Breath of Scandal (28 page)

During that time, sex was Debra's only obsession. As

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soon as her body had healed, she urged him to make love with her, although the frantic coupling they engaged in wasn't what Dillon would call making love. The act wasn't prompted by passion or desire but desperation. Pleasure was neither's goal. He wanted to pierce through her self-imposed isolation. She wanted to get pregnant again as quickly as possible.

No time was given to foreplay. Every night they sweatily clutched each other, rocking their bed in a frenzy of mating. Afterward, Dillon felt empty and joyless, but he continued doing it because those few minutes were the only ones throughout the day when Debra showed signs of life.

At times when Dillon wanted to pull out his hair in frustration, he could comfort himself by saying, "At least I don't have Haskell Scanlan to contend with." Forrest G. Pilot had countermanded Dillon's dismissal of the accountant but had reassigned him to a position in the States. That was satisfactory to Dillon. He didn't care what Scanlan was doing or where he was, so long as he was out of his life. Scanlan's replacement was a much more amenable Frenchman who spoke flawless English.

Debra underwent a 180-degree reversal the day she confirmed that she was pregnant. When Dillon arrived home, she flew into his arms the moment he cleared the door. Such exuberance was so unexpected that he toppled over backward. She landed on top of him, laughing as she had before the disastrous trip to Zermatt.

"I'm pregnant, Dillon. I'm pregnant."

Before he had time to recover from his surprise, she was tearing open his shirt and ravenously kissing his chest and throat. They made love on the floor, and it was as before -with fervor tempered by love and caring.

"Jesus, it's good to have you back," he whispered fiercely as he held her hips between his hands and thrust himself into her.

As though an opaque curtain had been lifted, their life was sunny again. Life was good, but Dillon's nemesishis pessimism-plagued him during Debra's pregnancy. What if tragedy struck again? Debra might suffer another

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Dout of depression that neither would have the stamina to withstand. As she approached her second trimester, the period during which she had lost the first baby, Dillon's anxiety escalated to a frantic pitch. One evening he abruptly announced, "I'm sending you home to have the baby, and I don't want any arguments."

"I am home."

"You know what I mean. To Georgia. To your mama. She'll see that you take it easy like you're supposed to. Anyway, I want our baby to be born on American soil."

She looked at him shrewdly. "You finally got one, didn't you?"             -1

"Got one what?"

"A mistress. According to our neighbor downstairs, all Frenchmen have at least one. She warned me that it was only a matter of time before you adopted that custom, especially since my figure is no longer svelte and seductive."

"You're seductive as hell," he snarled, laying his hands on the mound of her abdomen. He pushed up her top and kissed the taut skin. His lips worked their way up to her braless breasts. "You've adapted a few French Customs yourself," he murmured as he flicked his tongue over one dark nipple.

"All my bras are too small now. " She cupped her breasts and offered them to him. His mouth caressed her until their mingled sighs proved the neighbor downstairs wrong.

Later, as they lay with her back to his chest, his hand protectively resting on her belly, she asked sleepily, "When did you plan to pack me off to Mother?"

"Forget it," he sighed, kissing her ear. "You're not going anywhere. "

It wasn't until he held his squinning, squalling newborn son in his arms that Dillon relaxed his vigilance over caPricious fate. In his father's eyes, Charles Dillon Burke was a miracle. From the first moment Dillon saw him, he was besotted with his child and fatherhood in general.

His luck at work continued to hold. The insurance building had been completed to everyone's satisfaction. Forrest G. Pilot himself had come from Florida to inspect it per-

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sonally, He had aged considerably, Dillon thought, and appeared to be under a strain, yet he commended Dillon on his fine work and demonstrated his appreciation in the form of a cash bonus.

"Take six weeks off with pay. That should give you plenty of time to make the move before reporting back to work. "

Before going on to Tallahassee, they planned to spend at least two weeks with the Newberrys in Atlanta and let them get well acquainted with their newest grandson. Dillon was confident that Forrest G. had big plans for him. He had more than fulfilled the older man's expectations.

