Cindy looked bored with the whole scene, but Stephanie and Lauren immediately headed for the dance floor, losing no time finding partners to join them. Ava held Dylan’s arm and moved in.
“They act like they’re single, don’t they?”
Dylan said nothing. She could imagine how that could happen over time. Since the season had begun, she almost felt single herself. When she saw Mark, their time together was fleeting, and their phone conversations had grown more and more brief as he disappeared into the game.
And of course, their conversation today hadn’t helped matters much. She wondered dully whether in refusing to go home she’d been trying to goad him into an argument, get a rise out of him. After all, what the hell did she care about being in Palm Springs? She wasn’t even enjoying herself.
“I’m going to dance too,” Ava said into her ear. “You want to come?”
Dylan shook her head, and watched as Ava sashayed her way toward the dance floor. She hadn’t been the best friend to Ava lately, she thought now. But when they got back to New York, she would make it up to her somehow. And of course, there was Miri and the canceled shopping trip. And Mark, of course. She had a lot of making up to do.
Directly across from her, Cindy and Ray Hernandez were studiously ignoring each other, waves of festering anger and recrimination roiling off them. And it suddenly became too much. Dylan stood and took a deep breath, heading for the exit. She needed some air.
Outside, there were young women in stilettos and short skirts, bubbly and excited for an evening out; and young men, preening and pretending not to notice them. Just across the street from the club was a small park, all lit up and aglow, with benches overlooking a small fountain surrounded by a wrought iron fence. Dylan crossed over to it and leaned on the fence, looking at the fountain. She shouldn’t have come. That much was obvious now. She wasn’t even sure why she had.
The past several weeks had been a frenzy of activity. She almost didn’t know where to focus her attention. On making friends with the other wives, bonding with her new family, preparing for her career, or taking care of her massive new home? And then of course there was her new, perfectlygroomed self. Her hair, her body, her face. Everything was a project that required much more maintenance than she ever would have imagined. Who would have known that being one of the idle rich could be so time-consuming? And throughout it all, Mark felt so far away.
She didn’t know how long she had been there when she felt a presence just over her shoulder. Thinking it might be a presumptuous stranger, she turned and saw that instead, it was Ray. Of course it was. Dylan tensed immediately, already thinking about how she might politely get away from him.
“What’re you doing out here all alone?” he asked, his voice quiet and strangely soothing.
“Just thinking,” Dylan said, glancing rather than looking directly at him.
“I do that occasionally,” he said, leaning next to her.
In spite of herself, Dylan smiled. “Oh do you?”
“Yes. My wife will tell you differently, but I have been known to fire up the ol’ brain cells.”
“Where is your wife?” Dylan asked, trying not to sound unkind. “Isn’t that where you should be?”
Ray shrugged, and when she glanced at him, noted with surprise that there was a flash of something almost like sadness in his eyes. “Cindy stopped noticing my absence a long time ago,” he said.
“How’d that happen?” Dylan asked, keeping her tone lighthearted.
Ray grinned at her, visibly snapping out of whatever genuine moment he’d had seconds earlier. “Who knows? Occupational hazard. Believe it or not, the same will happen to you soon enough.”
“Never,” Dylan said, shaking her head. “I miss my husband every second of every day that he’s gone.”
Ray smiled at her indulgently, as though she was a foolish child. “I’m sure you do, Dylan. I’m sure you do.”
She felt a spark of annoyance at him, for intruding when she obviously wanted some time alone, and for stoking one of the many areas where she had deep and genuine trepidation about her marriage. Mark and she had married so quickly, and knew each other so little that lately Dylan had reflected that the time they’d spent apart now exceeded that which they’d spent together.
When he was away, she found it hard to read him by his voice on the telephone alone. The plain truth was, she didn’t know him well enough to do that accurately. That lent itself to the potential for arguments and misunderstandings, based only on a misinterpreted choice of words, or a poorly placed pause. Or like now, flashes of insecurity as Mark doubted she could even be in the same city as Ray Hernandez and hold up her end of their bargain.
