Wildest Dreams

by Blake, Toni

  “Surprise me.”

  And at that, he pulled her to him, chest to chest, thigh to thigh, hip to hip. A hot column of rock pressed against her abdomen. “Is that a surprise?”

  “That’s a very good surprise.” Even better than earlier, now that she knew she could handle what he had to give. Peering into his eyes, she bit her lip and impulsively slid her arms around him, planting them on his firm butt.

  “Mmm,” he growled, doing the same. At which point he got a peculiar look on his face and said, “You don’t have any tattoos I haven’t noticed, do you?”

  She pulled back slightly to laugh. “Me? No. I’m not really a tattoo sort of girl.”

  He chuckled at her reply, then pulled away and rolled her onto her stomach. Hand still on her bottom, he seemed to be inspecting it.

  “What are you looking for?” She smiled over her shoulder.

  “Nothin’,” he said, shaking his head lightly. “Just checkin’.”

  “Checking what?”

  He raised a grin to her. “Just seein’ if your ass looks as good as it did in those blue jeans.”

  “And the verdict is?”

  “Guilty as charged, beb.”

  Interlude

  A WHITE ROOM FILLED with stiff, colored netting, like on a bridal veil or a ballerina’s tutu. Pink . . . lavender . . . blue the color of the sky. Yards of it stretch back and forth across the space—and on the other side of it all, you see her.

  Only her face is clouded by the netting, and the colors cast thick shadows. The one thing you can make out clearly is the vibrant tulip she holds, the shade of an amethyst—she stretches out her arm, offering it to you.

  You push your way through the curtains of sheer fabric, hacking through it with outstretched arms like machetes helping you fight your way through a pastel jungle.

  She beckons with one long, tapered finger that curls toward her, silently saying, Come here. But it seems no matter how many layers of netting you push past, more grow in your path and you never get closer.

  Your heart beats like a freight train and you’re determined to reach her, so hungry for what she has to give you. Not the tulip—everything else. You hope she sees how hard you’re working, trying to carve your way to her. You hope she knows how desperately you want her.

  Finally, only one last layer of blue net stretches taut between you. Through it, you see her lovely flesh, pale curves, welcoming smile. The tulip is gone—her arms are spread open, waiting for you.

  You gather the netting in your fists, tighter and tighter, but then . . . the bunched swath of blue is covering your eyes. Just when you could almost see her without any barriers, your vision is fogged again by a blue blindfold.

  Her small hands come firm on your arms, pushing you backward, and you wait to hit the floor, but instead you land on a bed, and you feel her climbing, crawling to straddle you, thighs stretched across your stomach. You still see her only in shadow as she pushes your arms over your head, holding you down, taking control.

  You don’t fight, though, because why would you? You want her to do everything she’s doing—you want her to run her fingernails lightly down your chest, to lower her breasts to your mouth, to sheathe your hardness with her softness, connecting you to her warm and tight.

  You want her to moan and writhe on top of you. You want her to kiss you hard and whisper your name in jagged breaths.

  You want her to scream her pleasure. You want her to buck against you and make you feel every ounce of her joy. And you want to let it all push you over the edge until you come inside her, emptying all your desire into her accepting body.

  When it’s over, you want to hold her, feel her snuggled against you.

  Only when the netting leaves your eyes and you strain to focus on the woman nestled at your chest, you still can’t see her clearly, and despite the warm connection, you feel strangely alone.

  Chapter Fifteen

  THE WARM NIGHT wind whipped through Tina’s hair as Robert’s vintage 1957 Thunderbird zipped along I-10. As they traveled the causeway across Lake Pontchartrain, the moon cast a silver glow on the water. She hummed along with the Tubes to the old song “She’s a Beauty” and clutched tight to Robert’s arm while he drove.

