account,” Catherine said shakily, trying to insert a note of teasing into the throbbing sensuality that had caught them both in its grasp.

  “The biggest. An entire film studio.”

  She stepped back. “We’re having dinner with some movie mogul?”

  “The hottest studio head in L.A. He’s a little rough around the edges, but he’s had three blockbusters in a row. We’ve been working on polishing up his image.”

  Despite the headiness of Dillon’s kiss, she couldn’t ignore the edge of excitement spawned by his announcement. “Let’s go then,” she said at once.

  “Wait a minute,” he said. “You’re throwing me over for some Hollywood type?”

  “I’m not throwing you over. I’m just trying to help you with business,” she said primly.

  “Right. And I suppose the first actor you spot, you’ll swoon.”

  “It is a southern tradition for the ladies to faint when their senses are overwrought.”

  “Lady, I will be the only man playing havoc with your senses tonight.”

  She grinned at him. “Promises, promises,” she said daringly. The look in Dillon’s eyes was headier than any champagne…and it definitely didn’t make her feel like sneezing.

  * * *

  Dillon thoroughly enjoyed watching Catherine’s reaction to Ruben Prunelli. The studio chief was short and at least thirty pounds overweight. Wisps of untamed gray hair stood out in every direction. Not even a top Hollywood stylist and a container of mousse could have tamed it. He talked in short, blunt bursts, punctuated by gestures with his smelly cigar. Dillon had always admired the man’s straightforward no-nonsense style, his refusal to compromise. Catherine seemed taken aback by the lack of polish, which was exactly the problem Prunelli had come to him to correct. She clearly hated the cigar. Every time it passed over his dinner plate, she winced. Dillon recognized the precise moment when she decided not to take it anymore.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Prunelli,” she said briskly, taking the cigar with a dainty, but determined move. He appeared too startled to object. “You don’t really want to spoil your dinner with this, do you?”

  A waiter was at her elbow to take the offending cigar at once. Dillon chuckled at Ruben’s expression of bemusement as his expensive cigar vanished in a cloud of smoke.

  “I’m sure your veal will taste much better now,” she said, smiling demurely at him.

  “Veal was just fine as it was,” Ruben grumbled.

  Catherine’s smile remained fixed in place. “Mine wasn’t.”

  “Never thought about that,” Ruben said, turning to Dillon. “Why didn’t you speak up, man? You know I don’t pay attention to the social niceties. Too busy to pay attention. It’s up to you to fix my image. Can’t make any money producing those damned family films, if the public thinks I’m a low-class lout.”

  “You’re absolutely right, Mr. Prunelli,” Catherine said smoothly, before Dillon could even begin to gather his composure. He had to keep swallowing back his laughter.

  “But you’re obviously a very smart man,” she said. “If you really put yourself into Dillon’s hands, instead of just paying lip service to his advice, I’m sure he could turn around your image in no time. You might start by not referring to your movies as those damned family films. They’re really quite good. I’ve taken my nieces and nephews to all of them.”

  Dillon finally found his voice. “She’s right, Ruben. If you don’t respect your product, why should anyone else?”

  Prunelli appeared stunned by the barrage of criticism. Catherine was right, though. He was a smart man. Dillon could see the information being quickly absorbed. “Send me a plan,” he barked. “By next Friday. If I like it, we’ll keep you.”

  He pulled another cigar out of his pocket. Catherine’s nose wrinkled in disgust and Prunelli chuckled. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to light up ‘til I get out of here.”

  She looked aghast. “But Mr. Prunelli, you’ve barely touched your meal. I hope you’re not upset.”

  “Never finish,” he said. “I’m taking three more meetings tonight. Can’t eat four whole meals in one night. You two stay. Enjoy your dinner. It’s on me.”

  He pumped Dillon’s hand vigorously. “Keep her, Ryan. She’s a breath of fresh air. Too damn many fakes out here.”

  When he was gone, Dillon turned his amused gaze on Catherine. She was looking miserable. Absolutely mortified. He’d never been prouder.

  “I can’t believe how rude I was,” she said with a moan. “I just yanked that man’s cigar out of his hand.”

  “He loved it. He’s surrounded by sycophants. He meant what he said. Your honesty is refreshing. You kept the account for us. He knows the advertising was producing results, but the press was having a field day with him personally. You pointed out why.”

  “But I could have blown it. I didn’t think. I just acted.”

  “Like a lady. Besides, it would have been worth it to see that look on his face. Now, let’s stop talking about Ruben Prunelli and his smelly cigars. I have plans for the two of us for tonight…and tomorrow…and Sunday.”

  At the quick flaring of heat in Catherine’s eyes, he felt a throbbing tension begin in his own abdomen. If he hadn’t known it before, he did now: she was a woman who belonged by his side. Together they could accomplish anything. With her in his arms, he could reach heaven.

  He held out his hand. “Shall we go?”

  “No dessert for you, either?” she said, her voice suddenly tremulous.

  “At home,” he responded. “We’ll share dessert at home.”

