After the Dawn (21 page)

His thumb played with her ear, sending shivers in its wake. “It will be my pleasure to teach you. Six thirty all right?”

She'd miss cooking dinner for Dillon again. “Yes.”

“That's my girl.” Roman took her in his arms again and made her world tilt, her body burn.

When she could think clearly again, she said, “I wish you didn't have to drive back tonight.”

“Don't worry. I'm used to night driving,” he told her, his arms around her waist. “Listening to my tapes, I'll be home before I know it.”

“All right. Why don't you come by for breakfast in the morning?” she asked.

“I don't want you going to the trouble of having to get up earlier because of me,” he told her.

“I'd already planned to cook Dillon a good breakfast to make up for not cooking for him tonight, and it now looks like tomorrow night.” Few people besides Dillon had ever worried about her.

“Then I'll see you at seven-thirty.” He kissed her again then gently pushed her inside. “Night.”

“Night,” Marlene breathed the word. A smile on her face, she turned and saw the light on in the kitchen. She glanced at her watch. Ten fifty-three. Heat flushed her face. It wasn't unusual for Dillon to make raids on the kitchen even after a full meal.

She could go to her room or … Tossing her handbag on the sofa as she passed, she went to the kitchen. Dillon, his back to her, was at the stove.

“Hi, Dillon,” she greeted him.

“Hi. You have fun?”

He hadn't turned. He'd seen her all right, clinging around Roman like plastic wrap. She tried to remember where Roman's hands were and couldn't, only that they had felt good on her body.

She went to the stove. The sunny-side-up eggs were just beginning to bubble around the edges. Taking his arms, she turned him to her. “Dillon.”

He looked at her, then down. “I was on my way to the kitchen. The Burger Joint hamburger was as bad as I remember. The light came on and I … I'm sorry.”

“Don't be.” She turned to grab a metal spatula and turned over the eggs. “I'm your mother. It's difficult to see me as just a woman on a date.”

“I guess.” He grabbed a plate.

Marlene slid the eggs onto the plate and went to the refrigerator for the loaf of bread. She put four slices in the toaster, then placed strawberry preserves on the table. When the toast was ready, she placed them on his plate.

“Dillon, if you're going to be this embarrassed if you see me kissing Roman, perhaps I shouldn't see him anymore.”

He finally looked at her, down at his plate, then back up at her. “I did promise I'd make myself scarce.”

“Yes, you did, but this is your home as well.”

He glanced around the stainless-steel kitchen with custom cabinetry. “We've come a long way, haven't we?”

“And we did it together, and by being honest with and loving each other.”

“I don't guess you'll scar me at my age,” he said lightly, and picked up his fork.

“No more than your wild antics while you were growing up scared me.”

Chuckling, he dug into his eggs. “Thanks for the food.”

“That's what mothers are for.” Leaning down, she touched her head to his. “I'll see you in the morning.”

“Mama?”

Stopping at the door, she looked back over her shoulder. “Yes.”

“I love you. I'm glad you're going out with Roman. He's a good man.”

“Thank you, Dillon. I think he is too.” Smiling, Marlene continued out of the room.

*   *   *

Dillon didn't wake up in the best of moods. Sexual depravation would do that to you.
And he wasn't likely to be satisfied anytime soon,
he thought as he stepped from the shower. He didn't believe in using women. Sam was the only woman he wanted, and she had put up a huge
NO TRESPASSING
sign.

He could probably work on changing her mind this weekend while they were in Vegas. But he didn't want to seduce her. He wanted her willing and eager in his bed, and just as eager and wild after the dawn came. He didn't want regrets and recrimination.

Dressed, he left his bedroom on the other side of the house. He smelled breakfast, heard male laughter. Roman. Dillon admitted what he hadn't wanted to last night. He'd been embarrassed seeing his mother kissing Roman, but he'd also been a bit jealous that he was having so much trouble with Sam.

He stood in the doorway a few seconds before they saw him: his mother, wearing a pretty pink dress instead of her usual slacks, making French toast; Roman, standing close, drinking coffee.

