Midnight Fantasies

by Vicki Lewis Thompson, Stephanie Bond

  “You’re a slave driver, you know that?”

  “It’s called a chip off the old block, and I’m serious. I want you to take it easy. No sneaking any case files inside a Field and Stream magazine. Otherwise, I’ll have to turn off ‘Crazy’—” she indicated the CD that filled the room with soft lyrics in the far corner “—and bring in some of those relaxation tapes. There’s nothing more soothing than the sound of dripping water.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Forget a heart attack. I’ll surely die of boredom.”

  She winked. “Sweet dreams, Dad.”

  “LOOKS LIKE YOU OWE ME NOW, hot stuff.”

  The deep voice slithered into Laney’s ears the minute she closed her father’s office door. Her hand tightened on the doorknob as her body went on instant alert; the hair on her arms tingled, her hands trembled, her nipples pebbled. She forced her fingers to let go of the knob and fought for a nice, easy breath.

  Nice and easy. That was the key where Dallas Jericho was concerned. She knew that, but damned if her body wanted to agree. The last thing she considered him, with his wicked good looks and his deep, bone melting voice, was nice. As for easy… Nothing about him was easy, especially her reaction to him.

  She let out her breath slowly and turned, putting her back to her father’s closed office door. “For the last time, my name’s not hot stuff, and how do you figure I owe you?”

  “I distinctly remember speaking those very same words to you last night.” His green eyes twinkled as he grinned down at her. One tanned finger touched the collar of her blouse, just the barest whisper of flesh against soft silk, yet the sound echoed in her ears. Her heart pounded faster.

  “You’re passing on my words of wisdom, so I figure I ought to get a little kickback for coming up with them in the first place.”

  “I doubt you coined the phrase ‘sweet dreams,’ and the last I heard, you charged for Sheetrock and architectural plans, not words of wisdom.”

  He winked. “You get to be my first customer.”

  “Lucky me.”

  “You haven’t gotten lucky yet, sugar lips, but I’m working on it.”

  His voice, so soft and teasing, slid into her ears and put every nerve in Laney’s body on major alert.

  Soft and teasing?

  Dallas taunted and annoyed and stirred her anger even more than he stirred her hormones. Usually. But he was different now. He was soft and teasing and…nice.

  Oh, no.

  “You okay, sugar? You look a little—”

  “—sick?” She nodded vigorously. “Yeah, suddenly I feel a little sick.”

  “Sorry to hear that, but I was thinking more that you looked a little hot.”

  “No.” She ran a finger beneath the edge of her collar and tried to calm the panic rushing through her. “I’m fine. Really.”

  “No, you’re not. Here, let me help.” One strong, tanned hand went to the top button of her blouse.

  CHAPTER THREE

  LANEY’S FIRST INSTINCT should have been to swat his hand away. He was touching her, of all things. More importantly, there were people nearby. She could hear laughter out in the hallway, voices, footsteps.

  Surprisingly the sounds didn’t stir the expected bolt of panic. They fed her excitement. Her heart thundered and her blood pumped faster as Dallas moved to the second button on her blouse.

  “Yes, you surely do feel hot,” he said, his fingertips brushing her skin again. “Don’t you, Laney?”

  Her lips parted, the truth poised on the tip of her tongue.

  “…make sure that brief is here before next week. I’m leaving on Friday.” Her father’s voice drifted from behind his closed office door and zapped some common sense back into her.

  “I…I’m fine with all my buttons in place,” she finally said.

  Okay, so he was being nice. She was a grown woman now. Not a young, naive teenage slave to her hormones. She could handle this.

  She gathered her courage, forced a deep breath and rebuttoned her blouse beneath his watchful stare. “What are you doing here?” she asked, eager to divert his attention from the motion of her fingers.

  “I had some building permits to pick up.”

  “That’s on the other side of the courthouse. Why are you on this side?”

  “There’s two reasons for that.”

  “Which are?”

