Monique knew that was what she had told him in her letter, but that hadn’t been how she’d felt. She’d wanted to build a life with Dillon wherever he wanted to go. “Everything I said in that letter was a lie, Dillon. I just made up some stuff so you wouldn’t come after me and find out that I was pregnant.”
“But I did come after you and I did find out.”
“And I lied again.”
“You didn’t lie about everything. You were married and you were pregnant.” He could still see the slight swelling that had been her stomach. Just as he could see the man who had held her hand—a man old enough to be her father. “And you seemed very happy.”
In fact, she’d been miserable. No, that wasn’t exactly true. She’d missed Dillon horribly and hated not telling him the truth, but she’d felt that marrying Charles had been a new lease on life for her. Sure, Charles was helping her out by marrying her and taking care of her and her baby. But their relationship hadn’t been one-sided. He’d needed her as much as she’d needed him. They’d started with a business arrangement that had grown into a very dear friendship, but it had never been more than that. Of course, Dillon didn’t know that, and somehow telling him now would make light of what she’d shared with Charles.
“Charles was good to me,” she said.
“I bet he was. An older guy with a pretty young thing like you. And pregnant, too. His friends all probably thought he was some stud.”
She felt the anger in Dillon’s words and hated that the relaxed evening she’d expected was not to be. “Charles wasn’t like that.”
“Then tell me what he was like.”
“He was a good man,” she began slowly. “I met him in the restaurant where I was able to find a job. He was a regular and we became friends. I told him I was pregnant and he said he wanted to help me.”
“Just like that?”
She got up and went to the windows. It was dark out and she couldn’t see, but she needed to put some distance between her and Dillon. “When it’s right, you know it”. She was thinking as much about her and Dillon as she was about her and Charles.
Dillon got up and stood behind her. She could feel him, though he didn’t touch her. “I know what you mean,” he whispered.
She turned around. He was standing too close. “Don’t,” she pleaded, as vulnerable to him as he was to her. But she knew she wanted more from him than he wanted from her. He wanted her body, but she wanted all of him.
“I can’t help myself,” he murmured as his eyes caressed her. “I can’t get that kiss out of my mind. Every time I look at you, I think about it. I don’t want to. God knows, I don’t want to, but I don’t seem to be able to help myself. You’ve always had that effect on me.”
He lowered his head then and she didn’t move away from him. She couldn’t. She still loved him. And wanted him. She moaned when his lips pressed against hers. It was a soft kiss, almost as if a feather had been brushed across her face. He placed his hands on her waist, and she relaxed against him. She could handle soft caresses like this.
He lifted his head suddenly and looked down into her eyes. The leashed passion glittering in his dark eyes challenged her, and she began to wonder if she’d let her guard down too soon. She couldn’t handle the passion she saw in his eyes. She knew she should run—in her head she knew it—but her weak heart, putty in his hands, knew only that he was her love.
When he lowered his head again, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed closer to him. Her senses were on alert and sirens were going off in her head, but she ignored them all. It had been ten years. Ten long years. And she deserved this. She deserved him.
With his lips still glued to hers, he lifted her in his arms and took her back to the couch, easing her down on the soft cushions. The warning bells sounded louder, but it was no use. She was no longer capable of stopping.
Dillon’s hands shook as he caressed her cheek. He wanted her so much. He remembered the time when he’d looked forward to being free to make love to her every day, many times a day. Thoughts of the long life of loving they would have together had made it possible for him not to touch her when they were dating. Except for that one time. That one night when she’d asked him to love her. She’d felt in his arms that night the way she felt tonight. Open and loving.
He knew his mind was playing tricks on him. Monique didn’t have those kinds of feelings about him. Glenn was the reason she was back in his life. Had her husband lived, he never would have seen her again. Never have known his son.
That knowledge made him angry, but not angry enough to let her go. Just angry enough to make him despise his weakness for her. What was it about this woman that had captivated him so?
He kept his eyes closed as he trailed his finger down her cheek to her neck and down to her chest. He hesitated before allowing his hand to undo the top button of her shirt. Then he lowered his head and placed a kiss along her breastbone. What was going to happen between them was a done deal. There was no need to hurry.
“Daddy, you still up?”
Calvin’s words quickly brought Dillon to a standing position.
“Calvin,” Dillon said as Monique struggled to right her clothes.
Calvin walked around the sofa and looked between the two of them. “Were you and Moni wrestling?”
Dillon cleared his throat. “No. What are you doing out of bed?”
Calvin looked between the two of them again. “I had to go to the bathroom and then I wanted some water. Will you get me some water?”
“Sure,” he said to his son, then looked over the boy’s head at Monique. Her face wore a look of relief. He believed that same look was on his face, though he admitted he was a bit disappointed that they hadn’t finished what they’d started.
“I’d better go to bed,” Monique said quickly. “I’ll see you two in the morning.” With that she fled up the stairs.
Dillon looked down at Calvin. The boy had kept him from making a grave mistake, he was sure of it. “Now, let’s get you that water so both of us can get to bed.”
