Man of My Dreams: A Steamy Contemporary Tortured-Hero Romance (The Manly Series Book 3)

by Teddy Hester

  He checks the view in all the car’s mirrors, taking his time about answering. “Let’s save that question for my accountant.”

  I don’t like the sound of that. “Why would that be necessary? Alfred and I have been keeping Sternau’s books since my parents died. Would you like for us to take a look at yours?”

  “You shouldn’t do your own accounting. They should be maintained by a professional. I’ll want to have my accountant review everything before we marry.”

  When Dieter asserts himself as lord and master with all the right answers and everyone else is beneath him, I get an uneasy feeling. In fact, it makes me angry. I don’t want him treating me this way, nor would I want my children raised with that sort of mindset. He needs to understand that what’s good for the goose is equally good for the gander. “That sounds reasonable, Dieter. And while your man is going over my books, Alfred and I will go over yours.”

  He almost swerves off the road. “I beg your pardon?”

  “If my father were alive, it’s what he would do before agreeing to my marriage, wouldn’t he?”

  He nods, the muscle in his cheek twitching. I’m guessing he’s not used to others insinuating themselves in his affairs any more than I am.

  “Good. I’m glad we settled that point. Excuse me. I need to call the pilot’s doctor before we get to Trier.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Mick

  Menuett handles Nurse Ratched. I don’t know what she says or how she does it, but somehow she talks the woman into leaving and helps her pack up.

  That leaves me with the man that came with Menuett. He’s taller than I am, and maybe a little bigger. However, I didn’t grow up with three brothers for nothing. I could take him in a fight if I had to. And if he doesn’t quit looking at me like I’m something on the bottom of his expensive leather boot, I just may have to show him a thing or two.

  No, wait. The doctor said I needed to stay quiet and rest for a week or two more. So, okay, no Hulk-smash with Thor.

  Menuett joins us so the nurse can finish up her paperwork or whatever, and I smile my thanks. “How’d you do that, Angel?” I whisper.

  The man—Dieter?—flinches at the nickname I’ve given her. Menuett laughs, and it’s like the sound of little bells. Enchanting. “You mean the so-called ogre you found so awful? I thanked her for her excellent service, which would no longer be needed.”

  “I swear I told her the same thing, and she wouldn’t go.”

  Slim shoulders shrug.

  This 98-pound girl just handled Brunhilda when I couldn’t?

  I must be losing my touch.

  Frightening thought.

  The nurse, who’s actually a very nice middle-aged woman, comes out of the second bedroom and smiles at the three of us. “It’s been a pleasure, Mr. DePaul. Good luck to you. Be sure to contact Dr. Fischer if you have any problems. Here is my card if you need me again.”

  My angel accepts the card for me, closes the door behind Ms. Müller, and turns to me with a raised brow.

  My smile feels sheepish. “Okay, well, maybe I exaggerated a little.”

  I’m suddenly more tired than I knew, so I sit in one of the suite’s comfortable but utilitarian chairs.

  The quirked brow crinkles. “I suspect we shouldn’t have dismissed the nurse so soon. You’re not feeling well, are you?”

  I try for a bracing smile. “Just some temporary fatigue. Thank you for saving me again.”

  “It was my pleasure. Are you ready to go?”

  Hell, yes. I gather up my few belongings. “Where are we going?”

  “You’re coming home with me.”

  That surprises me enough to stop my suitcase stuffing. With his eyes piercing holes through me, I’d say Thor’s not taking it well. “I am?”

  She refolds a t-shirt and tucks it neatly into my softside bag. “I called Dr. Fischer after you phoned. It’s the only way he’d approve your jailbreak and discharge your nurse.” Her smile is a very knowing one.

  “Menuett,” Dieter starts, low in his voice.

  I cut him off. “Why would he agree to this?”

  She glances at her escort, but answers me. “Frankly, I think he’s been worried that you’ll sneak off to the airport.”

  Damn. Busted. That’s exactly what I was going to do. “Why would you agree to this?”

  She swallows. “You can probably thank Dieter for that.”

  I grab the dopp kit from the bathroom sink. “Gladly. Thank you, Dieter.”