“Good morning.”

Both turned with easy smiles to greet him. “Good morning, Dillon.”

Three was definitely a crowd. He crossed to his mother, kissed her then grabbed his keys off the hook. “I'm not hungry. See you both later.”

His mother dropped the bread into the egg mixture and came to him. “You feel all right?”

“Sure. Guess I'm still full from eating last night,” he said.

“Since when?” she asked. “You can eat two hours after a huge meal.”

He touched her shoulder. He didn't want her worried about him. “Probably thinking about the designs for the intercooler. I'm putting it in Carson's BMW this weekend. See you.” He went out the back door, but the door opened behind him before he reached his truck.

“Dillon.” Roman caught up with him. “Marlene is in the kitchen with her head down. She got up early to cook you breakfast because she didn't cook for you last night. There's an enchilada casserole in the refrigerator because we were going out tonight. If it's me, I'll leave. I won't come between you. She loves you more than anything.”

Muttering, Dillon shoved his hand over his hair. “It's not you. It's…” He eyed Roman. “Honk when you pull up next time.” Then he brushed past Roman and went back inside.

As Roman had said, Marlene sat at the kitchen table with her head down. Dillon could have kicked his own butt. He knelt and took her unsteady hands. “I forgot the house rules. Hungry or full.”

“If—”

“It's not you,” he repeated. He'd never discussed his women with his mother. Never had a problem with one that he couldn't solve on his own.

“Should I leave?” Roman asked.

Dillon saw the longing in his mother's eyes. Yet she didn't say one word for him to stay. She'd let the man she cared for walk away. She'd always put Dillon first. He could do no less, even if he had to bare his soul. “Sam and I are having a bit of personal problems. I guess I'm not taking it very well.”

Happiness crossed his mother's face. “Oh, Dillon. I never thought this day would happen.”

“Whoa. It's just a passing thing.”

“Hmmm.”

He didn't like the sound of that. “I mean it. We both have different goals in life.”

Her hands palmed his face. “There has never been an obstacle or challenge in your life that you haven't met head-on and conquered. Different isn't always bad.” She glanced over at Roman, then pushed against Dillon's shoulders so she could stand. “I'll finish the French toast. Please get the juice. Roman, help yourself to more coffee. We can eat in a minute and Dillon can tell us about the race this weekend.”

Dillon rose and went to the glass-front cabinets for the juice glasses. Thank goodness he hadn't ruined his mother's day with Roman because Sam had shut him down.

His mother had brought up a good point. Sam was different from the other women he'd dated. She challenged him, resisted him so naturally when he'd tried to make her submit. The old Sam might have given in, the new emerging Sam was learning to stand her ground and push back. Oddly, he preferred the new Sam, but that didn't mean he'd let her or any woman get the better of him. “Where're you two headed tonight?”

“Putt-putt,” his mother said, laughing. She smiled at Roman. “I'll probably embarrass us.”

“Not a chance.” Roman sipped his coffee and watched Marlene with an intensity that was almost tangible. “But even if we have a terrible score, we'll have fun and be together.”

Dillon was sure that if he weren't there, they'd be in each other's arms. To make up for his bad behavior, he'd eat and then leave so they could have a few minutes alone. He had work to do. First, he needed to get his mind exclusively on finishing the intercooler. Second, he had to try to forget how good Sam felt in his arms.

*   *   *

Samantha got what she wanted. Dillon stayed away from her the rest of the week at work.

Where she was, he wasn't. And if they did happen to be in the same place, he quickly excused himself. Knowing he was working against the clock to finish the intercooler before Friday didn't make her feel any better.

Wednesday, he'd come to their office—which he never used anymore—to disclose their travel plans to leave Friday morning and return early Monday morning. Practice was Friday, qualifying runs against the clock Saturday, with the actual race on Sunday at noon.

“You can come down on Sunday morning,” he'd suggested in front of her desk. “I can talk to Mark, explain the intercooler, introduce him to the Rowland Racing Team, and make sure he has a good time.”