Dillon and Monique managed to avoid eye contact the next morning over breakfast. Monique was glad he was taking the boys out. If he were to hang around the house all day, he would surely figure out that she’d been up half the night thinking about what had almost happened between them.
“I guess we’re off,” Dillon said after the boys had finished breakfast and gotten dressed for the game. “Sure you two don’t want to come with us?” he asked her and Sue.
“Not me,” they both said.
Sue laughed, then added, “I don’t want to horn in where I’m not wanted.”
Monique rubbed one hand across Glenn’s head and the other across Calvin’s jaw. “You guys have fun. I want to hear all about the game when you get back.”
“Okay, Mom.”
“Okay, Moni.”
Dillon met her gaze. “We should be back before it gets dark. Should I feed them before I bring them home?”
Monique looked at the two boys. “I have a feeling they’re going to load up on junk food at the game. Just have a good time.”
“Okay, then, I guess we’ll be going.” He sounded as if he didn’t want to leave, but she knew that didn’t make sense. She’d better watch it. Now she was reading romantic motivations into the man’s every move.
“I guess you’d better.”
“Yeah, come on, Dillon.”
“Come on, Daddy.”
Dillon allowed the boys to pull him out the front door. Monique and Sue laughed as they watched them pile into the car and drive off.
“He’s wonderful with the boys,” Sue said.
Monique kept staring at the driveway. “He sure is.”
“Couldn’t find a better father than Dillon.”
“Hmm. You’re right.”
“Good father, good husband.”
Monique turned to Sue then. “Not again.”
“Yes, again. Stop fighting it, Monique.”
Monique
began to clear the breakfast dishes. “Fight what? I’m not fighting.”
“Oh, yes you are. You’re fighting your feelings for Dillon. You’re both fighting.”
“Yeah, well, maybe that’s because we know it’s no good. It has nowhere to go.”
Sue shrugged. “Who says it has to go anywhere? You’re both young, attractive people. Can’t you just enjoy each other without thinking of fifty years from now?”
“It’s not that easy.”
Sue directed Monique to sit in a chair at the table. “I know it’s not easy. That’s why you have to do it. You’ve been running since I’ve met you. Now’s the time to stop running and face your feelings, Monique. Give yourself and Dillon a chance.”
“But what if it doesn’t work out?”
“There are no guarantees, sweetheart. But at least you’ll know. You won’t have all these questions in your mind and you’ll be free to look elsewhere.”
Monique wasn’t sure she wanted to do as Sue suggested. For so long the love she’d shared with Dillon had been hidden in her heart and cherished. If she tried again with him and failed, she would not only lose him, she would also lose the memories that had sustained her for a major part of her life. She wasn’t sure she could risk losing that security blanket. “I’ll think about it” was the best answer she could give Sue.
“Well, you just do that. But you’d better think about it soon. The sexual undercurrent between you and Dillon is so thick that you can cut it with a knife. It’s going to be resolved one way or the other, and I’d hate for that way to be in bed before either of you are ready.”
Monique didn’t deny Sue’s words. What happened last night was proof that what she said was true. In spite of all that lay unresolved between them, the sexual attraction between her and Dillon was very strong. “How did I get myself in this situation?” she asked herself, though she spoke the question aloud.
“Life, sweetheart. You live it, you make mistakes, you learn. And if you’re lucky, you get a chance to make right some of the mistakes. You’re one of the lucky ones.”
Chapter Ten
As Monique sat watching Dillon, Glenn and Calvin line up against the formidable team of Donald and Mr. Bell in the Bell version of Labor Day football, her heart pounded in her chest. How easy it was to dream of a future together when she saw Dillon with the boys the way he was today. How easy it was to think of her and Dillon as loving parents.
Fortunately for her, reality always seemed to intrude on those dreams. There was no use in getting her hopes up, only to have them dashed later. What she and Dillon shared was sexual attraction. Very strong sexual attraction. Their actions two nights ago in Charleston made any attempt to pretend otherwise useless.
They’d successfully avoided being alone since their aborted lovemaking attempt. But, to Monique’s dismay, the avoidance only seemed to enhance the attraction. Every time she heard his voice or saw his face, she remembered how it had felt to be in his arms. And she remembered how much she’d wanted him. How much she still wanted him. Knowing her feelings were reciprocated didn’t make the situation any easier to tolerate. No, the passion in Dillon’s eyes when he looked at her, the caress in his voice when he spoke to her and the seduction in the ever-so-casual touch of his skin against hers raised her temperature so high that she felt as though she were at the equator.
She forced her gaze away from the man-play and turned to offer her help to Dillon’s mother. Again. The older woman had twice refused her, but Monique felt obliged to keep trying. Not only did she want to help with the picnic fixings, she also wanted to form some type of truce with her son’s grandmother.
She drew in a deep breath, alighted from the redwood picnic table and walked over to the grill where Mrs. Bell had taken over for her husband. “I’d really like to help,” she offered for the third time.
“You’ve done more than enough,” came Mrs. Bell’s terse reply. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that the woman’s response wasn’t in reference to the food or the picnic.
