Sex and the Sleepwalker

by Donna Sterling

  Cade wondered if he was dreaming

  He had to be. No way was Brynn creeping into his bedroom, wearing nothing but a soft, sheer nightgown.

  But there she stood, her beautiful face barely visible in the moonlight.

  “You want me to keep you occupied, Cade?” Her sexy whisper shot shivers down his spine.

  Before he could gather his wits enough to reply, she sank a knee into the mattress and knelt beside him. Her eyes, oddly shining, seemed to look straight through him. “Don’t think for a minute that I can’t ‘keep you occupied.’”

  He sat up, stunned beyond words. After all this time, was Brynn trying to seduce him?

  “You don’t think I’m up to it?” Her words teased him as he thought of all the ways she could occupy him.

  “Let’s give it a go, Romeo.” And with a suddenness that startled him, she yanked her nightgown over her head.

  It was all the invitation he needed….

  Dear Reader,

  Life is complicated enough without having your subconscious mind play tricks on you…such as sending you dreams so vivid and lifelike you can’t help but rise out of bed to participate. I’m talking about sleepwalking. It’s been a curse to me for as long as I can remember. Many times I’ve woken up in places other than my bed with only jumbled, nonsensical memories of how I’d gotten there.

  These occasional nighttime adventures inspired me to write Sex and the Sleepwalker. Imagine the complications that could arise when the owner of a bed-and-breakfast inn wanders the halls in her sleep…and wakes up in bed with a sexy male guest.

  I hope you enjoy Brynn’s misadventures—and her resulting relationship with a macho U.S. marshal, Cade Hunter. Happy reading, dear readers. And always follow your dreams…but only when you’re awake.

  Feel free to e-mail me at donnasterling@mindspring.com. And don’t forget to check out www.tryblaze.com.

  Sincerely,

  Donna Sterling

  Books by Donna Sterling

  HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION

  726—SAY “AHHH…”

  738—TEMPERATURE’S RISING

  754—THE DADDY DECISION

  777—HOT-BLOODED HERO

  803—INTIMATE STRANGER

  HARLEQUIN SUPERROMANCE

  1017—WIFE BY DECEPTION

  SEX AND THE SLEEPWALKER

  Donna Sterling

  To my parents, my husband and my conference roommates—for all the times your sleep was disrupted by my sleepwalking adventures. Feel free to “seize the day.” I’ve got the nights covered.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Epilogue

  1

  SHE SPOTTED HIM the moment she stepped onstage.

  There he sat in the front row of the crowded auditorium, his muscular arms crossed, his long legs comfortably extended, his mouth slanted in that slight but infuriating smirk she remembered so well from their college days. Cade Hunter. Of all the rotten luck, why did Cade Hunter have to show up at the most important award ceremony of her life?

  “It’s my pleasure to present this award to the incredible, incomparable, one-and-only Ms. Brynn Sutherland,” the president of the United States had just announced, a woman who bore a striking resemblance to Brynn’s softball coach in seventh grade, “for running the best bed-and-breakfast in the history of the free world!”

  The auditorium had exploded with applause and the audience had risen to their feet. It was Brynn’s shining moment—success beyond her wildest imagining. But as she tried to cross the stage to accept the huge gold trophy—which looked exactly like an Oscar—she found herself moving in slow motion, as if she were walking through dense, soupy muck. And it was all his fault. He was the only one not clapping, the only one not standing and smiling in admiration.

  She tried not to scowl at him. She was supposed to be smiling and approaching the podium to accept her award, not fuming over Cade Hunter’s insolent attitude.

  Before she managed to tear her gaze away from his rugged but oddly appealing face, she saw his lips move. And though she couldn’t hear his voice, she knew what he said. “Prude.”

  Prude! Oh, he knew how to push her buttons! This was an important occasion for her. A business function. A public affirmation of her talent as an innkeeper—not to mention great promo for the Three Sisters Bed & Breakfast Inn. Yet Cade Hunter had taken it upon himself to show up, uninvited, just to rehash old arguments.

