by Julie Cannon
Laura turned her loose. She and Tim were the last ones to leave, her parents and the Franklins having departed twenty minutes earlier. “What do you mean, can handle me? I’m a pushover.”
What she was really doing by marrying Callie under these conditions was unmentionable. Sometime during the evening festivities she realized exactly what she had done. She had married someone, made what was supposed to be a lifetime commitment in the name of love into a business deal.
She had pushed the thought out of her mind, preferring to concentrate on the expression on her father’s face when he saw Gateway for the first time. The mock-up was complete and dominated a third of her corner office. That would be what it was all for.
A sly smile crossed Laura’s face. “Uh-huh. I know exactly what she does to push your buttons. Well, not exactly, but I have a general idea.”
Dillon laughed, loving her sister more than she ever imagined possible. Laura was her rock, her sense of being when she herself occasionally lost her own sense of self. Her sister loved her in spite of her flaws and transgressions. Sometimes Laura seemed to understand her more fully than she did herself.
*
Callie sighed, sinking into the soft leather of the limousine seats. She was exhausted, and what little sleep she’d gotten last night was not nearly enough. She leaned her head back onto the seat. The day had been perfect. She felt beautiful, and when she saw Dillon waiting for her at the altar, she wished she had taken Bill up on his offer to walk her down the short aisle. Michael was the man she wanted by her side, and because that was impossible she had chosen to walk alone. She had missed him terribly but recalled the smile that filled his face when she told him of her pending nuptials. Even with Michael in her heart, her legs were weak and she had to concentrate to get down the aisle without falling.
She still could not believe how fast her life had changed. Dillon had practically swept her off her feet, to use a cliché that seemed amazingly accurate, and now here she was, Mrs. Dillon Matthews. She would always remember how Dillon had taken care of everything. She wasn’t involved in the details of planning the wedding, but her support was evident everywhere. She had made time in her schedule to meet with the caterer, the musicians, even the lady who set up the tables in the reception hall. One evening soon after Dillon proposed, she’d slipped a credit card into Callie’s hand. Callie’s name embossed on the platinum American Express card was more than access to Dillon’s money. It was access to their life together.
“What are you thinking?” Dillon’s voice drifted around her. It was warm and comforted her like a soft blanket.
“Just how happy I am. And worn out,” Callie added, smiling.
Dillon slid over and kissed her favorite spot on Callie’s neck, just below her ear, and Callie felt her own pulse beneath Dillon’s lips begin to beat erratically. She smiled as Dillon lengthened the kiss, then murmured, “Hopefully not too tired. It is our special night, you know.”
Dillon had insisted on taking care of all the arrangements for the following week, and hadn’t even disclosed where they would spend their wedding night. She told Callie to pack sparingly, teasing her that she wouldn’t need many clothes—probably none at all.
Callie’s body came alive under Dillon’s mouth. She didn’t move, but simply enjoyed the sensation of warmth and desire that slowly spread through her. “You know, I read in one of the bridal magazines that most couples don’t consummate their marriage right after the wedding because they’re exhausted, had too much liquor, or both.”
Dillon’s hand went under the hemline of Callie’s dress and inched up her warm thigh. Callie’s pulse skyrocketed and she opened her legs, granting Dillon greater access. Callie desired her touch more than anything else in the world.
“That’s because they didn’t just marry you.”
Callie shuddered when Dillon’s mouth traced a path over her bare shoulders while her fingers followed the smooth seam outlining the crotch of her panties. Her clit was hard, pushing on the damp material as if it were reaching for Dillon’s touch. She didn’t have to wait long before Dillon’s skillful fingers found it and gently flicked the tight flesh. Callie grabbed Dillon’s head in both hands and dragged her mouth to hers. She kissed her long and deeply, her body moving closer to Dillon’s exploring fingers. “Touch me, please,” she begged. Callie didn’t care if the driver could see through the dark privacy window. She was on fire and Dillon was the only one who could ease her torment.
With agonizing slowness Dillon’s fingers slid her panties to the side. Callie lifted her ass off the seat, giving Dillon permission to remove them. Dillon made short work of the brief garment, and Callie moaned when her fingers found their mark. Dillon’s kisses were deep and passionate, and Callie willingly gave as good as she received. She briefly imagined what they would look like to a casual observer, her dress hiked around her waist, Dillon’s tongue in her mouth. The image was erotic and she arched into Dillon’s fingers as they entered her. Faster and faster Dillon’s hand moved, and soon both women were panting and bucking like this was their first time. Dillon took her higher and higher, alternately stroking and fucking her until Callie finally exploded.
Lights, stars, and a roar like a wind tunnel filled Callie’s brain, her senses reacting to Dillon’s touch. She alternately floated and returned to earth with each wave of climax. Her thighs quivered and her hands shook as she gripped Dillon’s hair. Her breathing was ragged and shallow, and at one point she thought she might hyperventilate. Dillon’s fingers were still inside her, and when they started to move again, she shuddered.
“Dillon?” Her name croaked out of Callie’s very dry mouth.
“Hmm?”
