Honeymoon For Hire. Cathy Gillen ThackerЧитать онлайн книгу.
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A fan-favorite story from bestselling Mills & Boon American Romance author Cathy Gillen Thacker!
This marriage is anything but convenient!
Dillon Gallagher felt he had an obligation to help Hayley Alexander, his friend’s widowed wife. So when she mentioned wanting a real home for her baby daughter, it seemed only natural to have them move into his large house. In exchange for a place to stay, Hayley could cook and clean. What she ends up doing is tearing apart his fixer-upper!
Living in such close quarters in a small town is all too much for local gossips. To curb the wagging tongues, Dillon proposes they marry—just until the renovations are complete. Then Hayley will buy the house from the undomesticated Dillon, and he can go back to his bachelor ways. But there’s something about playing family that makes Dillon think he’s ready to fall for his temporary honeymoon with Hayley—permanently!
Honeymoon for Hire
Cathy Gillen Thacker
MILLS & BOON
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Table of Contents
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Hayley Alexander sized Dillon up with street smart expertise, ran a hand through the thick waves of her honey blond hair and let out a short exasperated sigh. “Look, Mr. Gallagher, I appreciate your dropping by, but if you’ve come to do the ‘merry widow’ routine on me, you can forget it. I’m much too busy subletting my apartment, looking for a job, and finding a new place to live to mess with the likes of you. So let’s do both ourselves a favor and make it short.”
“Like I could get a word in edgewise,” Dillon drawled.
“You’re sorry. I’m sorry. Thank you. And goodbye.” She punctuated each short sentence with a decisive wave of her hands, then started to palm the door shut on him.
Dillon caught the edge of the door to her pricey New York City apartment and held firm’ easily preventing her from shutting it. “Whoa, babe.”
“And don’t call me babe,” she snapped archly.
He’d had a feeling she wouldn’t like that, no more than he liked taking the blame for something he hadn’t been about to do. “I don’t know what this merry widow routine is—”
“You don’t?” Her jade green eyes widened in cool disbelief.
“No, sweetheart, I don’t,” he replied.
Dark green eyes flashing, she took a deep breath to bolster her determination. “Then let me spell it out for you,” she said.
Dillon let go of the door and propped his spine against the jamb. Slouching slightly to better align his six-foot-three frame with her five-foot-eight height, he crossed his arms against his chest. “Considering how riled up it gets you, I can’t wait to hear.”
She pursed her incredibly soft-looking lips together and shot him a drop-dead look that in no way detracted from her femininity. “Are you going to take me seriously, Mr. Gallagher?”
That was a hard one to answer, considering she was mad at him for no reason at all.
“’Cause if you’re not—” she warned.
“Then what?” It had been a long time since he’d seen a woman with such spunk and vitality. Too long, he decided.
She sighed and rolled her eyes. “You NCN News guys are all alike.”
“Tell me about it,” he urged with an insolent grin.
“I’m a lady. I don’t use obscene language.”
He laughed. “I take it I’m not your first visitor?” he teased.
“Since the Gulf War ended, there’ve been twenty-two of you. You, Mr. Gallagher, make it twenty-three.”
That revealed, she turned her back on him and marched toward the kitchenette at the other end of the cluttered, overcrowded living room. Dillon followed, striding past a nubby oatmeal sofa, an easel, two eye-catching paintings of bunny rabbits and teddy bears, and a baby carriage heaped with clean laundry. “Let’s get back to the merry widow routine. What exactly is that?”
She picked up a wrench and restlessly cupped it in both slender hands. “Oh, you know, it’s where you come in and tell me how sorry you are Hank died last year—”
Sounded reasonable, Dillon thought. That was why he was here.
“And now that you’re back in the States, you just want me to know you’re here for me. I’m not sure,” she intoned dryly, “but I think that’s the part where I’m supposed to wail and act helpless. But I gotta tell you, Dillon,” she said, “I usually don’t. Then you take me in your arms and make a pass.”
Hayley began disassembling the faucet. “I don’t know what it is about widows, but damned if everyone doesn’t think we’re a sex-starved lot.”
Dillon couldn’t help it. He laughed. Bracing his hips against the other end of her kitchen counter, he said, “I assure you, Mrs. Alexander, I am not here to make a pass.” Although he’d damn sure like to be, he thought. Hayley Alexander was one sexy woman.
“So why are