  He throws me a look that could crush boulders. “Don’t thank me.”

  Menuett intervenes. “Never mind that now. Have you got everything?”

  The zip sounds like freedom as I yank it around the edges of my bag. “Ready.”

  *****

  A soft “we’re here” awakens me. It’s early evening, so the “here” Menuett refers to isn’t altogether clear. Peering through the gloom, it looks like a garage. Did I leave a comfy hotel for this? Well, at least I’m free. I think. Unless Dieter’s going to chain me to the wall. It dawns on me that I don’t know a thing about Menuett von Sternau.

  “I’m sure I’ll be very comfortable here, thank you.”

  She laughs under her breath as Dieter turns off the motor. “Follow me.”

  It’s when we step out of the garage onto a walkway nestled under a canopy of foliage that I get an inkling of where I’ll be staying. In the dwindling light, bees float amongst the purple wisteria blossoms dangling from the arbor that leads to a massive house.

  Fuck me, who is this woman?

  “Uh, Menuett, are you sure it’s all right for me to be here?”

  If I’m not mistaken, Dieter grunts. Thor disapproves.

  “Yes, Mick. It’s just a house.”

  Right. A house that glows golden at sunset and is at least a football field long.

  At the end of the arbor is a thick wooden door. He pushes it open, and we step inside a room with a flagstone floor and a staircase crawling up the side wall. It has that very old feel, like I’ve only encountered in Europe. Medieval. I expect an armored knight to clang around the corner any second. I bet this was a fun house to grow up in.

  Opposite the stairs is a large, empty fireplace. Menuett crosses to the staircase wall lined with long benches and dotted with wooden pegs. She removes her jacket and hangs it on one of the pegs. Dieter does the same.

  “Do you remember Birgitte and Alfred? They’re waiting dinner for us. Dieter, why don’t you let them know we’re back, while I show Mick his room so he can clean up if he’d like.”

  I follow the feminine sway of her hips up the staircase and catch Dieter’s scowl before we’re out of sight. She leads me partially down a hall. “This is my room,” she says, pointing to a door on the right, “and I’m putting you across the hall, here, in case you need something in the night.” That’s a loaded statement for a man like me. But with a woman like my angel, there’s no question that what I normally “need” at night isn’t being offered.

  She opens the door and flips on the light switch. The room is painted soft blue and has a big bed. “Your Schlafzimmer.”

  Then she walks through the bedroom and opens another door. “Your Badezimmer.”

  Ah, so this bedroom has its own bathroom, too. Yes, I’ll be very comfortable here. “Thank you, Menuett. It’s beautiful.”

  “Good. Take a few minutes, then, when you’re ready, knock on my door, and we’ll go down to dinner.”

  It doesn’t take me long to relieve myself and wash up a bit. When I knock on her door, it opens right away. I get a glimpse of pink and white as she steps through the doorway, closing the door behind her. “Find everything you need?”

  “Yes, thank you. I even got to see the view of the front yard before it got too dark.”

  Rather than using the staircase we used coming up, Menuett leads me farther along the hallway to the grand staircase in the center of the house.

  I begin down the steps, holding onto the stone railing while I t
est my balance. Dizziness from the crash wouldn’t play out well on this stone. “Menuett, are you married? Is Dieter your husband?”

  Speak of the devil, and he appears, striding toward us from another room.

  “Not yet.”

  “So you’re engaged?”

  “Not exactly.”

  What’s that supposed to mean? There’s no time for me to ask, because Dieter’s waiting at the bottom of the stairs to thread her arm through his. “How are you feeling, Mr. DePaul?”

  Ah, so he’s got his sea legs under him and is going to be cordial. Good. I’m not here to bust up his romance. I also don’t want to step on any toes. “Please, I’m Mick. Glad to be away from the hospital and the hotel. Thank you for coming to get me, Mr. von Weiss.”

  “And I’m Dieter. Shall we join the Kroths? Birgitte has made a beautiful schnitzel.”