  Balling her hands into fists, Brynn pivoted away from him and resumed her slow motion trek toward the podium. The president, she noticed, had morphed into Candice Bergen, and the trophy now looked like a mermaid from a tuna can label. Brynn didn’t mind that too much, though.

  She was still too ticked over Cade Hunter’s gall. Prude, he’d called her. Didn’t he see that she’d changed? Couldn’t he tell she was no longer the virginal teenager he’d known, but a sultry urban adventuress with more notches on her bedpost than the gals on Sex and the City?

  “Prick tease,” he taunted.

  That stopped her dead in her tracks, not three feet from the podium. How dare he? Nine years ago, he might have had grounds to call her such a thing—though he never had, to her knowledge. No, he’d never called her anything worse than a prude, which had been bad enough. But now he seemed determined to publicly humiliate her.

  And he was succeeding. For some inexplicable reason, another man in the audience repeated the accusation. “Prick tease.” Then someone else said it.

  Soon the entire audience took up a chant: “Prick tease. Prick tease. Prick tease.”

  “That’s not fair,” Brynn yelled over the commotion. “I had good reasons not to go all the way with him. I was only eighteen. I wasn’t ready!”

  The audience didn’t listen. Their chanting had grown thunderous. With that cocky gleam in his honey-gold eyes, Cade Hunter uttered, “She’s probably frigid, anyway.”

  “Frigid! Me?” That was more than any self-respecting urban adventuress could take. Shaking with outrage, Brynn stalked past Candice Bergen to the side of the stage and descended a flight of stairs, glaring all the while at the despicable Cade Hunter. “You think I’m frigid, Cade? And a prude? A ‘prick tease’? Well, let’s just see about that, why don’t we?” With every step she took, she jerked open her silk blouse a bit more, popping off the mother-of-pearl buttons like microwave popcorn. “Come on, big boy.” She yanked the blouse off her shoulders and reached for the zipper of her designer slacks. “You want a piece of me? Let’s give it a go, Romeo….”

  She never saw it coming. Out of nowhere, a long, hard protrusion sprang up and hit her in the jaw, knocking her into a wall. Metal clanged around her. Something damp and limp folded over her face. The lights went out, plunging her into darkness, and pain shot through her body.

  It took a moment—a long, agonizing moment of stunned bewilderment—before her eyes adjusted to the dark, her senses fully returned and she recognized where she was.

  In the broom closet. More specifically, on the cold tile floor of the broom closet, with a broom handle lying across her throat, a mop hanging in her face, her bare breasts jutting free of her torn pajama top and one bare foot wedged painfully in a metal bucket.

  And though she hadn’t seen him in nine years and hoped to never see him again, it was all Cade Hunter’s fault.

  STRESS. Simple stress. That’s what had caused her nighttime wanderin
g, Brynn had deduced by the next morning. Football season was beginning—her busiest time of year, with alumni flocking back to cheer on the Georgia Bulldogs. Fun, but hectic for local inns, especially for the Three Sisters Bed & Breakfast Inn, a former sorority house that she and two of her sorority sisters had bought and refurbished. Turning a decent profit during football season could make the difference between success and failure. And unlike the previous three years, they were not booked to capacity for the first game. The state of the economy had clearly taken its toll. Brynn had good reason to be stressed.

  And it wasn’t much of a mystery why Cade Hunter starred in the dream, either. Trish Howell Hightower, her gorgeous blond business partner, had mentioned running into him yesterday at a local café. He was in town on business, it seemed. The thought of having Cade Hunter anywhere nearby was enough to give Brynn nightmares. Nine years ago, he’d broken her heart and, as the saying went, “stomped that sucker flat.”

  She’d gotten over it, of course. She didn’t care in the least about Cade Hunter anymore. But unless he’d changed greatly, he was a menace to any vulnerable woman who caught his eye. Brynn hated to think of the emotional carnage he could wreak upon their small town. Or, God forbid, on Trish. Newly divorced and on the rebound, she’d be ripe for the picking.

