The Girl of His Dreams

by Susan Mallery

  Then he took her into his arms, and she didn’t care about making sense or her sister or anything but being with him.

  Her heels put her at exactly the right height to rest her chin on his shoulder. He pulled her close right away, and she didn’t think to protest until it was too late. Frankly, she didn’t care. This was Patrick, and if he thought she was acting brazen, what did it matter? He was with Elissa.

  They touched from shoulder to thigh. One of his hands settled on the small of her back, the other held her fingers tucked in against his chest. She could feel the steady pounding of his heart—the strong and solid beat so much like the man himself.

  They swayed together with a familiarity that belied the truth that this was their first dance. The music surrounded them like a sensual fog, leaving her dizzy and disoriented. Yet safe. Nothing bad would ever happen while she was in Patrick’s arms.

  The hard, muscled planes of his body provided the perfect counterpoint to her yielding curves.

  “We do this well,” he said lightly as the combo switched to another slow dance.

  “I agree. I was going to tell you I’m not much of a dancer, but I guess that’s not true with you.”

  His cheek rested against her forehead, and she felt him smile. “It must be my close contact with Kay la. You two are so much alike.”

  Kayla didn’t want him to think about Elissa right now. “Have you danced much with Kayla?” she asked.

  He chuckled. “No. We’ve never been romantically involved.”

  She had to struggle to keep her tone light, but she was determined to ask the question. “Why not?”

  “She was never interested in me that way.”

  His statement hung in the air, floating on the music. A half-finished thought that begged for completion.

  Were you ever interested in her…that way?

  She didn’t ask, and he didn’t offer.

  The right answer would fill her with elation and make her face her own questions. The wrong answer would leave her devastated. Rather than risk it, she contented herself with silence and the stirring pleasure of being in his arms.

  ***

  By the time the dessert dishes had been cleared away, Kayla had given up worrying about the fact that all Patrick’s attentiveness, all his gentle touches to her hand, arm and back, were actually meant for Elissa. Her sister wasn’t here, she wasn’t the one making Patrick laugh, so Kayla refused to worry about giving her the credit.

  “You must have been very proud when you opened the clinic,” she said.

  Patrick nodded. “I’d wanted to be a vet since I was a kid. It was a dream come true. The first year was tough, but the community supported me in a big way.”

  “Now you’re famous and you have a big staff.”

  He laughed. “I’m certainly not famous, but the staff is a decent size. They work hard, and I appreciate that. Especially you-know-who.”

  The not-so-subtle reference to her made her smile. The wine had relaxed her, as had the passion flaring in his eyes. She decided to up the stakes of the game.

  “I have a confession,” she said softly, leaning close.

  He mirrored her posture, placing one hand on her back and tilting his head toward hers. “Which is?”

  “You have to promise not to tell anyone. Especially Kayla.”

  For a moment, Patrick looked puzzled. Then his expression cleared. “You have my word. What’s the confession?”

  “Kayla had a huge crush on you when she first started working at the clinic.”

  Instead of laughing, Patrick turned serious. “She hid it well. I never had any idea. When did she get over it?”

  Now it was Kayla’s turn to be uncomfortable. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to speak the truth; instead, she wasn’t sure what the truth was. When had she gotten over the crush? Or had she at all?

  He settled the problem by taking her hand in his and squeezing gently. “You’re trying to spare my feelings. She was over me in a week.”

  “You’re not even close.”

  He shrugged. “Kayla and I take great pleasure in tormenting each other. I have a confession of my own. She thinks I have a thing for redheads. I talk about it all the time.”

  Her heart pounded a little faster. “You don’t favor them?”

  “No. I like—” he reached up and touched one of her curls. “—blondes.” His hand dropped to her bare shoulder. “You’re so lovely.”

  “Thank you.”