Resting his head on the hard seat cushion, Dillon closed his eyes contentedly. Over the roar of the jet engines he could hear Debra's steady breathing and the sweet, guttural baby sounds that Charlie made in his sleep.

"What the hell is all this about?" Dillon roared. "Where's Forrest G.? What are you doing behind that desk?"

Haskell Scanlan leaned back in the sumptuous leather desk chair and smugly regarded Dillon. "It's my privilege to inform you that Mr. Pilot no longer works here."

It took every ounce of Dillon's self-control not to hurdle the desk, grab Scanlan by his scrawny neck, and wring the life out of him. This was a hell of a shock to receive on his first day back.

When he noticed the unfamiliar sign in the parking lot, he had hoped that it meant only a new name and logo for the original company. But as soon as he entered what had formerly been Forrest G.'s executive office, he was met with an unpleasant surprise. Pilot Engineering Industries was under new ownership and management-and at its helrD was Haskell Scanlan.

Dillon glared down at his old enemy. "What happened to Forrest G.?"

Scanlan's long fingers slid back and forth along the edge of his glossy desk. "Your mentor has retired."

Dillon scoffed. "He wouldn't vacate that chair without putting up a fight."

"There was some nastiness," Scanlan admitted with an insincere moue. "I'm surprised you didn't read about it in the newspapers."

"I've been busy getting my family settled. What happened?"

"With the assets that were available, the company you now work for decided it could do more than Mr. Pilot was doing. "

"In other words, it was a hostile takeover. A conglomerate came in ano muscled out Forrest G." Dillon's eyes narrowed on Scanlan. "I wonder who supplied their inside information. "

Scanlan's grin was as obnoxious as fingernails on a chalkboard. "I did what I could to assist the new ownership." "I'm sure you did, " Dillon sneered. "I'm sure you kissed ass until your lips were raw."

Scanlan shot from his chair, his eyes batting furiously, his cheeks puffing out like those of an adder. Dillon leaned across the desk. "Go ahead, Scanlan, hit me. Please. Give me a good reason to beat the hell out of you."

Scanlan took a step back. "If you value your job, you'd better watch the way you address me, Mr. Burke. We haven't dismissed a single employee since we seized control, but it's inevitable. I wouldn't mind you being the first to go. 11

Dillon was tempted to tell Scanlan to go fuck himself and then storm out. But where would that leave him? He wasn't short of cash, thanks to the bonus Forrest G. had given him. However, he had incurred a lot of expenses during the move. There wouldn't be that many jobs available in Tallahassee, and he couldn't very well ask Debra and Charlie to move again after just getting settled.

They had decided not to buy a house until they were more familiar with the city. Instead, they had leased a house in a neat, respectable neighborhood. The yard was smaller than Dillon wanted and had only one tree. But Debra seemed Pleased with it.

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For the time being,    it would be stupid to bite the hand that was feeding them. "What have you got for me?" he grumbled.

Scanlan pinched up      the creases of his slacks as he sat back down. He reached for a folder, opened it, and ran his index finger down a column of figures. "Ah, there's a cubicle on the second floor that's available. Number 1120. You can move your supplies in there today and begin tomorrow. "

"You're putting me back on a drawing board?" Dillon shouted. "What the hell are you trying to pull?"

"That's the only job I currently have available. Take it or leave it."

Dillon muttered a string of French obscenities.

"It goes without saying," Scanlan added, "that the job of draftsman doesn't pay as much as field work, so your salary will be scaled down until it's commensurate with the position. "

"You must really be enjoying this," Dillon said. Scanlan smiled pleasantly. "Enormously."

"I can't go back to drawing. There's got to be something else. "

Scanlan assessed him for a moment, then swiveled his chair around and pulled a folder from the built-in filing cabinet behind him. "Actually, I just remembered something. We recently acquired a property in Mississippi that needs massive renovation before it can be utilized productively and profitably. Are you interested?"

Dillon summed up his explanation to Debra. "So it's either take the job in Mississippi or start drafting again." He socked his fist against his opposite palm. "I don't know why I didn't bust the little bastard and walk out."