  “What’s wrong, Brynn? Don’t tell me you’re siding with Trish on the barbecue sauce issue!” Lexi Dupree’s anxious question brought Brynn back to the present. They were sitting in wicker rockers on the columned front porch of the antebellum mansion, taking full advantage of the mild August morning, lounging with virgin Bloody Marys—it was too early for mint juleps—and discussing the food they would serve during the tailgating parties this weekend.

  “Barbecue sauce?” Brynn repeated, struggling to comprehend what Lexi had been saying.

  “I thought you loved my barbecue sauce. Guests rave about it. Just because some gourmet guru gave Trish a new recipe doesn’t mean we have to stop using mine.”

  “Oh…right. I agree. We won’t make any changes without a taste test.”

  “A taste test!” Lexi crossed her pale, rounded arms and frowned. “I thought I was in charge of the food…and I like the sauce we’ve been using. Why should I change it for Trish? She already messed around with the breakfast buffet, the evening dessert and my weekend schedule. She’s supposed to be a silent partner, remember? Silent.”

  “Yes, but she did put up most of the money. She owns fifty-one percent. We can’t ignore her suggestions.”

  “She put up most of the cash, but you and I invested pretty heavily, too—with the agreement that you’d manage the inn and I’d take care of the food and activities. Trish shouldn’t be interfering.”

  Brynn sensed that Lexi’s annoyance with Trish was rising to a dangerous level. And she understood why. Trish had a tendency to dominate. They probably should have known when she offered to help finance their venture that she wouldn’t be able to stay hands-off forever. Now that she’d gotten involved in the day-to-day running of the inn, it was only a matter of time before she drove them both whacko. Lexi seemed near the breaking point already, and Trish had only moved in two weeks ago. Brynn hated conflict between her friends. Or anywhere, for that matter.

  “I’ll talk to her,” she promised, not looking forward to the task. It wasn’t the first time she’d be negotiating peace between her business partners. Although the three of them had been friends since their sorority-house days, business concerns had put a strain on their sisterhood. “But, Lex, try to be patient with Trish. She does have good ideas, and she knows what’s popular in society circles. If we plan to cater to sorority alumni, we need to know that. Besides, she’s going through a hard time, trying to adjust to the single lifestyle and map out a new route for her life.”

  “Yeah, well, I’d be happy to tell her which route to take,” Lexi mumbled, though the sulky expression in her large dark eyes was softened somewhat. With her hair bleached platinum and cropped in spiky wisps around her cute, plump face, she looked like a baby doll whose tresses had been shorn by some exuberant little girl. The multitude of silver hoops and studs lining her ears, the guitar tattooed on her shoulder and the skimpy half-T she wore showed her for the hip, sexy musician she really was—a persona that had fully emerged only in the last couple of years.

  Trish, a classical purist in both music and fashion, disapproved of Lexi’s tattoo and platinum bleach job. If Lex had tried either of those innovations during their sorority days, she would have caught hell; Trish had been the queen bee at the sorority house, too.

  Brynn, on the other hand, thought the changes in Lexi were refreshing. The image fit Lexi’s character perfectly. In a way, Brynn envied her for her metamorphosis. Back in college, she and Lexi had been the quiet brunettes in a sorority full of vivacious blondes and redheads. Brynn had always suspected that she and Lex had been recruited for their grade point averages.

  “Hey,” Lexi said in a tone of realization, “with her fifty-one percent ownership, Trish can fire me, can’t she?”

  “I suppose, but she’d never do that. She’s a pain in the butt at times, but Trish loves you, Lex. We started this business together, and we’ll make a success of it together.”

  Looking troubled, Lexi shrugged and turned her attention to the menus she had planned for their weekend guests.

  Just as the discussion was coming to a close, a sporty red Porsche jetted into the circular drive and squealed to a halt at the bottom of the garden steps. Trish popped out.

