by MJ Rodgers
He sensed her body softening and lifting subtly toward him. He felt the vibration of the low sound deep in her throat. It was the last warning he got before her mouth came alive beneath his own and her arms circled around his back.
His Sleeping Beauty was not just awakening, she was responding.
Her arms embraced him hard as she kissed him back with a sweet eagerness that nearly took his breath away. Michael’s stiff amazement came and went in a heartbeat. In the next heartbeat, he’d wound his arms around her and crushed her breasts to his chest, molding her to him.
Eagerly he deepened the kiss, sinking into the heated softness of her mouth, absorbing the tang of desire on her tongue, feeling the incredible heat of it invade his body in a crashing wave.
Michael was totally unprepared for the pure, unrestrained desire that jolted through him. Shock, disbelief and delight all crowded into his head. And pushed every other coherent thought right out of it.
BRIANA COULD FEEL HERSELF on the brink of awakening from the most delicious dream. She tried to resist the pull of reality as she clung to her dream lover’s ardent kiss.
And what a kiss! His mouth was insatiably demanding as it devoured her own. His hands felt like heated irons on her back and waist as he crushed her willing body to a warm, hard male chest. His arms held her so tightly she had to gasp for breath. He felt so real—so wonderfully real.
Then she inhaled his scent—a rich mix of expensive balsam and clean, heated male skin. She had never smelled anything so arousing or so erotic before. And that was when she knew. This was way too real to be a dream.
She came awake with a start. And found herself being kissed—really kissed—as she had never been kissed before. It was hot and sweet and pure seduction. And insanity.
Briana grasped broad shoulders that felt like huge boulders and pushed, trying to break off the kiss.
As hard as he had been holding her, he instantly relaxed the fierceness of his embrace. She drew back to look into the face of her all-too-real dream lover.
And wondered if she was still dreaming.
For he was as handsome as hell. His blond hair shimmered beneath the light like thick, moonlit sand. His clean, bold features were tanned to a light bronze. His eyes were as deep a blue as midnight and filled with a frank and enthusiastic heat—a heat that seemed to suck every hard-won breath right out of Briana’s laboring lungs.
“Who are you?” she asked, knowing her voice was hardly audible enough to qualify as a whisper.
He slowly rose to stand formally before her.
He was tall, very tall, wearing a full-dress tuxedo and the kind of smile that could melt a woman’s kneecaps at twenty paces. Even the homeliest of men looked good in a tuxedo. This man looked like some mythical Norse god.
“I’m Michael Sands,” he said with a small bow of his head. “And you are?”
His voice had a deep timbre and a rhythmic cadence that rolled into Briana’s ears and registered in a warm, seductive streak all the way down to her solar plexus. She was having difficulty catching her breath and absolutely no success in capturing her thoughts.
“Briana Berry,” she heard herself say, and wondered why it was impossible to look away from his mesmerizing deep blue eyes.
“Briana,” he repeated, and her nerves sparked with excitement, because of the incredible warmth he had managed to put into the sound of her name. And then she remembered the feel of his ardent lips and powerful arms and rock-hard chest, and the heat behind his burning kiss.
Briana shot up to a sitting position, feeling as though she were just now coming fully awake.
“Why were you kissing me?” she asked, more than unsettled to find her voice far below its full volume.
“Because I found it very hard to wake you up by more conventional means.”
“You kissed me to wake me up?”
He smiled, not at all apologetically. “It is the proven, timehonored way of waking a Sleeping Beauty.”
Briana almost chuckled at that one. This guy didn’t just look and sound like a dream. He had a line that could reel a woman’s heart right on in. Although why he was using it on her, she had no idea.
She tore her eyes away from his long enough to look around at the strange surroundings in which she found herself. The room was gorgeous—a tribute to art deco, indirect lighting, decorative glass, beautiful gold-leaf sculptures, imaginative furniture shapes in deep, dreamy blues.
A black granite floor reflected up at her like a mirror, adding depth and drama and a sense of the ethereal.
In every direction Briana looked, she saw a rich and eclectic variety of furnishings that fit with a sense of spaciousness and shimmering tranquillity. Altogether, the room struck her as marvelously bold and brimming with sophistication.
Briana’s attention swung back to the man who stood before her so elegantly and so at ease in his black tuxedo.
“Where am I?”
“My place.”
It fit him, all right. “How did I get here?”
“I carried you in when I found you asleep under my Christmas tree.”
“Asleep under your what?”
“In point of fact, it was the institute’s Christmas tree you were adorning.”
“Institute? What institute?”
“The Institute of Dreams, of course. I live here on its grounds. Didn’t Jaron tell you?”
“I don’t know any Jaron,” Bnana said. “And I’ve never heard of the Institute of Dreams.”
“How did you get here, then, Briana?”
Good question. How had she gotten here? Her mind was blank. A feeling of panic began to lick at the edges of Briana’s brain. How could she not know how she’d gotten here?