  She became lost in his steady gaze. She had no recollection of gathering her purse and leaving the restaurant, but suddenly they were standing on the dock overlooking the dark ocean. The restaurant was behind them. They could see other couples dining, but no one saw them. The side of the building and a wooden gate created an alcove of shadow that sheltered them in privacy.

  The moment was so perfect, no words were necessary. And when he pulled her into his arms, she knew this dance had nothing to do with music, and everything to do with the rhythmic heat swelling between them.

  His mouth came down on hers, a tender, welcome assault. Lips pressed to lips. She inhaled his scent, absorbed his taste, clung to him, to his broad shoulders. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, so close she felt the edges of their beings start to meld together.

  His fingers teased at her nape, seeking sensitive hollows under the protective layer of her curly hair. At his touch, electric shivers raced through her, making her rise up on her toes and kiss him more firmly.

  His mouth parted, as did hers. They both waited a breath, then their tongues met, pressing tip-to-tip at the place where their lips clung.

  As her body awakened to passion, her heart also embraced new and exciting sensations. They had no name. Some part of them, almost the echo of their presence, was familiar. As if a shadow of them had been present before.

  She wasn’t ready to identify them. It was enough to be with Patrick, to know those feelings existed in her world.

  She slipped her arms around his waist and felt the strength of his back. Tracing the length of his spine, she moved her hands up to his shoulder blades, then slipped down to the waistband of his trousers. Her fingers itched to cup the tight, muscled shape of his rear. The itch went unsatisfied. Neither Kayla nor the pretend-Elissa had the courage to do that.

  As if he’d read her mind, he broke the kiss and exhaled sharply. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he said, his voice husky with passion.

  “If it’s what I’m experiencing, I have a good idea.”

  His gaze met hers. In the darkness, his irises looked like bottomless pools. She wondered how it would feel to disappear inside him.

  “I knew tonight would be special,” he said.

  “Me, too. I’ve never felt like this before.”

  He hugged her tight. “Thank you for saying that.” His mouth touched her cheek, her jaw, then moved lower, to her neck. She arched back her head, sinking into mind-lessness as he forged a damp trail to her collarbone.

  Intense pleasure made her toes curl. She needed this moment to last forever.

  He licked the hollow of her throat. “I want you,” he murmured. “Sweet Elissa, I want you.”

  Chapter Nine

  Now what? Kayla asked herself as they drove through the dark streets. She focused her attention on the lit signs they passed, on the clear night sky, on her hands, clenched tightly in her lap. Anything to keep her from glancing at the man calmly sitting next to her.

  Soft music drifted out from hidden speakers. Mood music—slow and romantic. Was that part of his plan? To relax her with the right combination of nighttime and sax solo?

  Now what?

  He wanted her. He’d kissed and held her and told her he wanted her. She’d felt the heat from his body, felt his passion, shared the moment.

  But he thought he was with Elissa.

  Her heart ached, with a dull, twisting kind of pain that made her want to get out of the car and start walking. Maybe if she went long enough and far e
nough, she could leave the misery behind. Maybe she would eventually forget.

  How could he want her sister after just one evening, when he’d never once wanted her, Kayla? And he’d been with her. She pressed her lips tightly together to keep from swearing. It wasn’t fair. She’d been his friend, she’d worked for him. How many nights had they sat up together, tending sick animals, or even each other? When he caught that bad flu three years ago, she’d been the one to make him soup and spoon-feed it to him. She’d been the one calling the doctor at three in the morning, then running out to get the prescription filled.

  When a nasty bout of food poisoning laid her low for several days, Patrick had been there for her, too. He’d held her as she huddled in a ball and moaned in pain. He’d forced her to drink water so she wouldn’t get dehydrated, and he’d cheered when she was able to keep down a piece of dry toast.

  What about helping him with his grant and wallpapering his living room? What about the shared time on his porch, what about the sunsets and the laughter? Didn’t they mean anything to him? How dare he think he wanted Elissa and not her!