  With her arm tucked into Dieter’s, we pass through the house to an informal dining room. “We’re dining en famille tonight, Mick, but I won’t make you eat in the kitchen like Birgitte and Alfred and I usually do.” She grins up at me. “It takes a state occasion to get me into the formal dining room, I’m afraid.”

  I’m searching for a witty reply when the older woman I remember from the hospital as Birgitte bustles through a swinging door carrying a platter piled with food.

  Stepping forward, I reach for it. “Let me help you with that.”

  She relinquishes the large, oval dish and points to a marble-topped piece of furniture. “Thank you! Just put it on the sideboard. You look better than the last time I saw you.”

  I set down the platter. “Yes, I’m much better, thank you, and hungry as a horse. This smells wonderful.”

  She beams. “I hope you like it.”

  Just like my mother, it looks like Birgitte likes to feed people. “Zigeunerschnitzel? I love it. Have it every time I visit Germany.”

  “Excellent! There are a couple more dishes to bring out.” At the sound of footsteps, she turns. “Ah, and here’s Alfred with the dunkles Bier.”

  Shit. I feel kicked in the gut. It’s too soon for me to even think about Moon’s favorite German beverage. I pretend to straighten the platter, pushing it to one side to make room for the other dishes.

  Fortunately, Birgitte’s too busy to notice. “Dieter, will you please open the wine?”

  Thank fuck. I can avoid the beer without making a scene. “Hello, Alfred. Be right back.” I follow Birgitte through a pantry and into the kitchen, where a bowl of French fries and a bowl of green beans lie waiting to be taken to the dining room.

  “If you’ll take those to the sideboard, I’ll get my strudel out of the oven.”

  In the dining room, Dieter sits at the head of the table, with Menuett on his right. Alfred sits on her other side, sipping beer from a Willibecher. I place the bowls on the sideboard next to the schnitzel.

  Dieter gets up. “Wine or beer, Mick?”

  “Wine, please.”

  He motions me to the chair across from Alfred, fetches a glass from another piece of furniture, and pours white wine for me. Brigitte comes through the swinging door again. “Bring your plate here, Mick, and help yourself.”

  “Thank you.” It’s the way we eat at Mom’s, so I’m happy to oblige. I’m also happy to sip wine while waiting for everyone else to go through the buffet line.

  Birgitte, standing at the end of the line, smiles approvingly. Yep, my mammina raised me right.

  When we’re all seated, Alfred takes Menuett’s hand and extends his other across the table to me. I know what’s coming. Another similarity with my own family.

  Alle guten Gaben,

  Alles, was wir haben,

  kommt, o Gott, von Dir.

  Dank sei Dir dafür.

  I’m betting that’s pretty close to the grace my mom taught us to say before meals. A little finger squeeze, and we’re diving into the chow.

  “This is really good, Birgitte, thank you.”

  “You barely put any food on your plate, boy,” she says.

  “My stomach shrank some while I was in the hospital. But, don’t worry, with food like this, I’ll bounce back in no time. “

  Dieter nods. “Birgitte is an excellent cook. Menuett told us you suffered injury in the crash? I’m glad to see there are no traces of it.”

  Menuett’s eyes connect with mine, and she smiles. “I was surprised they kept you in the hospital so long. Is it because you weren’t cleared to fly?”

  Angel eyes. When she looks at me, all my body systems pause to catch what she’s going to do or say.

  Danger, Will Robinson!

  It’s just the effect of the family dinner, the candlelight, the wine.

  “Mick?”

  I mentally shake myself. “Sorry. Uh…there was something wrong with my spleen. They had to go in laparoscopically and repair it.”

  Her forehead crinkles in concern. “Your spleen? When?”

  “The day after you left.”

  “But Dr. Fischer said he didn’t see anything worrisome.”

  I shrug. “The next morning, he changed his mind. He took me to surgery right away.”

  Her palms are pressed tight against her cheeks, and she shakes her head. “You were alone. You could have called.”

  It bothers her that I was alone. Just like an angel, she cares. I like the feeling seeping into my chest with that knowledge.

  But I need to shut it down. She doesn’t know she should save it for someone else, for Dieter, or someone who is more worthy of it. Even if I wanted to, I could never be Moon to her Nina.

