It wouldn’t be ready, he thought. Not unless the shirt somehow “knew” it had to dry itself after it had finished washing.
He glanced at his watch again. How much longer was he going to have to hang around this place waiting for his shirt to dry?
Not that being with this woman was any sort of actual hardship, he amended in all honesty. Under any other set of circumstances, he might have even welcomed the excuse.
But right now, he felt like a total idiot and standing around in this long fluffy robe just seemed to intensify that reaction.
It also upped the chances of someone coming in and seeing him looking like this.
He really wanted to get out of here.
Now.
Chapter Three
A while later, the dryer Hailey had put Dillon’s newly washed shirt into was still running.
To check, Hailey pressed the pause button on the oversized machine and it tumbled to a noisy halt.
Opening the door, she fished out Dillon’s shirt, ran her hand over the material and frowned. It still felt a bit damp. Not dripping, she conceded, but definitely damp. If given a choice, she knew that she wouldn’t have wanted to put it on. The damp material would feel clammy against her skin.
Against his skin, Hailey corrected herself.
She was about to put the shirt back into the dryer when she heard Dillon’s deep voice coming from directly behind her.
“Is it ready yet?”
Surprised, she turned around. He’d followed her. She wouldn’t have thought that he would. The laundry room wasn’t all that hard to find, but coming here necessitated walking out into the hallway wearing that long, flowing fluffy robe—and being seen wearing it, something she’d gotten the very strong impression that he wanted to avoid.
The man really had to be anxious to get out of here, she thought.
Even so, Hailey felt she had to be honest with him. “No, not really.” She looked down at the shirt as she spoke, and when her eyes raised, she noticed Dillon had crossed the floor and was now standing right beside her.
For some reason, being alone in the room with Dillon and envisioning him naked from the waist up beneath the spa robe made the hairs along her arms all stand up, almost at attention.
You’re not being very professional, Hailey. You’ve had undraped men on your massage table before and it’s never affected you.
Still, the appealing vision of Dillon Fortune that had popped up was a difficult one to banish from her brain.
“Let me see it,” Dillon was saying. He put his hand out expectantly, waiting for his shirt.
“Okay.” Hailey held the blue silk shirt out to him. “Go ahead, touch it,” she coaxed.
The moment the words were out of her mouth, she realized how they must have sounded to him. They sounded like an invitation. Embarrassed, she cleared her throat. “I mean, you can see that it’s still pretty damp,” she told Dillon, avoiding his eyes. “If you give it a few more minutes—”
“That’s all right,” Dillon said, overriding the woman’s protest. At this point, in order to be on his way, Dillon would have worn the shirt even if it were completely sopping wet.
His urge to bolt was so strong that he allowed the robe to drop off his shoulders. It fell to the floor as he slipped on his shirt. He was so intent on putting it on, he didn’t see the startled look, immediately followed by an appreciative one, passing over Hailey’s face. But she was very aware of it as she caught her reflection in the dryer door.
Damn, she’d already seen the man’s sculpted torso, but seeing its reflection completely paled to viewing the man up close and personal like this. Hailey felt a wave of intense heat pass over her and it was all she could do to keep her knees from buckling.
How was this man walking around unattached and without legions of starry-eyed, eager women following him around, desperate for his attention? It made no sense to her.
Breathe, Hailey, breathe. He isn’t interested in you that way. His desire to make a hasty exit makes that perfectly clear. Don’t complicate matters by drooling on him.
Meanwhile, Dillon was still getting dressed. It was a little tricky, pushing his arms into the damp sleeves, but it was amazing what a man could do when pressured by a sense of urgency.
“The main thing,” he told her, “is that that smell is gone.”
As if to test his statement, Hailey leaned in toward his chest and took a deep breath. She wrinkled her nose a little.
“Well, actually, there’s still a trace of it left,” she told him. Wait. What was she doing, stepping so close to him and smelling him? Had she lost all sense of professionalism?
After a moment’s hesitation, Dillon leaned back. “I—” He stopped, then started again, regaining his thoughts. With her so close, it wasn’t easy. “It’s good enough,” he finally declared. “As long as it doesn’t attract a swarm of bees, I’m ahead of the game.”
“But if you just give it a few more minutes, Mr. Fortune...” she tactfully protested. In light of his obvious anxiousness to flee, she had reverted back to his surname, feeling that to call him Dillon was far too familiar right now.
“I’m already late for...something,” Dillon said evasively.
That would explain his constantly looking at his watch and his phone while she had been taking him on the tour, she thought. The pang that went through her was involuntary. Did he have a hot date waiting for him? Or maybe he was going to be meeting up with his next conquest?
It was none of her business, Hailey silently