  “’Morning, y’all,” she called, ascending the stairs in a short tennis dress, her blond hair cut in a classic chin-length bob, swaying. Tall and slender with wide blue eyes, a Mediterranean-acquired tan and the easy poise of those born to great wealth, Trish looked exactly like the coed she’d once been. “Lexi, have you mixed up a batch of that barbecue sauce yet? Can’t wait for you to try it. It’s all the rage in Manhattan. I begged the chef of Club Noir for the recipe.”

  Despite the lighthearted tone of Trish’s cultured Southern voice, Lexi visibly bristled, and Brynn hurriedly answered for her. “We’ve been too busy with our planning session for Lexi to do much of anything in the kitchen yet. Why don’t you grab a virgin Mary from the pitcher in the fridge and come join us?”

  “Can’t. Have to shower, then hurry downtown for a lunch date at eleven.” The look in Trish’s eyes made it clear that she wasn’t exactly thrilled by the date. She hadn’t had much luck with dating over the past year. “But I’ll be back by two to man the front desk.”

  “I don’t have you scheduled for desk duty,” Brynn said. She knew Trish was focusing a lot on the business to avoid thinking about her personal life.

  “Thought I’d give you a break. Let you prepare for the weekend rush.” She shifted toward the door, then paused. “By the way, Brynnie…was there some kind of problem last night?”

  “Problem?”

  “At breakfast, Mrs. Hornsby mentioned she heard a ruckus coming from your suite. Yelling, thudding and clanging, she said. I didn’t hear a thing, but then my room is at the other end of the inn. Was there something going on?”

  Both Trish and Lexi gazed at her in curiosity, and Brynn felt her color rise. “Must have been my television.” Guilt pricked her for having disturbed a guest, and even more so for lying about it. But she didn’t want anyone to know about her sleepwalking episode. Especially not Trish. God knows what she’d make of it. Brynn herself considered it not far from a psychotic breakdown.

  Trish raised her fair brows. “You were watching television at three in the morning? You’re usually conked out by eleven.”

  “I fell asleep with it on.”

  “Oh. I’m glad there wasn’t a problem. But, um, maybe you should try to keep the volume down, hmm?” With a parting smile, Trish continued on her way into the inn.

  Brynn drew in a breath and tried not to react negatively to the sweetly spoken rebuke. Trish had every right to expect the manager of her inn to refrain from waking the g
uests at three in the morning.

  “So, what really happened?”

  Brynn slanted Lexi a glance. “You think I’m lying?”

  “Like a rug. I’d recognize that guilty blush anywhere. Something went on last night.”

  “Nothing. It was nothing. Really.”

  Lexi’s eagle-eyed gaze lighted on Brynn’s swollen, purplish toes, visible in her strappy sandal. “Then what happened to your foot? I don’t remember seeing that bruise yesterday.”

  “I stubbed my toes, that’s all.” She had to think of a way to change the subject. “While I was rushing to answer the phone. It was my brother. They haven’t caught that abductor yet—you know, the case John has been investigating—and he called to warn me again about taking in suspicious strangers. Now how, I ask you, can we not take in strangers when we run a bed-and-breakfast? Having a cop in the family is enough to make anyone paranoid.”

  “Don’t try to change the subject. Who was yelling and banging things around last night, and how did you get hurt? Tell the truth.” When Brynn didn’t answer, Lexi leaned closer and whispered with concern, “Did Antoine lose his temper about something?”

  “Antoine!” If Brynn hadn’t been so surprised, she would’ve laughed. “Of course not. I’ve never seen Antoine lose his temper. He’s a sweetheart. Besides, he’s too urbane, too polished, to resort to violence.”

  “Urbane and polished don’t have anything to do with a man’s violent tendencies. And there’s something you’re not telling me.” Studying her with an intensity that increased Brynn’s tension, Lexi’s eyes suddenly widened. “Were you and Antoine doing something…you know…kinky? Some kind of love play that got out of hand? I’ve heard that French lovers can be highly creative.”