But wasn’t she breaking their agreement right now? Wasn’t this moment, her and Ray separated from their group, precisely the kind of situation Mark feared when he ordered her home? Dylan abruptly turned and was surprised when Ray grasped her upper arm. Leaning in, he spoke almost against her ear.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and Dylan realized he’d misinterpreted the suddenness of her motion as her about to leave in a snit at his sarcastic comment. “Don’t go. I like your company, Dylan. I didn’t mean to . . . imply anything about your marriage. Lord knows it’s not an institution I know a thing about.”
Dylan looked directly at him, seeing once again that there was something true and real behind those unusual eyes just for moment. She said nothing, but looked down at his hand on her arm. Slowly, Ray removed it.
“The truth of the matter is,” he continued. “You’re the first real person I’ve met in a long while. So if I seem a little overeager to spend time with you, chalk it up to that.”
Dylan gave him a small smile. For whatever reason, she actually believed him. Being a superstar had to be an isolating experience; there was no doubt about that. She knew because she had already changed toward Mark—carefully editing the things she thought merited his time and worry when she spoke to him— and he had not yet become as big a star as Ray was. She could only imagine how much less of the pedestrian concerns of real life Ray was exposed to, and how he might miss those concerns.
Did Cindy share with him when their kids had to go to the dentist, or if they had problems in school? Did she tell him about the crowd at the grocery store, or her idle chatter with their neighbors? Or was Ray placed in a little bubble so as to keep him unaffected, his mind reserved for the game of baseball?
Dylan touched Ray’s arm briefly, feeling sympathy for him.
“I understand,” she said, finally. “But I still think we should probably return to the group. It was rude of me to duck out like this anyway.”
Ray looked regretful, but extended a hand to her.
“Okay,” he said, nodding. “Let’s see whether we can dash through this traffic without getting hit by a Bentley.”
Dylan laughed, and for the sake of goodwill, did not protest when he took her hand as they crossed back over to the nightclub.
Dylan watched with barely disguised pleasure as Miri tried on outfit after outfit, turning to check the front and rear of each item before deciding whether to add them to her growing pile. This was one time that the cost wouldn’t matter. Even if she spent an exorbitant amount of money, Mark would have nothing to say about it if it were for Miri. Not that he ever had much to say about it even when she was the beneficiary, either. Recently though, Dylan had learned that no matter his silence, it hadn’t exactly gone unnoticed.
Last week in Cartier, when she’d tried to use her Centurion card to buy an exquisite necklace, the clerk had discreetly called her to the side and handed her a telephone. She was certain her card hadn’t been declined, so she was puzzled as she took the receiver. On the other end of the line was Wade, her and Mark’s financial manager.
Mrs. Acosta , he said, his voice regretful. I’m afraid I can’t approve this purchase.
I wasn’t aware that you were now in the position of approving my purchases, Dylan had replied, mustering up all the haughtin
ess she could, more to save face in front of the Cartier clerk than anything else.
Your husband has asked that I monitor activity on your Centurion card, Wade explained. To ensure that you stay within a reasonable budget. This item would put your considerably over that budget, Mrs. Acosta. I’m sorry.
Well my husband didn’t breathe a word of that to me!
So perhaps you should speak with him, Wade suggested. Again, I’m so sorry, but I have to follow the instructions I was given.
Dylan had almost felt sorry for the guy. Of course, it was something Mark should have discussed with her, and poor Wade was only doing as he was told. But by then she was thoroughly embarrassed at having been treated like a spendthrift teenaged heiress, in front of Lauren Morales who was shopping with her. So rather than give Wade the courtesy he was due, she hung up on him and left the store in a huff.
Oh don’t worry about it, honey, Lauren had said to her dryly. It happens to all of us sooner or later; the dreaded ‘wife allowance.’