“Bnana, please believe me when I say that it is a pleasure meeting you, under these or any circumstances. But you have to admit that appearing all wrapped up in a wedding dress under a Christmas tree in the middle of the night does smack of a practical joke.”
“A wedding dress?” Briana repeated, looking down at herself for the first time, in some astonishment. Dear heaven, she was wearing a wedding dress. What was she doing in a wedding dress?
She swung her legs over the side of the couch, fighting with the long white folds that seemed determined to get in her way. She rose to her feet and found herself rocking precariously on a pair of stilts.
She lifted the hem of her floor-length satin gown to reveal three-inch satin heels. At five-nine, she rarely saw the need to wear heels, and she certainly never wore any three inches high.
Disbelief took the rest of her balance. She collapsed back onto the couch.
“Briana, is everything all right?”
She looked over to see a concerned look on Michael’s face. If he was playing a part, it was an Oscar-winning performance.
“Is everything all right? Let me give you a hint. I’ve just awakened to find myself dressed as a bride and in the arms of a strange man in a strange place.”
“You’re claiming this is a prank?”
“And you’re claiming you’re not in on this?”
A frown drove into his forehead. “I’m not in on this, Briana, whatever this is.”
The sincerity just poured out of those midnight-blue eyes of his.
Briana knew she should suspect him. He was the one who had been kissing and embracing her wholeheartedly when she awakened. That in itself was highly suspicious behavior. He had to be lying to her.
But her practical, logical core just couldn’t buy it. People did things for a reason. What reason would this breathtakingly handsome man have for putting on such a charade with her?
She had no money to tempt a swindler, if that was what he was. And if seduction was his intent, he would have pressed his advantage while he had it. He hadn’t. When she pushed out of the kiss, he had released her, accepting her withdrawal without protest.
It just didn’t make any sense for him to be lying. But none of the answers he’d given her had made any sense either. It w
as time she found some that did.
“You say I’m at the Institute of Dreams?”
“Yes.”
“And where is this institute?”
“In the southern Nevada desert.”
“Near Las Vegas?”
“Vegas is about ninety miles west.”
“Ninety miles,” she repeated. Well, here at least was a point of reference. She had just come to Las Vegas. Now the only question was, how had she gotten from there to here?
“Briana, are you on some type of medication?”
She looked up to where he stood before her, the epitome of calmness as he asked what he obviously thought was an entirely reasonable question.
“No,” she said. “And I’m not an escapee from the local loony bin, either. Are you?”
“Not at the moment.” The wattage from his smile was blinding. “I thought perhaps your earlier drowsiness might have been a side effect to some cold or pain capsules.”
He came over to the couch and sat next to her. She could feel the warmth of him, smell his rich, sophisticated scent. He gazed directly into her eyes. Her heart skipped a very long beat. But this time there was nothing sexy about his look. On the contrary. It possessed a decidedly clinical air.
“Your pupils are normal,” he said after a moment. “The whites of your eyes are clear. Your skin color is good.”
He took her hand and consulted the watch on his wrist. She could feel her pulse leap at the touch of his warm, strong fingers against her vein.
Her question came out on a laugh. “Don’t tell me you’re a doctor?”
“A psychiatrist,” he answered absently.
The laugh died in her throat.
“And I suppose you’re next going to tell me that the name Institute of Dreams is a euphemism for the local loony bin?”
He waited until he had finished counting her pulse before answering. His eyes once again met hers.
“We don’t deal with the delusional here, Briana. Just the dreamers. Your pulse is a little fast, but not out of range.”
His thumb strayed across her palm, sending little thrills up her arm. Briana knew that if he tried to take her pulse now, he’d have to go to the moon to find it. This man’s touch was absolute seduction. Everything about him was too good to be true.
“Do you have some identification on you?” she asked, quickly slipping her hand away from his.
He pulled a slim wallet out of his tuxedo jacket. He opened it to his Nevada driver’s license and held it out for her to see. She studied it carefully. He was Michael David Sands, blond hair, blue eyes, six-four, two hundred pounds. He had turned thirty-three on the seventh of November. He even managed to look wonderful in his driver’s license picture.
“I don’t see anything indicating you’re a psychiatrist,” she said.
He flipped the wallet card holders until he revealed a membership card in the AMA and another in the American Psychiatric Association. They certainly seemed authentic.
“And now for the most important test, Dr. Sands. How many psychiatrists does it take to change a light bulb?”
He smiled at her question. Briana was beginning to wonder if he hadn’t slipped her some delicious drug. It was simply impossible to resist that smile.
“If it’s a well-insured light bulb, you can be certain a lot of specialists will need to be called in.”
“You’re a psychiatrist, all right,” Briana said, grinning. “Or at the very least a medical doctor. What do you do here at the Institute of Dreams?”
“Run the place,” he said casually as he returned his wallet to the inside pocket of his tuxedo jacket. “There are four of us at the institute, each specializing in a different area of dream research. Are you married, Briana?”
His question came out of nowhere, and began an odd throbbing inside her blood. “Why do you ask?”