  “The barbecue kickoff for the Car Cruise is Friday night. This year’s proceeds are going to the Millers. Their daughter Sheila had a liver transplant last year and the medical bills are eating them up. I’ve got an extra ticket, so I thought I’d pass one on to you.” He handed her the ticket.

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were asking me out on a date.”

  Some unnameable something flashed in his eyes before they crinkled at the corners and he grinned. “The bigger the crowd, the more money raised.”

  She ignored a crazy twinge of disappointment. It wasn’t as if she wanted him to ask her out. She wanted him to keep his distance so she could keep her sanity. She wasn’t losing her head again the way she had the night she’d walked away from her going-away party, and straight into Dallas Jericho’s strong arms.

  “I forgot, you’re not into the dating scene.”

  “And neither are you. At least not with me,” he went on before sliding the ticket into her shirt pocket. “Except once, that is.” His fingertips lingered just above the lace edge of her bra.

  “That wasn’t a date. That was just—”

  “—lust,” he finished for her. “You wanted me.”

  She wanted to refute his words, but that would be inviting trouble. Besides, he was right. She had wanted him. She’d wanted him her entire life and that one night, she’d indulged herself. For a little while, anyhow. Thankfully, she’d smartened up before they’d actually done it.

  The thing was, standing there with him so close, so warm, so male, she didn’t feel nearly as thankful as she should have. The only thing she felt was regret.

  She shook away the notion and inhaled some much-needed oxygen. “So,” she managed to say after licking her lips and clearing her throat, “what’s the second reason you’re on my side of the building?” She expected him to mention the tax office next door or any number of other departments that ran the length of the massive marble hallway.

  His smile widened and he shrugged. “What can I say? My curiosity got the best of me.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Did you?”

  “Did I what?”

  “Have sweet dreams?” he murmured, his breath whispering over her mouth.

  The question stirred a dozen images from the past. Bodies touching. Mouths tasting. Hands exploring…

  She cleared her throat. “I, um, slept quite nicely, thank you very much.”

  “That’s not what I’m talking about, darlin’. When you went home and slid into that slinky red bra and panties, did they inspire sweet dreams?”

  “I told you. They weren’t for me.”

  “But you at least thought about putting them on.”

  How did he know?

  As if he read her mind, he grinned. “I didn’t know. I took a guess and the flush creeping up your neck is answer enough.”

  “I really have to get back to work.” Before she could pull away from him, he released her.

  “So do I.” He glanced at his watch before his gaze locked with hers once again. “I’ll see you Friday.” He hooked a strand of wayward hair behind her ear and the refusal stalled in her throat for several frantic heartbeats.

  “Friday’s no good,” she finally said, once he’d turned to saunter toward the door. He really did have the sauntering thing down pat. Blue denim pushed and pulled at just the right places, accenting his muscular thighs and trim rear end. Only one word came to mind. Yum.

  “…casual,” he was saying. “You don’t have to dress up.”

  She shook her head, eager to clear the lust and gather what little common sense she still
had. “I’m not dressing at all.”

  He tossed a heated glance over his shoulder as he reached the door. “Fine by me, darlin’.”

  “N-no,” she sputtered, wishing he couldn’t render her senseless with just one look. “I mean I’m not dressing for the occasion because I’m not going. I appreciate the ticket and everything, but I’m busy that night.”

  He didn’t say anything. He simply gave her a wink and reached for the door.

  “I’m serious. I really am busy and I’m not—” The sound of the door closing punctuated her refusal.

  “—going,” she finished despite the fact that she was alone in the room.

  Alone. Yet she could still smell him. The scent of leather and sawdust filled her nostrils and kept her heart pounding long after the sound of his footsteps had disappeared.

  Pounding, of all things, proof that the real Dallas was every bit as powerful as the one who lived and breathed in her fantasies. The one who touched and teased and made her forget everything except the feel of him.

  Everything.