  * * *

  Catherine’s pulse raced as nervous anticipation sped through her. The drive to the beachfront cottage seemed interminable.

  And far too short.

  By the time they walked through the front door, she thought she’d die if Dillon didn’t kiss her. Instead, he simply took her hand.

  “Let’s go for that walk on the beach. We’ve already delayed it far too long,” he said.

  The velvet night wrapped itself around them as they walked hand in hand along the cooling sand. Waves battered the shore, echoing the pounding of Catherine’s heart. She shivered and Dillon stopped, pulling her into his arms

  “Cold?”

  The shudders abated and she sighed. “Not with you holding me like this.”

  “Then I won’t let you go,” he whispered huskily. Catherine lifted her gaze to meet his and what she saw in his eyes made her go weak with longing. Such obvious masculine appreciation. So much love.

  “Catherine…” he began, then abandoned the thought. His lips molded themselves over hers—gentle, persuasive lips that robbed her of breath and filled her with joy. A fierce hunger began to build inside her, a need so primal, so intense that she swayed against him, seeking his warmth, aching for the feel of his bare skin next to hers. The desire was so all consuming, she was shaken by its force. Never had her body burned so. Never had she been so captivated by a touch.

  Dillon’s fingers traced t
he arch of her back, the curve of her hip. She moaned in response, alive as she’d never been before.

  “Let’s go inside,” Dillon said.

  “No,” she whispered, her lips pressed to his neck. The skin was on fire, every bit as hot as her own. “Here, Dillon. Make love to me here. Now.”

  He opened his mouth to object, but she sealed off the argument with an urgent, demanding kiss that left them both trembling. Her fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, then tugged it free of his pants. He groaned as she caressed the bare flesh of his chest. For one instant, she was startled by her own abandon, terrified by it, but then she was lost to the feelings, awash in sensation.

  “You should have satin sheets and candlelight,” Dillon murmured apologetically as he freed her breasts from the lacy bra.

  “Starlight is better.” In starlight, he wouldn’t see her fear. Under the night sky, he wouldn’t know the power of his touches. With the crash of the waves as background, perhaps he wouldn’t hear the whimpers of pleasure that even now were building and building inside her. Matthew had never made her feel like this, never made her forget that she was a lady. In Dillon’s arms she was discovering that she was a wanton, that there was a sensuality buried deep inside her that pulsed and burned and cried out for fulfillment. The hunger terrified her…and drew her inevitably.

  Responding to her bold touches, Dillon stripped away the last of her clothes. For one awestruck moment, he stared at her and in his eyes she saw herself as a complete woman. She held out her arms and the last of Dillon’s gentleness fled. His caresses became more intimate, his lips more possessive, his skin more beaded with sweat. His muscles quivered beneath her deep strokes until at last he sank to the sand, pulling her down on top of him.

  She saw the flaring of passion in his dark-as-midnight eyes as he moved deep inside her. Once. Then again. Slowly and tantalizingly. Until there was nothing but the roar of the ocean and Dillon and the hot, urgent feelings that consumed and swelled and finally shattered inside her.

  In that moment, Catherine knew she was lost. She knew that for however long it lasted, she would treasure what she had found with Dillon. It promised to be one hell of a ride.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Labor Day Weekend

  Catherine felt as though she were under siege. Dillon and her mother—two of the most unreasonable people she’d ever met—were coming at her from opposite directions. Her mother was emphatic about Catherine joining the whole family in North Carolina for the holiday weekend. Dillon was being just as pigheaded about finally getting away for that long-postponed weekend at Hilton Head. He sounded more tense and short-tempered than she’d ever heard him.

  “What would you think about changing our plans for this weekend?” she asked cautiously.

  “You can’t be serious. I haven’t seen you since July. As it is, I’m shuffling appointments right and left to make this work. I’ve made the reservations in Hilton Head and I have the plane ticket. I’m leaving New York in a few hours. Now’s a hell of a time to talk about changing.”

  Catherine glanced anxiously toward the living room, then finally rolled her eyes. “You’re right. I’ve been looking forward to it, too. Let’s leave things the way we planned them.”

  There was a long pause before he finally said, “Are you sure? You aren’t running scared on me, are you?”

  She heard the concern, the quick shift to put her needs first. “No,” she reassured him.

  “It’s nothing like that. I’m as anxious to see you again as I ever was.”

  “Then we’re all set. You have my flight number. Be sure to check on it so you don’t end up waiting around at the airport in Savannah half the day.”

  “I’ll check,” she promised.

  “Gotta run. I’ll see you tonight, sweetheart. I can’t wait.”

  “Bye, Dillon.”

  Catherine replaced the receiver and stood where she was for several minutes, before gathering the strength to face her mother again. She took a deep breath, then went back into the parlor where Lucinda Devereaux was just finishing her morning coffee.

  “I’m sorry,” she told her. “My plans can’t be changed, after all.”

  Blue eyes sparkled with maternal indignation. “Now, dear, don’t be stubborn. Nothing is that important. I’m sure you could make other arrangements for whatever it is that you have planned.”