  The whole night had been beyond dreamy. They’d just shared a fabulous dinner at a ritzy plantation house out in the country and she’d felt like a princess. She wore an elegant dress he’d picked out for her, and earlier tonight he’d added a diamond tennis bracelet to the diamond necklace and earrings he’d already given her.

  Now he sang along with the radio, too, occasionally turning for a quick kiss before refocusing on the road.

  It was getting better, kissing him, having sex with him. Maybe not as good as with Russ, but that would come over time. And moments like this—just being with him, laughing, having fun—wasn’t that what a relationship was really all about?

  “I love you,” she said, curling her free hand over his Armani-clad thigh.

  “Mmm, I love you, too, darling.”

  A familiar thought edged into her mind: wouldn’t Stephanie be surprised to see what a class act she’d become? The musing, though, made her a little sad. Despite herself, she missed Steph. She was tempted to call her on her new cell phone from Robert, just to tell her—tell someone—what a fairy-tale evening she’d had.

  But no, you can’t. Not yet. Not until Robert is free of Melissa. It sounded much better to say you were dating a man who was in the process of a divorce than one who was still living with his wife. It would be a mistake to call Stephanie while it was any less than perfect, while there was still any ammunition her sister could fling at her. She loved Steph, but her approval was hard to come by.

  “Can you spend the night?” she asked.

  He cast her a you-know-better look. “You know I can’t, love.”

  Yes, she knew, but for some reason it still stung, taking a little of the “perfect” out of the evening. “I can’t wait until it’s not like this anymore, until you can sleep beside me each night.”

  She hadn’t always minded his leaving so much, but now she found herself getting lonely, and depending more and more on Robert for her happiness. As for the I-love-you, the words fell from her lips easier lately as well. The more time she spent with him, the more real it seemed that this man’s life was becoming her life, that he wanted her to share in it. So maybe it wasn’t as good as with Russ in terms of pure romance, but there was something about Robert, something so established and sophisticated—she wanted to belong in his world, and she wanted to be the sort of wife he could be proud of.

  “Couldn’t you make up some excuse, some business problem that ran all night long?”

  Next to her, he laughed. “Not if I want her to believe me.”

  Does it really matter if she believes you? The question weighed on her instantly, making her wonder why he even cared about Melissa’s reaction if the marriage was over. But she didn’t want to ruin the night. She just sighed. “When are you leaving her?”

  “Soon, love. Soon.”

  “And then I can manage the boutique?”

  “Of course.”

  “I’m going to do such a good job, you’re going to wonder how the place ever got by without me.”

  He flashed a debonair smile. “I already do, darling.”

  The reassurance shot straight to her heart. Soon everything would be perfect. “I love you,” she breathed again. Saying it helped make it more true.

  “Why don’t you show me how much,” he suggested, reaching down to cover her hand with his. Then he moved it higher up his thigh, between his legs.

  “When we get back to the apartment,” she cooed.

  “No, love. Now.”

  The light air of demand in his voice caught her off guard, and her stomach tightened. She spoke soft and sexy in his ear. “I’d rather wait. It won
’t be long. And it’ll give you something to look forward to.”

  He only chuckled. “There’ll still be plenty to look forward to. We can just call this an appetizer.” He pressed her palm harder into him—without her realizing it, her touch had frozen in place. Lifting both hands to the wheel, he leaned back against the headrest and said, “Unzip me.”

  She didn’t want to. She wasn’t sure why . . . except that maybe this seemed like something you paid a whore to do, not something you insisted on with the woman you loved if she wasn’t into it.

  His eyes shifted from the road to her, his smile persuasive. “Do I ask so much, darling?”

  No, he didn’t. That she couldn’t deny.

  And why was she making such a big deal of this anyway?

  He gave her everything—and asked for very little in return. Just her love. And her sex. She’d been working hard to meld the two together the past few days—that made it all real, made everything all right.

  She swallowed. This would be okay. It didn’t mean he still thought of her like a prostitute.

  “What are you waiting for?”

