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His Allure, Her Passion
Copyright © 2013 by Juliana Haygert
978-1-61333-498-0
Cover Art by Mina Carter
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
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Her Heart’s Secret Wish
His Allure, Her Passion
By
Juliana Haygert
~Dedication~
To my husband, my sweet Valentine
Chapter One
Dylan revved the engine of his car in front of the wrought iron gates. It roared loudly, much like the anxiety building in his chest.
The guard approached him, remote in hand. “Sorry for making you wait, Mr. Deveraux.” With a click of his finger, the guard opened the gates.
Dylan sped down the stone road, accelerating more than necessary, but the speed calmed him. Besides, he couldn’t resist his car. It was his one true love, a special-order blue and silver Audi R8. Nobody could resist the allure of his car.
Nobody but his father.
The devil himself waited for him at the double doors of the mansion at the end of the road, wearing a fancy navy suit. Dylan never understood why the man wore a suit even when at home. He could feel the intensity of his father’s disapproving eyes as he stopped the car in front of the stone stairs. The urge to bolt and give up on this stupid family lunch was very strong, but his mother would be heartbroken, and she had already suffered too much.
With a trained pose—squared shoulders, high chin, elegant stroll—and self-control, Dylan slipped out of the car, gave the keys to the young valet, and walked up to his father.
Wearing only a thin jacket over his dress shirt, he braved the cold and tried to not shiver, lest his father think him scared or anxious.
“You’re late.” His father's face matched his serious tone.
Off to a good start. He opened his mouth to utter a clever retort. “It’s—”
“Dylan!” his mother yelped, interrupting them, and ran past the door and embraced him. Unlike her husband, his mother dressed casually. He was sure her dress was an expensive one, but at least she didn’t wear suits or gowns at home. “Thank you for coming, dear.”
He hugged her, his gaze still on his father’s. “You asked so nicely, I couldn’t say no.” When he pulled back, he forced a smile. His mother deserved a smile.
“Come on.” She linked her arm in his and pulled him inside the house. “Celine and Alexis are already here.”
Aware of his father’s movements behind him, Dylan walked with his mother past the foyer, through the tall corridor to the solarium. Somewhere along the way, his father left them.
Alexis leaned against the solarium’s glass wall. Dylan let go of his mother’s arm and tucked his hands in his jeans pockets. “Hello, sister.”
She smiled at him before approaching and hugging him. “Long time no see,” she said as their mother left the room, probably to check on lunch.
“I’ve been busy.” He winked, and she giggled. His older sister knew exactly with what he had been busy.
“Will you join us on Christmas? Or New Year’s?”
“Neither.” With only two weeks to Christmas, he couldn’t change his plans now, not even if he wanted to. And he didn’t want to.
She sat on the bamboo loveseat, a happy shine in her bright, baby blue eyes. “Care to tell us where will you be during the holidays?”
“Partying on a boat off the coast of Flic en Flac.”
Her smile widened. “And you didn’t invite me? So rude.”
Dylan sat beside her. “Would your fiancé approve of that?” Like most members of the family and their friends, Alexis’ fiancé didn’t like Dylan.
She leaned closer to him and whispered, “I wouldn’t tell him.”
He laughed. Yeah, right. As if Alexis would ever do something like that. She was madly in love with Mike. So was his father.
The laughter died as jealousy spread inside him. “By the way, where is Mike?”
“He was talking with dad in his study.”
Of course.
“There you are.”
He turned to the new voice in the room and stood to embrace to his younger sister. “Celine. When did you get here?”
“Yesterday. But it’s only for a few days,” Celine answered with a grin. She was an exact copy of Alexis, only five years younger. “What’s this I’m hearing about a party?”
“Were you eavesdropping?” Alexis asked, outrage flashing on her features.
“Of course not,” Celine said, rolling her eyes. I was coming down the hall, and you two were yelling so the whole house could hear.”
Dylan elbowed her in the ribs. “What are you doing for the holidays?”
“What do you think?” Celine asked. As rebellious as Dylan, Celine had spent her holidays skiing in Switzerland with friends since she was sixteen.
“And you condemn me for partying?” Dylan joked.
“Your parties are out of control,” Celine said, flipping her hair with a teasing superior air. “Mine aren’t that wild. My friends and I actually ski and drink hot chocolate in front of a fireplace. Besides, I go with my boyfriend.”
“Boring,” he said in a singsong voice.
“You’re hopeless,” Alexis muttered. The three of them laughed.