"Yes, you do. You're not a street fighter any longer. You're a family man, a professional, who isn't going to let slimy characters like Scanlan defeat you."

"Well, right now this slimy character is holding the aces, and he damn well knows it. After I left him, I tried to set

up job interviews. I must have made two dozen phone calls. The answer was always the same. Nobody has any work. Nobody is hiring."

"Short of separating Scanlan's body from his head, what do you want to do?"

"I don't know, Debra." He dropped onto the sofa and tiredly rubbed his eyes. "I sure as hell don't want to go back to drafting."

"Then you'll take the other job, and we'll move to Mississippi - "

Dillon plucked Charlie off Debra's lap and settled him in the crook of his elbow. The baby tightly clutched his father's index finger. "I've got an alternative. It's not great, but keep in mind that it's only temporary.-

After he had laid out his alternate plan, she asked, "Where would you live?"

"In the trailer at the site. I could make do with a cot, a small refrigerator, and a hotplate.

"What about a bathroom?"

"I'll use the Port-o-lets. And the building I'll be working on has a shower room. Scanlan gave me the plans to study before I make my decision."

Her expression relayed her lack of enthusiasm. "You'd come home every weekend?"

"Without fail. I swear."

"I don't see why we can't all move to Mississippi." ."Because Scanlan would likely pull me off the job the minute we got settled. He could keep us hopscotching indefinitely. "

"But this is indefinite, too," she said plaintively. "He could keep you there forever."

Dillon stubbornly shook his head. "I won't have the emotional attachment to this job the way I did to the building in Versailles. I'll leave it flat the minute I hear of anything opening up. I've left applications all over town. Something's bound to come through before too long.

"Scanlan has never forgiven me for pulling rank on him in France. He got his revenge on Forrest G., and now he's given me a choice between a shit detail and moving back

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into one of those damned glass boxes. He expects me to take that because it's easier. I don't want to give the bastard the satisfaction. "

Keeping Charlie cradled in one arm, he drew his wife close and kissed her temple. "Trust me, Debra. This is the best way. The weeks will speed by so fast, you won't even have time to miss me."

Unfortunately, the commuting arrangement wasn't as temporary or as easy as Dillon had hoped. His accommodations in Mississippi were squalid, but he didn't tell Debra that because she was doing her best to keep a positive attitude.

There was no end in sight. An exceptionally rainy fall had caused construction sites a over the South to stand deserted. There were heavy layoffs. No one wanted to hire a construction engineer, no matter how bright, ambitious, or doggedly determined.

Dillon had bought a new car while they were in Atlanta. He left that with Debra and traveled the long trip to and from Mississippi on a used motorcycle. He arrived home late each Friday night and had to leave early on Sunday afternoons. That barely gave him time to rest up from his exhausting weekend before Monday morning came around.

The work itself was uninspiring. Most of it involved interior refurbishing. He replaced collapsing walls, rebuilt falling ceilings, resurfaced floors. The building was old and ugly and when he was finished it would still be old and ugly. Nevertheless, he operated under the same rigid standards as he would have had the building been new. He ran a tight ship and insisted that the workers give 100 percent to the job. It was a matter of pride. Besides, he wasn't going to give Scanlan an inch of advantage over him. He might demote or dismiss him out of pique, but never for doing substandard work.

The situation put a strain on Dillon's family. Because they crowded so much togetherness into their weekends, they had to work at it, and that took away some of the enjoyment. Household chores that Debra couldn't do fell to Dillon. Ordinarily he wouldn't have minded doing them

but he spent precious hours every Saturday morning doing menial tasks when all he wanted to do was sleep, make love to his wife, and marvel over the rapid development of his son.

Although they were surrounded by young families like themselves, they had no social life. That began to tell on Debra. She spent all week, every week, alone with a baby less than a year old. She doted on Charlie and was an excellent mother, but she had no outlet for self-expression and seemed disinclined to get involved in any neighborhood activities. Dillon began to notice signs of increasing depression, and it frightened him.