Callie’s head was on the verge of spinning again, and she had to remind herself what question she intended to ask and, most important, why she wanted to ask it now. “Don’t you think we should have waited till we get to wherever we’re going?”
“I couldn’t wait,” she rasped.
Callie couldn’t either. Dillon’s hands and fingers knew when to be gentle, shift tempo, and go deeper. Dillon took her two, three, four more times, and when Callie thought she couldn’t come one more time, she did. Completely spent, she weakly grasped Dillon’s hand and removed it from between her legs. And as she did, her fingers brushed across the diamond band on Dillon’s left ring finger. It was an exact match to the one Dillon had slipped on her finger a few hours earlier and symbolized Dillon’s commitment to her. Dillon pulled her onto her lap and, content, Callie snuggled into her embrace and instantly fell asleep.
Dillon desired Callie like she had never desired another woman. She didn’t feel possessive—far from it. She didn’t want to own Callie any more than she wanted to own any woman. She craved her, and Callie had proved on over a hundred occasions that she was a more than willing participant.
She gazed at her sleeping bride and thought about how her life had changed so much that she hardly recognized it. She had gone out that night four months ago simply looking to have a good time with a beautiful, willing woman, maybe two, if she was really lucky. And she had ended up with something altogether different.
She had wanted Callie almost immediately. Her reaction was typical, purely physical lust for a beautiful woman, and Callie had certainly filled every criteria. Dillon’s body had spoken to her in a familiar language until she read something different on Callie’s face. At that moment her mind and body declared war on each other. After that first glimpse of Callie, each time Dillon saw or thought of her, her body ached to explore the soft curves and womanly beauty that Callie so eagerly offered now. She wanted to worship her body, cherish every sight and sound of their lovemaking because it was unlike anything she could have ever imagined.
She wondered for a moment if this was what Laura and Tim’s sex life was like. Did they feel the same driving desire to touch one another whenever they were in the same room? She had watched her sister dance with her husband several times tonight, and even when their bodi
es weren’t touching, something was always passing between them. Sex was one of the most powerful cravings a body could have. Without it, she would wither and die.
But sex could also be used as a weapon, and her father wielded it like a knight. This evening was no different, and when he hit on Callie, Dillon wanted to kill him. Her father didn’t worship women, the feel of their body, the softness of their skin, the shy little sounds they made in the dark of night. He used women for his own pleasure, ignoring their feelings to get what he desired. She doubted he remembered the name of half of the women he had bedded.
Dillon froze. The pattern was all too familiar. Was she describing him or herself? She couldn’t ignore the similarities. No matter how much she despised him and his behavior, she wanted his approval and had become just like him. She looked at Callie. She hadn’t married Callie because she loved her and wanted to spend the rest of her life with her. Sure, the sex was fabulous, but she had married her to get what she wanted. As much as she hated the realization, she was just like her father. Her stomach turned. It was the last thing she had expected and the very last thing she wanted.
Chapter Fifteen
Ten days later, tanned and rested, Dillon opened the door to her office. She had enjoyed her time away more than she anticipated, but was anxious to begin moving on Gateway. Greg jumped up and gave her a big hug. He was rarely this demonstrative in the office, preferring to show his emotions when they were together socially.
Greg’s questions rattled off his tongue. “Dillon, you’re back. We’ve all missed you. How’s Callie? How was Paris? Did you see the Eiffel Tower and the Leaning Tower of Pisa? Were you decadent, and did you eat and drink your way around the City of Love?”
She smiled and set a brown bag on his desk. “Greg, take a breath, buddy. Callie’s fine, Paris is beautiful in the summer, the Eiffel Tower is still there, and the Leaning Tower of Pisa is not in France, it’s in Italy. I ate more than I should have, and Paris’s legend as the City of Love is still intact.”
Dillon had insisted on planning the honeymoon, and the limo had taken her and Callie directly to the airport. A business associate had offered her the use of his private plane and pilot, and Dillon booked it to fly them directly to Paris. If she had to have the honeymoon that everyone expected, why not have it in one of her favorite cities? They made love over the Atlantic and as they circled Paris waiting for clearance to land.
Their days were filled with visiting the typical tourist attractions, and Callie was their tour guide, reading every brochure and placard as they went. She had never been to Paris and was like the proverbial kid in a candy store, wanting to see everything. They stayed at the Novotel Paris Tour Eiffel overlooking the Seine River, and even though they fell into bed exhausted every night, they made love with the lights of the city as their blanket of stars.
“Here, I brought you something.” Dillon handed Greg a bag with the familiar Cartier logo on the side. After another round of hugs and at least fifteen minutes ogling his gifts, Greg finally set the black signature-collection desk clock next to his telephone and put the Louis Cartier fountain pen in his pocket.
“Do I dare go inside and look at my in-box?” Dillon asked, nodding toward her private office door.
“Yes. You know I took care of everything while you were gone.”
Greg could probably run Matthews Holdings as well as she could, at least the administrative side of it. Hell, he probably already did. “I have no doubt, Greg. What’s on my calendar today?”
Dillon had told Greg to keep her schedule light on her first day in the office. Getting back into the swing of the business after ten days wasn’t a challenge, but she preferred to spend the first day sorting through her e-mail and the pile of paper that had accumulated in her in-box. The challenge was leaving Callie naked in their bed earlier this morning.