“Because you’re dressed in a wedding gown. I’m trying to find a logical reason for this situation we find ourselves in.”
“We find ourselves in? You know how you got here.”
“But I don’t know why a beautiful sleeping bride was left beneath my tree.”
Beautiful? Of course, it had to be the clothes she was wearing. Just as men always looked great in tuxedos, women always looked beautiful in bridal gowns. Maybe she should try wearing this one a while longer—like for the rest of her life.
“I’m not married, Michael.”
“Engaged?”
“No.”
“A significant other anywhere?”
“None.”
“Ever married?”
“No.”
“Any serious relationships?”
“No.”
“How old are you, Briana?”
“Thirty.”
“And you’ve never had any serious romantic relationships?”
His tone and look of surprise clearly said he didn’t believe her. It was flattering, as though he thought her some raving beauty who had to have succumbed to the attention of at least one in a league of adoring admirers over the years.
This must be one sensational wedding dress she was wearing.
“I’ve been saving myself for Prince Charming,” she said with a deliberate grin.
“I’m glad,” he answered, no returning grin on his lips.
Briana found herself quite shocked to see the sincerity in his blue eyes. And more than hesitant to accept it.
Once upon a time, she had let herself embrace the old adage “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”
She had since found out that believing in fairy tales could be quite painful. But it was damn hard not to believe this man who both looked and acted like Prince Charming.
“Do you have any identification on you, Briana?”
“In my handbag.” She looked around. “Where is my handbag?”
“You didn’t have one when I found you at the front doors.”
Great. Every woman’s nightmare. “I can’t have lost my handbag, Michael. Everything is in it. My identification, keys, money, credit cards, everything.”
“You may have been robbed.”
Briana thought about that possibility for a moment. She laughed at the absurdity of the picture that flashed into her mind.
“I can just see it now. A mugger steals my money and clothes and then decks me out in a spectacular wedding outfit with a value that no doubt exceeds my entire credit limit”
He gave her a quizzical look. “An explanation has to exist somewhere, Briana. Although I have to admit, every logical one eludes me at the moment. What’s the last thing you remember?”
“I was at the hotel.”
“Which hotel?”
“The Mirage in Las Vegas. I’m attending a convention there this weekend.”
“This weekend?”
“The rates are better during December.”
“What kind of convention is it?”
“For architectural designers. My partner and I own Berry, Willix and Associates in Seattle. I flew in today specifically to attend the convention.”
“Your partner didn’t come to Vegas with you?”
“No. Lee’s wife is having a baby any day now. He didn’t want to take a chance of being out of town when the baby came.”
“Tell me what you did from the moment your plane landed.”
“I took the shuttle bus to the hotel. Checked in. Registered at the convention. Picked up my attendance packet. Got dressed for the opening dinner. I had an hour to kill, so I went for a walk through the hotel mall.”
“I take it you’re not a gambler?”
“Never held any interest for me. But the hotel mall has other attractions. The dish of fat-free chocolate yogurt I had in a specialty shop was heavenly. Then I went into a boutique to try on this little black dress I saw in the window. Just for fun. It was way out of my price range. The next thing I knew, I was waking up in your arms…apartment,” Briana amended quickly.
“You didn’t drink anything?”
&nbs
p; “I was going to have some wine when I got to the banquet.”
“What time did you walk into that boutique?”
“I’m not sure. Dinner was to begin at seven-thirty. I suppose it might have been a little before seven.”
“And I found you here in the rotunda at ten. That’s three hours unaccounted-for. Are there any practical jokers among your family or friends?”
“Trust me, Michael. If I knew anyone who would pull something like this on me, I would have murdered them years ago.”
“Is there a rejected suitor who perhaps thought he could meet you here in Vegas and sweep you off your feet and into a hasty marriage?”
He looked so serious when he asked that, as if she could really inflame such passions in men.
She laughed. “Hardly.”
“Briana, do you have a headache, or any sensitive spots?”
“You think I’ve hit my head and become delusional?”
“No, I think someone might have struck you on the head and carried you away.”
“To this institute? For what purpose?” she asked, the logic behind such a scenario just refusing to take shape in her mind.
“Perhaps leaving you at the institute was not the original intent, but was resorted to because of changing circumstances. I don’t mean to alarm you, Briana, but this wouldn’t be the first time a beautiful woman was abducted against her will.”
A beautiful woman?
Briana smiled. “Michael, my head feels fine. But I’m beginning to wonder about yours.”
He frowned at her answer. “Would you mind if I looked at your arms?”
“Excuse me?”
“I want to see if someone has injected something into your veins.”
The very idea of it sent a cold chill down Briana’s back.
“That seems rather ridiculous, doesn’t it?”
“As ridiculous as my finding you lying “beneath a Christmas tree dressed in a wedding gown?” Michael asked, his eyebrow arcing ever so gently.
“Point made,” Briana said.
She turned her attention to the long satin sleeves that ended at her wrists. She noted with dismay that each was fastened with at least two dozen tiny pearl buttons.