  Moon. He would have loved to be here now, with Nina and the kids. Enjoying this family dinner. He should have been the one to survive. He had so much to live for and so many who wanted and needed him to live.

  The urge to run from this room, these lovely people, is so strong, it nearly chokes me, but I force myself to reply. “I was fine the next day. They released me to the hotel the day after that.”

  Birgitte lays a hand gently on my forearm. “Do you not have family, Mick?”

  My hand finds its way to cover hers. “I have a wonderful family. My mother and father are still alive, and I have three brothers."

  At the head of the table, Dieter reaches for Menuett's hand, too. "Their work is keeping them from coming?"

  Alfred's watching me closely. I pick up my napkin and blot my mouth. "I told them not to come.”

  “But why?” Menuett asks. Her voice isn’t the one I’m used to, calm water flowing over and around me. It’s strident with her emotion.

  I lay the cloth aside and raise my gaze to her. Her chest expands, and I hear her sharp inhalation.

  She sees. She knows.

  Because Moon can’t be with his family.

  I wipe a hand down my face, then scrape back my chair. “Will you excuse me, please? I think I’ve had too much wine. Good night.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Mick

  My head. I’ve hit my head. Can’t worry about that now. Have to get out. The plane’s about to blow. Fire crackling.

  “Mick, wake up.”

  Cool hands smooth my brow as I sift through layers of consciousness. I struggle to get free from my bindings.

  “Mick, stop!”

  The hands hold me down by the shoulders. I have to get free. I can’t be trapped in here. I have to get to Moon. He ejected too low. I have to get to him. He can’t die. Too many people depending on him. Where is he?

  “You’re tangled in your sheets.”

  The hands leave my shoulders and peel off bedclothes. That’s better. I can move my legs. But my arms! I have no control over my arms. Try harder. Harder. My heart feels like it’s going to burst.

  “Moon!” I shoot straight up, and then hands move quickly to unbind me. I’m free. I’m free. I’m going to be all right. But what about Moon? Where is he? “Moon! Where are you? Answer me!” I grab the hands and hold them close to my bare chest. The human connection feels good. If I let go, I’ll be lost again. “He
lp me.” I can’t catch my breath. “I can’t find Moon. I have to make sure he made it. His children need him.” I can feel tears running down my face.

  “It’s all right,” someone croons, as if to a child or a wounded animal.

  Wait. The voice is familiar. My eyes open and focus in the dark. “Menuett?”

  She sits on the edge of the bed beside me and wipes my cheeks with her thumbs. “You had a bad dream. I was afraid you’d hurt yourself.”

  “Oh, God. A dream. It was all a dream. Moon…” My heartbeat still races.

  Her hands stroke down my arms, across my shoulders, and it soothes me, gives me time to meld my dream world to the here and now.

  I sniff and use the sheet to wipe cold sweat off the rest of my face. “I’m sorry. I dreamed I was…" No, I don’t want to dredge it up again. My real life nightmare.

  She frees a hand and smooths the hair off my forehead. Her touch is magic, systematically releasing me from the hell I woke up in.

  “It’s over. You’re safe. Try to breathe slowly, deliberately. Focus on it.”

  I shudder and hold her hands to cradle the side of my face, relaxing, slowing my heartbeat. In, out. In, out. Yes, that’s getting better. Thank God.

  “Does this happen every night?”

  My body’s chilled, but I’m not ready to pull up the damn covers yet. “No. Not for days. I thought I was past that.” Past feeling like a sniveling bitch, a helpless fool.

  Apparently not.

  “I wish I could tell you it gets better. But…it may not. You may just have to learn to live with it and get on the best you can.”

  It takes a minute for that to sink in. “You have nightmares, too?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Are yours about losing somebody you were close to?”

  She shakes her head. “Not exactly. Would it help to talk about yours?”

  “I don’t think so. Does it help when you do?”

  “Sometimes. Birgitte always asks, so I thought I would, too.”

  My sigh releases the remnants of the dream. “I think I love that woman. She cooks like a pro, always wears a smile, and she’s a dream-catcher, too? Yeah, I’m in love.” My voice sounds thin and weary in my own ears.