  “Nothing,” she whispered, then unzipped his pants. And told herself this made the night no less dreamy. Everything would still be perfect in the end.

  THE NEXT MORNING, Jake rowed his pirogue up the bayou, Stephanie seated across from him. Hers had sunk during the night.

  He loved the bayou in the early morning. Before the heat of the day pervaded, the sights and sounds around the water made him feel like the world was fresh, being born all over again. Lily pads sporting white blooms sprinkled the water to one side of the boat; duckweed, rimmed by elephant ears at the shoreline, floated on the other. A snowy egret soared past near the bank and drew Jake’s attention to a caiman stretched out in the mud by the shore.

  “Little cocodrie,” he said, pointing, for Stephanie’s benefit.

  She tensed slightly, and he chuckled.

  “No worries, chère. No leaks in my boat.”

  She cast a sheepish smile, tilting her head. “I thought Louisiana had alligators, not crocodiles.”

  He nodded. “But my ancestors didn’t know the difference, started callin’ ’em cocodries and it stuck.”

  “Mmm,” she said, seeming to relax, turning to study the small, dark caiman where it rested still as a statue. Never scared for long, his Miss Chardonnay.

  They’d had sex twice more before falling asleep last night—the same slow, sensual sex as the first time, but with each liaison she’d grown a little more daring, planting her hands on his ass to pull him deeper inside her, once wrapping her legs around his back. Common fare for most people, but not for Stephanie—he knew without her saying so. He felt like she’d been a closed-up little flower and last night he’d watched her begin to blossom, stretching her petals a little wider each time they connected.

  And she had a lovely little bottom, but that wasn’t really why he’d been checking it out last night. For some reason, even when she’d said no, he’d had to see for himself that she didn’t have a flower tattooed there—like in one of the dreams.

  One more sign you’re losing your mind, once and for all. He gave his head a short shake with the realization that life had seemed a little off-kilter since the moment Stephanie Grant had arrived. Then again, life hadn’t exactly been on-kilter before that, so maybe he was just imagining things.

  The second time they’d made love had been after his little examination of her rear. The third time after he’d woken from the dream—in total shock.

  Because why the hell was he still having erotic, needful dreams when he’d just gotten the satisfaction his body had clearly needed so damn bad? He’d been sure it was simple lust causing the dreams, that they’d been nothing more than wishes in the night, because he couldn’t have her. But now he could have her, had had her, so the dream had left him feeling more disturbed than usual.

  After dreaming of sex, it had seemed natural to reach for her. The room had been dark, the lamp extinguished, only a thin ribbon of moonglow lighting his way. And like the dream—God, how the need had struck him, like something new and overwhelming. He’d been glad they were both half asleep, glad her sighs of pleasure came with closed eyes, glad she couldn’t see the emotion surely dripping from his face. He still didn’t understand it and it was damn unsettling.

  A blue dragonfly buzzed, flitting in between them in the boat before darting away, and the silence began to bother him. He was normally content to go hours without speaking, even if he was with someone, but he supposed this was just part of feeling uncertain about last night. “You’re quiet,” he said.

  “Tired,” she replied softly, offering a smile. “You wore me out.”

  His own grin escaped, unbidden. He liked the idea of having caused her exhaustion. They’d definitely had that hot, slow, all-night-long sex he’d been thinking about lately.

  “Tell me about the house,” she said.

  He raised his eyes to her—she was pretty in the morning, even sans makeup and hairbrush, high pink color lighting her cheekbones. “Already told you about the house.”

  “No, about the work you’re doing on it. The new floor in the kitchen and the new sink. Are you going to move back out here or something?”

  No, just run away to it whenever I can. “It’s just a weekend place for me now,” he said instead.

  “And you’re doing all the refurbishing yourself?”

  He nodded. Hard physical labor makes it so I think less and sleep better. It fills the days when I have nothing else to fill them. “It’s cheap that way.”