  “I don’t want to make other arrangements, Mother. I’m looking forward to going to Hilton Head.” That was quite possibly the most incredible understatement of her life. After being in Dillon’s arms at last, she could hardly wait to have them around her again. The past few weeks without him had been incredibly empty. How could a city she’d lived in all her life suddenly be so lonely? Long-distance phone calls, no matter how frequent, didn’t take the place of his touches or those darkly passionate looks that made her melt inside.

  “What on earth is in Hilton Head, of all places?” her mother demanded in a tone suggesting that, despite its long-running popularity with the rich, the resort was still far too new to be considered an appropriate destination. Moreover, Lucinda Devereaux was not used to being crossed, especially by her eldest daughter. Catherine had always been docile and accommodating. Obviously it was a habit she’d taken far too long to break.

  “A man,” she blurted before she could think of the consequences. “I’m going there to meet a man.”

  Shock registered on her mother’s still lovely, aristocratic features. “What man? Catherine, what on earth has come over you?”

  “Nothing has come over me, Mother. I met someone. I’ve been seeing him for a while now. We’re going to spend the holiday in Hilton Head and that’s that.” She was very proud of the firm tone of defiance, though she didn’t hold out much hope that her mother would simply roll over and play dead.

  “Do we know this man?”

  “No. He’s not from Atlanta.”

  As expected, her mother appeared scandalized by that news. “Then how did you meet him?”

  “We met when I went to Savannah last year.”

  “Then he lives in Savannah,” she said, looking relieved. “I know some lovely families in Savannah. Perhaps I know him, after all.”

  “No, Mother. He was just there on business. He lives in New York.”

  “Dear heavens!” Her mother sank back against the sofa and waved a handkerchief in front of her face. Catherine didn’t buy the convenient attack of the vapors for a second. Sure enough, when she failed to respond, her mother sat up straighter and said with the force of a regal decree, “You must bring this man to North Carolina, then. That’s all there is to it. I won’t have you racing about to keep some sordid rendezvous with a stranger.”

  Catherine drew herself up with quiet dignity, proving that she was every inch her mother’s daughter. “He is not a stranger to me and there is nothing sordid about it,” she retorted. “No matter what you think, though, I absolutely refuse to spend what little time we have together parading him out for review.”

  Her mother’s gaze was penetrating. A month ago or even a week ago, Catherine would have cringed under that look. Not now. Since knowing Dillon, she had grown stronger, more confident in her own decisions. “Are you ashamed of him?” her mother demanded. “Is he not suitable for a Devereaux?”

  “His suitability is not the issue! He’s a fine man.”

  “Then it must be us.”

  Catherine groaned. “Don’t be ridiculous. I am not ashamed of anyone. If my relationship with Dillon appears to be turning into something permanent, then I assure you I will bring him home so that you can cross-examine him to your heart’s content. Until then, I will handle this in my own way. Have a lovely holiday, Mother. Give everyone my love.”

  She dutifully kissed her mother’s cheek, then spun around and left the room before her stunned mother could react. Catherine wasn’t sure she could have withstood a full-fledged assault. Her mother was a master at instilling guilt and Catherine was still far too new at r
esisting. Only the prospect of having Dillon all to herself on a secluded beach had kept her strong. She wondered what it was going to take to brace her for the moment when she told her mother she was planning to start spending weekdays in Savannah going back to college…and seeing Dillon every chance he got to fly down.

  She had finally gone through the Savannah College of Art and Design catalog after she’d gotten back from Los Angeles. In those first few days after her return, she’d felt as though she could conquer the world. A second college degree—this time in a subject of her own choosing—had seemed like a snap. She’d driven to Savannah on a Thursday, planning to meet Dillon for one night, only to discover on her arrival that he’d had to fly to Chicago instead. Though she’d been bitterly disappointed, she’d used the time to go by the school and enroll.

  Then, as if to prove her commitment, she’d immediately searched for and found a small apartment in a carriage house. She’d been enchanted by the light that flooded in the high windows, the promising, but untended rooms and the old furniture that had been cast aside with such neglect. She had planned to tell Dillon about her decision when they’d talked later that night, but instead she’d held the secret as a surprise.

  Catherine decided that she would tell him when they arrived in Hilton Head. Maybe they would even drive back into Savannah one day so he could see the apartment. Just in case, she dropped off a bottle of his favorite wine and stocked the refrigerator with food before going to pick him up.

  At the airport in Savannah, she found herself pacing impatiently. The arrival board said his flight was on time, but she was so eager to be in his arms again, the minutes seemed to crawl by.

  When he arrived at last, she was shocked by his appearance. He looked utterly exhausted. His rugged features were haggard, his eyes dull and lifeless until they came to rest on her. Then they brightened ever so slightly and his lips curved into a beguiling, tender smile.

  “You are definitely a sight for sore eyes,” he said, dropping his suitcase and pulling her into his arms. Catherine nestled against his chest and hugged him tightly.