Monique took a quick glance back at the men. Seeing that they were still thoroughly engaged in their game, she decided to discuss the problem that lay between her and Dillon’s mother. “I know you don’t like me much, Mrs. Bell,” she began.
“You haven’t been very likable,” the older woman said.
Monique sighed. “I know.”
The older woman looked up, surprised. She studied Monique’s face for something—Monique wasn’t sure what—then she asked, “How could you do this to him? Glenn’s his son, for God’s sake.”
Monique didn’t know how she could explain the situation to Mrs. Bell and make her understand when she hadn’t even been able to accomplish that feat with Dillon. Yet she felt a need to try. “You remember how I was back then,” she began, remembering herself. She’d been tough and distant. So much so that before she and Dillon had become friends, she’d spent a great deal of time in detention and had garnered a reputation around town as a troublemaker. “I was a confused and scared teenager. Can’t you put yourself in my position for at least a minute?”
Monique ignored the answer in the woman’s silence and continued. “I was seventeen years old, pregnant, scared to death, living in a house with an aunt who hated me, in love with a boy whose parents despised me. I wanted my baby more than anything and I wanted Dillon, but I didn’t want to be a burden to him. Don’t you understand?” The look in the older woman’s eyes said she didn’t. “Just think what Dillon’s life would have been like had I told him I was pregnant. What do you think he would have done?”
Mrs. Bell looked away. “He would have wanted to marry you and take care of his child,” she said softly and Monique knew the words had been hard for her to speak.
“And what would have happened if we’d gotten married? Do you think Dillon would have gone to college? Do you think he’d be vice principal at the high school now? Do you?”
“So you did this for Dillon?” the older woman questioned with skepticism.
Monique smiled sadly. “For him, for me and for the baby. If Dillon had given up his dreams because of me and the baby, he would have come to resent us. And I couldn’t have borne seeing his love for me die under the strain of some overwhelming sense of responsibility. I couldn’t bear for him to look at me and our child as burdens who’d ruined his life. I couldn’t do it.”
The older woman didn’t say anything, nor did she look at Monique again. She just focused her attention on the grill. Tired, frustrated and near tears, Monique turned away from her, berating herself for thinking she could make some dent in the woman’s feelings for her.
“Hand me the platter on the table, will you?” Mrs. Bell said, not turning around.
Hope welled up in Monique’s heart as she reached for the platter and handed it to Dillon’s mother. “Here you go,” she said.
“Thanks,” came the sincere-sounding reply. “Why don’t you pull out the paper plates and cups and pour everybody something to drink? I think it’s about time to eat.”
Monique stared at the older woman’s back, and the unfamiliar urge to hug Mrs. Bell close rose up in her. She fought the impulse and turned and set the picnic table as instructed. Mrs. Bell hadn’t exactly welcomed her into the family with open arms, but she’d extended a hand. Monique gladly took it.
Dillon settled down on the same side of the picnic table as Monique with Glenn and Calvin sitting between them. His mother and father and Donald sat across from them. Only Darnell’s absence kept the day from being complete. Darnell had called with some emergency and had vowed to visit his new nephew as soon as he could.
But Dillon couldn’t really complain. He was happy. Or, rather, as happy as he’d been in a long while. He was a family man at heart, and right now he felt family as he’d never felt it before. This day, this setting, was straight out of his dreams. Him, Monique, their kids, his family—all together and all happy.
He glanced over the heads of the boys who chattered incessantly abou
t any and everything and observed the woman who’d walked back into his life and given him so much pain yet so much more joy. Whatever pain her reappearance had caused was more than compensated for by the joy of knowing and being with Glenn, his son.
Dillon turned his gaze from Monique. As he did so, his eyes locked with his mother’s. She wore a reserved smile as if she, too, was happy, but worried at the same time. He didn’t have to ask what troubled her. And while he wished he could tell her not to fret, that everything was under control, he couldn’t lie to he r. Nothing was under control. Even now his body pulsed with a need unlike any he’d felt in years. A need for Monique.
Her laughter brought him out of his musings.
“Do that again, Uncle Donald,” Glenn was saying.
Calvin chimed in right behind his big brother. Dillon couldn’t have wished for the boys to get along better. Calvin had found an instant hero and leader in Glenn, while Glenn had easily fallen into the role of the sage older brother.
Dillon looked across the picnic table at his brother balancing a plastic spoon on his nose. He shook his head at the childishness of his brother’s antics, but he also laughed.
“Can you do that, Dillon?” Glenn asked.
“Yeah, can you do that, Daddy?”
“I’m not sure I can top that,” he said, ignoring the pain he felt that Glenn still called him by his first name. He knew it was too soon to expect the boy to accept him totally. But it hurt him that his oldest son readily accepted his uncle Donald and his grandpa and grandma.
“Mom can do it. Can’t you, Mom?” Glenn asked an obviously embarrassed Monique. Color flamed in her cheeks and her eyes grew bright. “She’s done it lots of times. Do it, Mom.”
“Come on, Monique,” Dillon encouraged. “Let’s see you do it.” The image of this woman playing the clown for the child she loved so dearly only served to make him want her more.
“Maybe another time,” she said.
“Aww, Mom,” Glenn said.
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