Chapter 5

      Pam was trying, desperately so, to convince herself that the only reason she was sitting at the kitchen table and staring out the window was to study all the Indian paintbrushes that were still blooming this late in the year.

      It wasn’t working.

      Just like it wasn’t working to try and convince herself the only reason she’d gone to bed with thoughts of Dillon on her mind instead of the man she was engaged to marry was because Dillon had been to dinner the last couple of nights. The reason that argument wouldn’t hold up was because, although Fletcher had been dropping in for dinner quite often, she had yet to take visions of him to her bed. She had yet to remember, in vivid detail, what he’d been wearing the last time she’d seen him, and yet to hear the sound of his voice in her head in the wee hours of the morning.

      So why was Dillon Westmoreland causing so much havoc in her life when she should be concentrating on setting the best date to marry Fletcher? The main thing that had been nagging at her since meeting Dillon was the fact that he could arouse feelings and sensations within her that Fletcher didn’t. Was that something she should be concerned about, she wondered.

      She quickly decided that it didn’t really matter if she should be concerned, since Fletcher was the only one capable of getting her out of such a dismal situation. Their marriage would not be one of love and, the way things were looking, it wouldn’t be one of passion either. But she would make do. She really didn’t have a choice.

      The ringing of the phone intruded her thoughts. Getting up from the table she quickly crossed the room to pick it up, but turned to make sure she still had a good view out the window. “Hello.”

      “I called to see if you’ve come to your senses and called off your engagement.”

      Pam couldn’t do anything, but shake her head and smile. She wasn’t sure who was worse, her sisters or her best friend from college, Iris Michaels. From Iris’s initial meeting with Fletcher, he had rubbed her the wrong way and she hadn’t gotten over it yet. “No, sorry, the wedding is still on, so I hope you haven’t forgotten your promise to be my maid of honor.”

      Pam could picture Iris sitting behind the desk of the PR company she owned in Los Angeles with a beautiful view of the Pacific. Iris would be tapping a pen either on her desk or to the side of her face, trying to think of a way to get out of the promise she’d made their second year in college together over a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Their days in college had been hard. Money had been tight, so they had made do, shared practically everything and had become best friends for life.

      Right out of college, Iris had met, fallen in love with and married Garlan Knight. Garlan, a stuntman, had been killed while working on a major film less than a year into their marriage. That was four years ago and, although Iris dated on occasion, she had long ago proclaimed that she would never give her heart to another man because the pain of losing the person she loved wasn’t worth it.

      “I’m trying to forget I made that promise. So what’s been going on with you lately?”

      At first Pam couldn’t decide whether she should mention anything about Dillon and then thought, why not? Chances were, when Iris came to visit, her sisters would tell her about him anyway, and then Iris would accuse her of holding secrets. “Well, there is something I need to tell you about. I had a visitor this week.”

      While periodically glancing out the window, Pam told Iris how Dillon had shown up two nights ago. Surprisingly, Iris didn’t ask a lot of questions; she listened attentively, giving Pam the chance to finish. “So, there you have it,” Pam finally said, glad it was over and done with. She made an attempt to move to another subject—about how things were going at the drama school—when Iris stopped her.

      “Hey, not so fast, Pam. What aren’t you telling me?”

      Pam rolled her eyes. “I’ve told you everything.”

      “Then why did you deliberately leave out any details about how this guy looks? You know I’m a visual person.”

      Pam breathed in deeply. “He’s good-looking.”

      “How good-looking?”

      “Very good-looking, Iris,” she said, hoping that would be the end of it.

      “On a scale of one to ten with ten being the sexiest, how would you rate him?” Iris asked.

      “Why do you want to know?”

      “Just answer the question, please,” Iris demanded.

      When Pam didn’t say anything for a moment, deciding to keep her lips sealed, Iris said, “I’m waiting.”

      Pam rolled her eyes again and then said, “Okay, he’s a ten.”

      “A ten?”

      “Yes, Iris, a ten. He is so darn pleasing to the eyes it’s a shame,” she said, inwardly blaming Iris for making her tell all.

      “What about his personality?”

      Pam thought about how dinner had gone yesterday and how pleasant it had been for her sisters to feel included in the dinner discussions. Dillon had held their focus because he had paid attention to them, as if what they had to say was important, not trivial like Fletcher would often do. Yes, she would have to say he had a nice personality.

      “He’s nice, Iris, and his personality goes right along with it.”

      “Would he be someone that would interest you if you weren’t engaged to Fletcher?”

      Pam frowned. “Why would you ask me something like that when