  That was the worst of it, she admitted to herself. Patrick’s reaction was to her. She’d been the woman at the restaurant. His lips had touched hers, not Elissa’s. She’d been the one to turn him on. But he didn’t know that, and she didn’t know how to tell him.

  As they neared the house, she risked glancing at him. His expression gave little away. He looked relaxed, which wasn’t fair at all.

  What was she going to say? Should she confess all? If she didn’t, she was going to have to explain to Elissa what had happened. After all, Patrick would expect to see Elissa again, and after tonight he would think they were more than friends.

  She squeezed her eyes shut and whimpered softly. What a mess. She didn’t want to tell him the truth; it was too humiliating. However, there didn’t seem to be another choice. Elissa hadn’t been able to go on a friendly date with Patrick. There was no way she could deal with the relationship as it had evolved.

  Unless Kayla kept pretending to be her sister.

  A recipe for disaster, or a shortcut to happiness?

  Before she could decide, the car slowed. She opened her eyes and saw that they’d pulled into Patrick’s driveway. Instead of stopping by the detached garage and walking her up the stairs to her—make that Kayla’s—apartment, he continued to the main house and parked the car near the front door.

  After turning off the engine, he angled toward her. The porch light illuminated the left half of his face, highlighting strong planes and penetrating eyes.

  “Despite what I said at the restaurant, I don’t have plans to ravish you,” he said lightly. “At least, not without your permission. With those ground rules established, would you like to come in?”

  “Yes,” Kayla said, without thinking. A small piece of sanity screamed out that it was a really bad idea. The rest of her didn’t listen. It was tough to hear the voice of reason, when every cell of her body yearned to be in Patrick’s arms again. Maybe a good ravishing would clear her mind.

  He walked around the car and opened the door for her. As she stepped out, he took her hand and brought her fingers to his mouth. He touched the tips to his lips, dampening each sensitive pad with his tongue. The combination of the romantic and the erotic made her thighs tremble. She felt as if she’d just run five miles.

  He pulled her close and kissed the top of her head. “I promise to act like a gentleman, no matter how tough that’s going to be,” he said, his voice thick. He slid his hands through her hair, cupped her scalp and raised her chin. “I want to kiss you. Is that all right?”

  He hadn’t closed the passenger’s door, and the dome light allowed her to see his expression. Passion flared in his eyes. She could both feel and see the heat. The fire touched her skin, but instead of burning her, it caressed her, dancing against her in pirouettes of pleasure.

  The problem of her identity disappeared in the need of the moment. Did it matter who she was, when she was the woman he wanted? If this was just a game, then she’d waited far too long to play. The rules weren’t clear, nor was she completely familiar with the ultimate goal, but she was willing to risk losing, if that meant she would have the pleasure of watching Patrick win.

  His question still hung between them. He waited patiently for her reply. Words formed in her throat, but a flood of emotion prevented her from speaking. Instead, she raised on tiptoe and pressed her mouth to his.

  It was a chaste kiss. Closed lips clung, captivated by unleashed need. Kayla ached for more. She wanted his tongue in her mouth, his hands on her body, bare skin next to bare skin. And yet, this was right. Pure. As if it were important for their souls to join first.

  First? Were they going to make love? Was that what she wanted? Patrick as her lover…her first lover?

  He pulled back and stared at her. “You take my breath away.”

  “I know what that feels like,” she said, and was pleased when her voice didn’t shake. She was still wrestling with the idea of them becoming lovers. Was that what she wanted?

  “Do you want me to take you home?” he asked.

  Unexpectedly, tears sprang to her eyes. The gentle question made her want to throw herself at him. Even now, even with the desire raging between them, he was giving her a choice. That was the kind of man he was. Thoughtful, understanding, caring, considerate.

  He would make love the same way he kissed—with quiet force and unbelievable passion. She’d never felt comfortable enough to give herself completely to the other men she’d dated. Maybe it had been a matter of not trusting them enough. She trusted Patrick.

  She blinked away the tears. She wasn’t ready to leave him, not tonight. “I’d like to come in,” she said.