The allowance itself wasn’t what bothered Dylan so much as the fact that Mark hadn’t told her about it in advance. It meant that he’d had a concern—that he didn’t see fit to share with her—about her spending. And though he never voiced that concern, he had certainly told Wade. Or maybe it was vice versa? Wade, after all, was the one who had spilled the beans about that first spending spree at Bergdorf’s and he was the one who saw the charge account bills. So Dylan had consoled herself that in all likelihood Mark never would have denied her the thirty thousand dollar necklace, it was Wade who was the ogre.
But Miri was a different matter altogether. Still, before ringing up, Dylan would place a quick call to Wade to make sure she wasn’t crossing any lines.
“It’s probably moot for me to go see UVa at this point, isn’t it?” Miri was saying now as she twirled in a long black skirt. “I mean, I may as well go to Columbia. It’s such a great school.”
“No harm in looking,” Dylan said. “And since Mark’s going to be home for awhile, I’m sure he’d love to take you.”
“And you’ll come too, right?” Miri asked.
“Of course.”
“How long a drive is it?”
“Long,” Dylan said. “But I’m not sure, precisely.”
“I’ll check in a minute. I have my iPad,” Miri said going into the dressing room to take off the skirt and try the next item.
Though they still stubbornly refused to move from the old neighborhood, the Acostas now had some of the accoutrements of financial comfort. Miri had her iPad and a new desktop. Matt and Peter both had new cars and clothes and Mr. and Mrs. Acosta had agreed to have their kitchen remodeled and the smaller television set replaced with a large projection model.
Mark was still trying to get them to accept his offer to buy a house in the Dominican Republic, but thus far, they had resisted, still not convinced, he told Dylan, of the solidity of his financial situation. They had compromised by saying that when he was in his second season they would consider looking at places in Punta Cana, near where Mrs. Acosta was born.
While Miri was in the dressing room, Dylan pulled out her phone and called Wade, resenting that it was necessary. Their conversation was brief. She estimated how much she was likely to spend and let him know what it was for, and he assured her that “there should be no problem” sounding as though he didn’t understand why she believed there might be. Dylan ended the call, wondering whether she dared broach the subject with Mark when he got home later that evening.
But the only way she would know about the spending limit would be because she’d almost exceeded it. And if Wade hadn’t mentioned the Cartier episode, she would just as soon not have Mark know about it at all. So in all likelihood, she realized with a defeated sigh, she wouldn’t say anything. And it wasn’t as though they didn’t already have some pretty big fish to fry. His night at home was an unscheduled stop, precipitated, Dylan suspected, by the Palm Springs trip.
Before Palm Springs, the plan had been for her to meet him in Philadelphia for the Phillies series, but he’d suddenly changed his plans, and was coming home instead. They would drive back to Philadelphia together in the morning, a breach of protocol during the regular season that he would probably take some flak for. Dylan could only imagine that he’d done it only because he wanted that time in the car with her to talk, and she was fairly certain the conversation would not be a pleasant one.
“Done!” Miri emerged from the dressing room in her own clothes. “I think I should have enough stuff to get me through all four years of undergrad.”
Dylan laughed. “Shoes?”
Miri groaned. “Ugh. I forgot about the shoes.”
“Must be because you grew up with only brothers,” Dylan said, going to loop an arm through her sister-in-laws. “I never met a woman who didn’t want to shop for shoes.”
It was dusk by the time Dylan pulled up to the gates of the house. The lights on the gatepost were on and lights were visible in the windows of the house. Mark was home. She was both excited and nervous, wondering at the greeting he would give her. On the phone lately, things had been a little strained, ever since the ill-fated, totally-not-worth-the hassle Palm Springs weekend. Ava had a good time, as did Lauren, but Dylan spent the entire time worried and a little bored by the so-called festivities.