  She looked down at the boat they floated in and said, “How do you get the materials out there? Surely not in this?”

  He laughed softly. “No, beb. There’s a road leads up to the front of the house. But if I’m not haulin’ anything, takin’ the water cuts the trip by half.”

  “You love it there.” Not a question, a statement.

  “Yeah, it’s . . .” Safe. Private. Far away from the bad stuff. “It’s home.”

  She glanced down at her toes for a minute, then met his gaze. “I’m glad I followed you last night.”

  He let the corners of his mouth turn up just slightly. “Me too, chère.” Much to my surprise.

  Up ahead, a clearing split the elderberry bushes and willows that hugged the shore. The landing came into view and Jake angled the boat toward it.

  Five minutes later, he’d locked up the pirogue and was shutting her into her car. Her window lowered immediately and her blue eyes pierced him. “I wish I could ride back with you.”

  He didn’t know what to say to that, so he stooped next to the sedan, rested his bent arms on the door, and gave her a warm—but short—kiss.

  She tilted her head, offering a soft laugh. “That was a horrible thing to say. It sounded so high school.”

  “Not so horrible,” he admitted. Even though he thought it was probably good for them to be parting ways now. Because no matter what he’d felt with her last night, it still didn’t—couldn’t—mean anything. Good sex. Great sex. That was all. “You’ll need to follow me back, make sure you don’t lose your way.”

  She nodded. “But can you slow down a little, Speed Racer? I had a hell of a time keeping up with you last night.”

  He laughed. “Sure, beb. I’ll make sure I keep you in my rearview ’til we get back to town.”

  And then? She didn’t ask, but the question hung in the air.

  “I’ll drop by to get Tina’s pictures from you later, or tomorrow sometime.”

  She nodded. And he relaxed a little. He’d added the “or tomorrow” part so she’d understand he wouldn’t be sharing a bed with her again tonight. He couldn’t say he wouldn’t be doing it again sometime, but he had no plans to let this become an every-night thing.

  Even so, when she said, “Goodbye, Jake—and about las
t night, thank you for being so patient with me,” impulse drove him to lean through the window for one more kiss, this one complete with tongues and her soft sigh, shooting heat straight to his groin.

  “No, chère, thank you.”

  They exchanged a quick last look that spoke of fresh desire and propelled him away from her and into his truck before he did anything stupid like open her door and drag her into the backseat. What they’d shared had been damn hot, but the guilt was beginning to set in now.

  Starting the old truck, he reached down to shift gears, then circled around Stephanie’s car and headed up the gravel road away from the bayou.

  Being with another woman was one thing, but being with another woman and experiencing so much emotion, that sense of attachment—that felt like betrayal. Even if Becky wasn’t around to feel betrayed anymore. As he braked at the end of the unpaved thoroughfare, it felt almost as if Becky sat next to him in the truck, knowing what he’d done—knowing how bad he’d wanted Stephanie, and how good it had all felt . . . in more than just a physical way.

  That was it—he was losing it. Ghosts in the Quarter, that was one thing. But ghosts in the damn truck with him? He had to be out of his mind. Becky wasn’t here. The sad, still-painful truth was . . . Becky wasn’t anywhere.

  But he had to move on, didn’t he? Wasn’t Tony always saying that? His mother too. “She’d want you to be happy,” his mom always said—most recently over fried chicken at the tiny table in her little kitchen, the place still smelling of peroxide and perm solution.

  “If she could have what she wanted,” he’d replied, “she’d still be here with me.” They would still live in the little house he’d been refurbishing, she’d still be teaching second grade at the little school nearby. Life would still be great.

  Jake shook his head. Sometimes that life seemed a world away, like something he’d made up, or just dreamed. He’d never expected to find someone like Becky, someone who’d made him feel so good about himself, someone who’d had enough goodness for both of them—she’d made him a better man than he’d been before her.