  He closed the car door, then put his arm around her. They walked to the front door, which he unlocked, and then she led the way into his house.

  The living room looked exactly as it had a hundred times before. Wallpaper was missing from two walls and partially peeled off a third.

  “Redecorating, I see,” she teased.

  He shook his head. “It looks awful, I know. But it’s not my fault. Your sister is supposed to be helping me. She’s great with the animals, but not exactly committed when it comes to helping me around here.”

  “You look smart enough to take care of it yourself. After all, this is your house.”

  “Yeah, but the new wallpaper was her idea.” He took off his suit jacket and tossed it over the sofa. “Do you really want to talk about decorating?” he asked, loosening his tie and moving close to her.

  She tilted her head so she could meet his gaze. “Not really.”

  “Me either.”

  He placed his hands on her shoulders. Strong fingers kneaded her bare skin, and then he plucked at the skinny straps holding up her dress.

  “These have been driving me crazy all evening,” he said. “Just these little scraps of cloth. Weren’t you worried they’d break?”

  Her breathing increased. She placed her evening bag on the back of the sofa and wondered if he would think he was brazen if she stepped out of her shoes.

  “They’re sewn on well,” she told him. “They don’t break.”

  “But they do slide down.”

  The image his words painted filled her mind. In reality, the dress was snug enough that even if the straps were cut off, nothing would fall. Releasing the zipper in the back was another story. Would he want to do that, too?

  Unable to speak, she nodded.

  He bent and touched his mouth to her neck. Instinctively, she tilted her head to give him more room. He rewarded her with an openmouthed kiss against her already heated skin.

  She couldn’t think, she couldn’t move, she could only stand there absorbing the wondrous sensation of erotic dampness, of his tongue licking her, tasting her. Her body grew heavy. An ache began in her chest and between her legs. She pressed her thighs tightly together, but that didn’t help. She needed more; she needed
him.

  He slipped the straps off her shoulders, following his fingers with his mouth. First on her left side, nibbling at the curve of her shoulder, moving his mouth lower, to the top of her chest, pausing to trace the line of her collarbone before repeating the actions on her right side.

  Her hands fluttered in the air. As he dipped toward her breasts and touched the exposed, shadowed valley between, she swayed and caught herself by placing her hands on his waist.

  “Touch me,” he said, the words muffled against her skin.

  Touch me. A man’s plea for a woman’s gentle embrace. Raw need exposing vulnerability. Did he fear her reaction—and the potential for rejection—or did he trust her?

  Touch me.

  “I want to touch you,” she said, and slipped her hands up his chest.

  Tense muscles quivered with her every move. The defined ridges and valleys of his stomach rippled as she passed over them. His body broadened, and she had to spread her fingers to caress all of him. When she reached his shoulders, she glanced up and found him watching her.

  In her head, she knew Patrick was a man, with the wants and needs men experienced. But until that second, until their gazes locked and she felt the impact of his arousal, she hadn’t thought of him as a sexual being. Hunger tightened his mouth, his nostrils flared with each breath, a muscle twitched in his right cheek.

  His power overwhelmed her. For the first time, she felt small and fragile next to him—female to his male, her curves and softness designed to receive that which he gave.

  He took one of her hands in his and brought it to his mouth. He kissed her palm, then gently bit the fleshy place below her thumb. Never breaking eye contact, he pressed her hand against the center of his chest. Slowly, but with a determination that left her no doubt about his final destination, he moved her hand lower. Past the smooth cotton of his shirt, past the cool metal of his belt buckle. Lower, until she felt the placket covering his zipper, lower, until she cradled the hard ridge.

  While she was still a virgin, she wasn’t completely inexperienced. Some of her dating relationships had lasted several months, and in that time, she’d felt comfortable enough to fool around. It wasn’t as if she didn’t know what an aroused man looked like. She’d seen and touched and even tasted, but she’d never gone all the way.