Though being home wasn’t the best thing, it was good to see his sisters. He missed them and the easy way they accepted him.
Their mother entered the room and motioned them out. “Lunch is ready.” She walked with them to the dining hall, her arms around the girls’ waists, the way he knew she liked it.
Mike, and Dylan’s father were already seated, his father at the head, Mike on his right side.
&nb
sp; Dylan thought again about bolting. It would be so easy, to turn on his heels and save himself from several torturous hours.
His mother’s hand on his back reminded him of why he was here.
One of the maids served lunch. Tension built as chewing noises, sips, and clacking of silverware and fine china were the only sounds in the room.
After the second course was served, his mother broke the perturbing silence. “How is school, Celine?”
“Perfect, now that we’re on winter vacation,” she said. Dylan coughed to disguise his laughter. “But it was okay while the classes were on.”
“Is Robert with his family?” his mother asked.
“Yes. We’ll meet in London and go to Switzerland together from there.”
“Good.” Their mother turned to his older sister. “How is work, Alexis?”
Damn. The subject had turned to work. The tension returned.
“Great,” his sister answered. “I got twenty-seven new clients last week.”
True to the Deveraux line, Alexis worked in the family business—Deveraux, a French manufacturer of luxury cars based near Paris. At twenty-five, she supervised the sales office in Los Angeles along with Mike, who had joined the family business after asking for her hand in marriage a couple of months earlier.
A genuine smile appeared on his mother’s face. “Remarkable.”
“It is,” his father said. Dylan froze, his glass in his raised hand. Holy hell. It wasn’t like his father to talk during meals, especially if it was about work. “Unlike some others.”
Dylan closed his eyes and took a deep calming breath.
His mother’s hand covered his. “And you, dear, how is school?”
Opening his eyes, Dylan stamped a fake smile over his features. “Boring.” It wasn’t actually true, but he would never admit finally finding a program he liked. Not when his father could hear. “The parties, though, are getting better and better.”
His father threw the cloth napkin across the table. “That’s why I’m paying your expensive tuition? So you can party all the time?”
“Anthony,” his mother whispered, reaching to her husband, but he waved her away.
Dylan glared at his father. “Expensive tuition? I bet it costs less than your suit.”
“Do you know what I went through so you would be accepted into that school?”
“Through a heavy donation check, I’m sure.”
Dylan wasn’t stupid. When he got into Princeton almost one year ago, he knew his father had helped, but he hadn’t asked for it. If it depended on him, he would have applied to a public university. He would have loved it, especially because his father would have flipped.
His father stood. “When are you going to grow up? Take your classes seriously, graduate, and work? Perhaps in automotive engineering. How about you stop partying and choose a girl worthy of your last name? Don’t you get tired of being an immature drunken playboy?”
Always the same discussion. Always the same outcome.
Fists clenched, Dylan fought for control. “I’m not him,” he said. “I’m sorry, but I’m not him.” His mother gasped. His sisters stared at their plates. Mike ate as if nothing bothered him. “I’ll never be him.”
His father returned his glare. “He was a perfect son, and you should want to be like him.”
Dylan shot up, almost knocking down the chair behind him. “But I’m not!”
His father flinched, slight surprise flashing on his face for only a second. “I wo—”
“You know what?” Dylan didn’t want to hear the words his father had to say. “I knew I shouldn’t have come. Actually, I don’t know why you guys came here. I don’t even know why the hell you have so many houses. Isn’t Paris much better than New York?”
That was what he heard all his life.
“Don’t talk back to me, boy.” His father’s tone grew harsher.
“Boy? I’m twenty-three.”
“And I still pay all your bills,” his father said. “Even that car of yours. I can’t conceive why you don’t drive one of ours.”
Because Deveraux’s cars look old and are too big and formal. The tension in his jaw pained his teeth, but it was all he could do to stop from cursing at his father. “Never mind,” Dylan muttered before turning his back to the table and storming to the door.
“Stop!” his mother shouted. Damn. Dylan loved his mother very much, and she never criticized him or compared him to his older brother. He stopped, but didn’t turn. “Please. Stop.” She sighed. “We haven’t had a decent family lunch or dinner in…almost two years.”
Since Bryan’s death. Since his father lost his partner, the man who would take care of his multi-million dollar business. Since his father noticed Dylan’s lifestyle and started harassing him about it.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” Dylan muttered. “But you know it’s better that I leave.”