When it was still dark she had woken to Callie’s warm lips on her breast and her hand zeroing in on the apex of her legs. Their return flight had been delayed due to airport conditions, and they got in last night quite a bit later than they planned. They collapsed into bed after barely being able to keep their eyes open for a quick good-night kiss. An hour after her very pleasant wake-up call, Dillon had stumbled into the shower, knees still shaking from passion.
Greg began with the most important item. “Bill Franklin’s transfer deed is still not ready to be filed with the county commissioner. As soon as it is, you will have clear title and can begin excavation in about six weeks.”
Dillon dropped her briefcase on her desk. “Jesus, how long does it take to correct a number, for God’s sake. Every day I sit here with my thumb up my butt costs me thousands of dollars. This project has to kick off on time and come in under budget. It’s just my luck that some idiot recorded an incorrect parcel number against the original deed. You’d think the commissioner’s office could rectify the problem in less than a month.”
“So, how is married life?”
How was married life? Besides access to great sex every day, that is? Dillon had thought that the word “commitment” meant duty, confinement, obligation, and a variety of other suffocating adjectives. What surprised her was that so far it had not.
“Great. I suppose it has something to do with the person you marry, but so far so good.” She couldn’t be overly happy, because in a few months she would have to start dropping subtle hints that all was not well on the home front.
“Do you feel any different? I mean, so many people say that marriage makes them a different person. And how many people do we know who have lived together for years, and once they get married, everything goes to hell?”
Dillon did feel different. “Content” was the best word she could find to describe her state of mind, but she couldn’t put her finger on why. She assumed it was because Bill had signed the papers and she could get on with her project. Her plans had been on hold for so long it felt good to get moving again. Callie probably had a little something to do with the pleasant feeling too.
“I suppose I do. More settled, I guess. Looking for the next thing less and enjoying what I have now more. You know, that sort of thing.”
“Well, you look great.”
She felt great too. Maybe time away was exactly what she needed. Of course, having a beautiful woman on her arm certainly didn’t hurt either.
*
For the first time in years, Dillon invited her father to lunch. She had discussed the possibility with Callie one evening and was not surprised when she said that she would support any decision Dillon made. She had been discussing things with Callie a lot lately. In the few weeks after they had returned from their honeymoon they had fallen into a pattern of taking a walk after dinner, and usually during that time Dillon opened up about her day. Callie listened carefully and asked intelligent questions, and soon Dillon was asking for her advice. Callie was still working at the flower shop, and Michael’s appeal was steadily grinding through the judicial system. His attorney was optimistic that he would be granted a new trial within a few months.
Callie was painting more, and often Dillon would wake up to find that after they had made love Callie had returned to the room she had converted into her studio. She had filled canvas after canvas with images of the places they had gone together. The lights of Paris were captured beautifully in one, lovers walking along the Seine in another, and several others simply radiated joy. Dillon had subtly inquired if Callie was interested in a showing and was surprised when she said she had been thinking about it. Dillon knew of several gallery owners and had a note in her calendar that Callie planned to meet with one of them next week.
In the restaurant, her father sat across from her, and Callie was on her right. Dillon felt as if Callie had been beside her for more than just a few weeks. She had become a fixture in her life that Dillon had not expected to need. They chatted on the phone at least once a day, and she hurried home to her every night. Her life had fallen into a comfortable routine, and occasionally Dillon wondered wha
t it would be like once Callie was gone.
After lunch, Callie and James drank coffee in Dillon’s office as Dillon showed off the mock-up of Gateway. Callie was amazed at what Dillon had accomplished in her life and even prouder that Dillon’s Gateway was finally becoming reality. She had worked tirelessly the past few months to make her dream come true, and Callie couldn’t have been more proud of Dillon than she was today.
As she watched Dillon point out the specifics of each structure to her father, she wanted to pinch herself to make sure she wasn’t imagining this new life. It had been five months since she met Dillon, and sometimes she managed not to be afraid that she would wake up and find it had all been a dream. Except for early this morning when Dillon wasn’t beside her, but between her legs waking her in a way that was so much better than a cup of coffee. She was in love with Dillon and knew Dillon loved her because she had given her everything she could possibly imagine. Callie was the happiest person on earth.
But James’s presence threatened to ruin the day. He was his typical caustic self that she had come to expect after having several dinners with him and Marjorie. It hurt her to know that he didn’t share her pride in Dillon or her accomplishments. Dillon was a wonderful person, whom any man other than James Matthews would be proud to call his daughter. Dillon had not come out and said so specifically, but Callie knew Gateway was the plan Dillon hoped would win her father’s approval. It was huge, expensive, and cutting-edge architecture, but James’s mannerisms and lack of interest clearly indicated he was anything but impressed.
Thankfully James didn’t stay long. Callie didn’t know how much longer she could stand to be in the room with him and his superior attitude and watch her lover’s heart break. James didn’t bother to close the door behind him, and Callie slid behind Dillon, wrapped her arms around her, and pressed her cheek in her hair. “I’m so happy for you, Dillon.”