  But Laney wasn’t in the safety of her bedroom, lost in another delicious dream. Just a dream, with no repercussions. She was out in public for all to see. And she wasn’t going to any barbecue cook-off on Friday night.

  No matter how much she suddenly wanted to.

  “Miss Merriweather?”

  The question drew her attention away from the dangerous path of her thoughts. Her gaze shifted to the petite blonde standing in the outer office doorway.

  The woman wore a simple yellow shift, the material slightly faded in spots from one too many washings. A tattered buttercup handbag hung from the crook of her arm. Her matching pumps, as old and worn as the bag, were scuffed around the toes. Her hair had been pulled back into a simple ponytail that would have looked chic except for the strands that had come loose to hang limply around her face. She was young, maybe mid-twenties, but her eyes held a telling maturity, as if she’d seen one too many hardships in her young life.

  “I’m Brigette,” she said. “Your nine o’clock appointment.”

  Laney glanced down at the application sitting on top of the stack. The most qualified applicant she’d come up with after carefully reviewing all the possibilities sent from the employment agency. “Brigette Summers?”

  “That’s me.” The woman glanced at her watch. “I know I’m late, but my car picked this morning to die. Thankfully I live just a few blocks over, so I ran as fast as I could…” She paused for a deep breath. “Anyhow, I’m not usually late. I’m always early.”

  “It’s okay. Have a seat and we’ll talk.”

  “I know this doesn’t make the best impression,” the woman said, rushing on as she sank into a seat. “But truly, I’m always early. Even when the kids aren’t cooperative, I manage to get out of the house in time.”

  “You have children?”

  “No. I mean, yes. I mean, sort of. I live with my three younger brothers and sisters. Our mother’s ill, so I’m taking care of them for her. But that won’t interfere with anything. If you check my references, you’ll see that I’m always on time and I haven’t been sick in three years. I’m reliable. Trustworthy. And I can type ninety words per minute.”

  “That’s very impressive. So have you ever worked in a legal office before?”

  The woman’s face fell. “Well, not exactly. I mainly worked retail for the past few years while I was going to Austin Community College, but I’ve got an Associates certificate in criminal law and I’ve taken every office procedure course there is. I can do this job.”

  She said it with such confidence that Laney couldn’t help but believe her. This woman could do the job, all right. The trouble was, she didn’t look the job. No three-piece pin-stripe suit with a tailored silk blouse. Her father, with his immaculate clothing and impeccable image, was having a hard enough time turning the reins over to his more than capable daughter. No way could Laney present this woman to him and tell him to have ultimate faith. Not with zero experience.

  “You obviously have the necessary skills, but to be honest, I was looking for someone who would be more familiar with what this position entails.”

  “Of course,” the young woman said, a thread of disappointment in her voice. “But I can do this job, Miss Merriweather. I graduated the top of my class.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” She smiled and extended her hand. “I’ll get back to you.” Even as the words left her mouth, she knew how unlikely it was. She knew it, and from the look in Brigette’s eyes, the young woman knew as well.

  Guilt rushed through her, but she pushed it away. She had to think of her father and his well-being. This woman wasn’t the secretary for him.

  Laney turned the application over and reached for the next one in the stack. If at first you don’t succeed…

  LANEY SAT BEHIND her desk a half hour later and watched her current prospect peck away on the computer keyboard across the room. Peck, peck. The tastefully dressed brunette glanced at the screen, then at the typing test, then back at the screen, then at her hands. Peck, peck.

  “Regina, I hate to interrupt you, but have you ever actually worked as a legal secretary before?”

  “Well, my title was secretary and I did work in a legal office. So I guess if you put the two together, you get legal secretary.”

  O-kay.

  “So what were your duties?”

  “I mainly answered the phones.” She smiled. “And took all the lunch orders. And picked up all of Mr. Crawford’s dry cleaning.”

  Disappointment rushed through Laney. “I’m afraid this job is a bit more challenging than that.”