He'd made the statement in a businesslike manner. There'd been no hint of jealousy. Clearly, he'd relegated her to the past and moved on. It had hurt, but she hadn't let it show. She'd sign over her half of Collins mansion to her uncle before she'd let him know. Just because they didn't have a personal relationship didn't mean that they couldn't have a harmonious working one.

“I'd rather go with you on Friday,” she'd said just as formally. “I want to learn as much as possible about vintage cars, especially if there is a market there for the intercooler. I'll make hotel reservations.”

“Already made.” He'd gone to the door. “I requested separate floors.”

So he planned to be with another woman. “Thank you.”

She'd gone back to work before the door closed, wishing there were some way to turn off her feelings for a man who obviously no longer cared. There wasn't. He was it for her.

Her door opened moments later. Her uncle came in, grinning. He'd have a fit if she entered his office without permission. “Did you forget to knock?”

He paused as if he hadn't expected the reprimand, then his smile returned as he continued to the seat in front of her desk. “Things aren't going so well between you and Dillon, I've noticed.”

“Was there something you wanted, Uncle Evan?”

Lines raced across his forehead as he studied her. She held his gaze. She wasn't the same woman, eager to please and keep everyone happy. Being stronger hadn't come without a price, however.

“Sign papers that at the end of the five-year period your half of Collins is mine, and I'll help you,” he told her, his hands laced together over his trim stomach in a tan tailored suit. She didn't think she'd ever seen him wearing the same suit or tie.

Samantha arched a brow. “How?”

“I have my ways,” he came back, his smile growing.

Samantha doubted that. He might arrive at work on time, but he still went home promptly at five. In between that time, she'd never seen any indication that he did anything productive behind his closed door. “Have you talked to any accounts or tried to acquire any lately?”

Disbelief widened his eyes as he shot to his feet. “Are you checking up on me?”

She asked a question of her own. “How can you help the company when you aren't doing anything since we lost Granddad to help the bottom line?”

“I helped make this company!” he shouted. “I'm not doing anything more until Dillon is gone and you come to your senses. He can't help this company.”

Samantha picked up her pen. “Then this conversation is over. Please let yourself out.”

“You're going to lose.”

“No, we won't.” Tossing the pen aside, she came to her feet and moved around the desk. “Dillon designed an intercooler that will be fitted on a car for the Rowland Racing Team in the vintage racing this weekend in Vegas. When the car wins, the entire auto industry will take note.”

“If,” he sneered.

“You better hope it does.”

“Why would I do that?” he asked, his sneer growing.

“Because,” she said sweetly, “if Collins Industry has to make adjustments to keep going, guess whose paycheck will get cut first?”

Horror and then anger chased across his face.

“Good-bye, Uncle.” Samantha went behind her desk. “I know you wish us well this weekend.”

“You—”

“Was there something you wanted me to tell Dillon?”

He strode from the room and slammed the door after him. Leaning back in her chair, Samantha smiled.

*   *   *

Early Thursday morning, Dillon positioned the intercooler in his BMW. It was the same model Carson would be driving. He tightened the bolts, then straightened. It was ready to test.

“I'm not sure about you racing on the FM roads,” Marlene said from beside him, worry in her voice.

“He knows what he's doing, Marlene,” Roman said, his arm around her waist.

Dillon had finally gotten used to seeing them that way. The happiness on his mother's face, the way it lit up when Roman walked in the room, helped because he reacted the same way when he saw her. Last night, they had watched a movie at the house. “The real racing has twists and turns. It's the closest I'm going to get without actually being on the highway.”

“But the race is regulated. Don't you dare push the car over ninety.”

Cars in the vintage circuit didn't reach the 220 mph of NASCAR, but they did reach 180 mph. He had to test the intercooler to see if it gave the car the power boost he hoped for. “It's barely seven. The FM roads should be relatively empty.”

She bit her lip. “I never liked you racing.”