She walked to him and pulled him closer to the table. “At least hear your father’s announcement before you go.”
His father sat back in his chair. “If you want him to hear it, you can announce it, Emily.”
His mother inhaled deeply and straightened her shoulders. “Fine. Your father is opening up a plant here, near New York, and to celebrate, we’ll have a ball on Valentine’s Day at the new location.”
Valentine’s Day? Was he kidding? The most obnoxious date of the year?
More important, it was two months away. Stuff like that needed many months, if not years, to be arranged.
Dylan glanced at Alexis. “You knew, right?” Without looking him in the eyes, she nodded. “Of course.”
“Clear your agenda, dear, and be there,” his mother said.
“No,” his father snapped. “Even though it’s an opening celebration, it’s Valentine’s Day and it’ll be thematic. Only couples can go to the ball.”
“What?” His mother sounded shocked.
“That’s right. Only couples allowed. Since you’re dating half the girls on the east coast, you can’t go.”
Now who was being immature? However, that statement hurt Dylan more than he wanted to admit.
“What about Celine? You don’t like Robert. Will you invite them?” He didn’t mean to turn this on his younger sister. The words just flew out of his mouth.
“They have been together for over a year,” his father said, his tone cold. “I may not like him, but at least Celine doesn’t spend fortunes on him, like you do with every girl you pick up.”
Dylan’s teeth hurt as he ground them together. “Fine. I won’t go. Have fun at the ball.”
This time he walked out and nobody stopped him. His strides grew more hurried with each step he took away from the house.
Once Dylan drove through the gates, he fished his cell phone from his pocket and called his friend.
“James, what are you doing, man?”
“Nothing, since my ride is in New York,” James teased.
“Then get ready.” There was only one thing he could do to get rid of the tension and the stress, the only thing his father knew him for. “Hop on the next train, and I’ll pick you up at Penn Station. We’re partying in New York tonight.”
Chapter Two
“Goddamn it, girl, have you gained weight?” The guy pulled at the zipper. “How much? A pound? Half a pound?”
She glared at him over her shoulder. “Not even half a pound.”
“This dress is supposed to be super tight.” The guy tsked, still trying to close the zipper. “Even one ounce will make a difference. You should have dieted during the last three days, Hayley.”
She jerked out of his hands. “I did!”
For four days, she had dieted, but her nervousness got the best of her, and she’d attacked a box of Swiss bonbons the night before.
Irritation mixed with her uneasiness. She darted away from him so she wouldn't throw up at his feet. Among the sea of pretty faces and perfect bodies, she felt lost and alone. Desperate, she looked for a familiar smile.
> She found none.
Tears burned her eyes, threatening to mess with her artistic make-up.
“Ms. Allen.” She turned to whoever was calling her. Damn. The designer. “I hear you’re having trouble with my dress.”
“Yes, sir.” She lowered her gaze, feeling very small beside him, even though she was actually taller than he was.
The designer snapped his fingers and as if by magic, two assistants appeared beside him.
“Yes, Luc?” one of the model-like assistants asked, holding a clipboard on her hands.
“I need my emergency sewing kit,” Luc said as he turned Hayley around by her shoulders.
The assistant left and Luc tried to pull the zipper closed. “How many pounds did you gain since the last fitting?”
“Not even a half,” she muttered.
“Well, it was enough to ruin my design.” His tone was calm, too calm. The assistant came back with a black box-like bag and opened it. He grabbed a needle and thread and worked on the zipper. “I’ll be able to close it for this pass, but we’ll have to cut it open later.” He pushed the needle in, pricking her back. Determined to be strong and hang on, she held a yelp on the tip of her tongue. “But be warned,” he whispered in her ear, “you’ll never model for me again.”
Hayley held her breath and willed her mind to stay blank, otherwise she would break down and run away as if she were twelve, not twenty. Luc finished the work on the dress and left without looking at her.
The assistant halted before her. “You’re on in two minutes.”
The weight of it all fell on her shoulders, and the pit of her stomach filled with nausea. Holy hell, she was going onto a runway. A runway surrounded by hundreds of people and reporters and cameras. Flashes and shouts and applause and loud music.
She had been modeling since she was sixteen. But, every single time she stepped foot in a studio or onto a catwalk, the butterflies in her belly forgot she was veteran and her psyche acted as if it was the first time, as if she was afraid of standing before strangers. And she was. She truly was. She loved modeling, but she was too much of a chicken to really put herself out there.
His Allure, Her Passion Page 1