  “You’re telling me.” She pecked a few more letters. “But challenge is exactly what I’m looking for. I haven’t spent the past two years in school so I can go through life picking up white dress shirts with extra heavy starch.”

  “School?” She glanced down at the résumé and searched for the Education column. “You’re a paralegal,” Laney stated, hope blossoming. Maybe all was not lost.

  The woman smiled proudly. “Newly graduated from Fast Freddie’s Mail Order Diplomas.”

  Then again…

  “I was going to take the Gourmet Cooking Course,” Regina continued, “because chefs make good money, too, and I really enjoyed taking all those food orders. But I figured that would be too tough on my manicure. It’s one thing to pick up a phone and place an order for an asparagus sub with artichoke hearts and raspberry vinaigrette and quite another to actually make the darned thing.” She stared down at her broken nail. Her forehead wrinkled. “Jeez, I wonder if it’s too late to sign up for the new semester?”

  Laney smiled. “I bet if you hurry, you can just make it.”

  The interview with Regina set the stage for the rest of Laney’s day and all fifteen of her prime candidates.

  “Don’t tell me,” Laney told the last woman later that afternoon as she watched her peck on the computer. “Fast Freddie’s Mail Order Diplomas.”

  “Darlene’s Degrees by Mail.” The young woman turned back to the keyboard and stared for several long seconds before plucking the next key. “The typing portion was extensive—an entire hour-long videotape—but I guess the real thing is a little more complicated than watching Darlene do it on TV.”

  Laney smiled and placed the woman’s résuméin her fast-growing reject pile. “Have you ever thought of cooking?”

  IT WAS HOPELESS.

  Laney came to that conclusion over the next few days as she interviewed even more applicants, made preparations for her father’s trip and his departure Friday morning, and did her best to ignore Dallas Jericho.

  Impossible.

  Every time she glanced over her shoulder, he was there. Having lunch at the diner where she ate her salad every day at noon. At the coffee shop where she picked up her double cappuccino every morning on her way to work. At the grocery store when she stopped off for an extra-large bag of Chips Ahoy—a girl had to get satisfaction one way o
r another.

  Before she’d come home, her erotic thoughts had been enough to relieve the daily stress of her fast-paced, all-consuming job. But now that she’d seen Dallas alive and in the flesh, no amount of fantasizing could relieve the frustration that built with each passing day. A different sort of frustration that didn’t come with migraine headaches and a huge caseload.

  The fantasies weren’t enough anymore. She wanted the real man, even more than she’d wanted him way back when.

  Laney stood in her kitchen Friday evening and did her best to ignore the thought. She grabbed a box of chocolate-covered cherries and an extra-large glass of chocolate milk and headed for the sofa.

  While the cookies hadn’t helped—too little chocolate and sugar she’d finally surmised—she had to keep trying. Otherwise…

  She was not going to the barbecue cook-off.

  Settling on the sofa, she flipped on the TV and channel-surfed for the next few minutes as she popped several candies into her mouth and tried to summon some excitement.

  Her father had left that afternoon, after a lot of grumbling and several stiff lectures on why he should be allowed to take his cell phone and his portable fax machine. She’d managed to confiscate both, but only on the condition that he could take one case file of his choice to read in between high-pitched fishing moments.

  The house was completely empty and she was alone with no one to worry about. She could actually concentrate tonight and focus totally and completely on the subject at hand—work.

  Talk about an ideal Friday evening. Or it would have been if she hadn’t worked so hard the past few days that she didn’t have enough to keep her occupied more than an hour or so. More importantly, she’d had half a box of chocolate-covered cherries and still felt as hungry, as needy, as restless as ever.

  She popped another cherry into her mouth and chewed. Okay, so maybe she would go. Just for a little while. After all, it was the Car Cruise barbecue kickoff. A tradition in Cadillac. Not to mention, the proceeds went for a good cause. It wasn’t as if she’d be going just to see Dallas.