After the first nightclub, the others were a blur, and the remainder of the evening was spent avoiding Ray. The next day, she spent by the pool with Ava and then got some spa treatments done. That evening had been a repeat of the first, with Ray once again along for the ride, though it was perplexing that he would want to be there. Dylan had eventually given in a spent some of the night talking to him, more out of exhaustion from the effort of pointedly sitting apart from him. And it wasn’t that bad, she reasoned, because for much of the time, his wife was with them.
Now, as she pulled up and into the carriage-style garage, Dylan prepared herself for the conversation with Mark. She took a deep breath as the garage door shut behind her, and leaned back against the soft leather headrest. Next to her were four shopping bags, her own spoils from the afternoon with Miri. All things considered, she’d done well—all she bought was a pair of ankle boots, a cute Marc Jacobs purse and a couple of blouses. Altogether it amounted to less than three thousand dollars; not bad. Still, she would leave the bags in the car to avoid a completely pointless conversation about how she spent her time.
She entered the kitchen and was startled by the sight of Mark, right there, sitting on the counter, drinking a Corona from the bottle, almost as though waiting for her. As always, the sight of him made her heart leap for a moment, reminding her that though they were married, this was still a new relationship and all the initial excitement was still there. At least for her it was. Right now, Mark looked anything but excited to see her.
He blinked slowly as she entered. His expression was inscrutable as he looked at her. Dylan swallowed.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hey.”
He emptied his beer bottle and launched himself off the kitchen counter with remarkable agility and grace. He was wearing only sweatpants, his chest and feet were bare as was his preference when at home. Dylan forced herself to say nothing when he deposited the beer bottle into the garbage can, instead of the blue recycling bin and stood still as he approached her, apprehensive because she still could not read his expression. Mark came closer and closer until they were inches apart. She could feel him fighting the impulse to touch her, something he would not do unless he was still angry.
Dylan looked up at him, into his dark as night eyes, her heartbeat accelerating at his proximity and his overwhelming maleness. That quickly, she wanted him, a wanting that was only intensified by the knowledge that he was hers for the taking. He had a unique scent that Dylan almost believed she could pick out from a roomful of strangers, even if she were blindfolded. It was earthy and set her pulse racing whenever she detected it, even if only on a shirt he had recently taken off.
She let her purse fall from her shoulder and reached out with both hands, placing them lightly on his hips, right at those amazing indentations where his abs ended. Sliding his sweats partially downward, she realized he wasn’t wearing his customary boxer briefs underneath. She moved closer, her hands going around and cupping his firm buttocks. Dylan could feel him tense slightly. By now, the effect of her touch was apparent, straining upward beneath the fabric of his sweats. She fell to her knees, pulling his sweatpants the rest of the way down and holding him in both hands.
“I’m still not happy with you right now,” Mark said. But his voice sounded a little choked, a little uncertain.
“I know,” Dylan said, stroking him.
His skin was so soft, and yet he was so, so hard. Like polished stone sheathed in the smoothest silk. She bent to taste him, rolling the slightly salty taste over her tongue before lowering her head again and taking him almost completely into her mouth.
Mark emitted a sound that he’d clearly been trying to hold back, and his buttocks clenched beneath her palms. Dylan dug her fingers into him, pulling him deeper into her mouth, even as he tried to restrain himself from thrusting too far. She urged him forward, alternately moving fast until she could feel his excitement, and then slowing once again. Soon he was moving back and forth, touching the back of her throat, almost choking her, but she was determined to push through the discomfort and relaxed her neck muscles, giving him the freedom to go as far and as deep as he wanted.
Mark was moving in earnest now, helpless but controlling her with his hands on the back of her head, threading in her hair. Dylan prepared herself for his release, but he suddenly pulled back, and she gasped at the sudden void between her lips. Then Mark was crouched with her, lowering her onto the kitchen floor, right there in front of the stove, pulling her dress up, tugging her underwear aside, pressing her apart and diving into her.
The Seduction of Dylan Acosta Page 23
