For those who read it when it was at Triskelion, this version has
been revised a lot, expanded some. Basically, I cleaned the book up.
Dylan was having sweet dreams.
Very sweet dreams.
There had been one time…only once, but it had been close enough for
him to pretend there was something in Kris’s eyes beside aloofness.
And now…he was dreaming of that time, at a picnic, Labor Day weekend,
at Nikki’s cabin, when it started pouring down rain and they were
caught under the trees by the lake, waiting for the rain to let up.
Either that or make a dash for it.
Her eyes had met his and lingered…just for a minute, before drifting
down to his chest, wet from the rain, and he had been studying the
front of her T-shirt. “I didn’t know rich girls wore T-shirts,” he
“Well, I gave the maid a few days off and I haven’t done laundry,
slick,” she said, lifting a brow at him before returning her gaze
back to the rain and sighing, a movement that made that miraculous
chest rise and fall, drawing his attention to her hard, pebbled
“Gasp…you know the `L’ word?”
“Bite me,” she said, rolling her eyes.
He surprised her when he crossed the grass and asked softly, “Can I?
Her lids flickered and he watched as her tongue slid out, wetting her
lips. “It’s a saying, babe. You know, a sarcastic one, basically
telling you to—”
The rest of her words were muffled against his mouth as he lowered
his head and pressed his lips against her petal soft mouth, very
curious to see how she would taste. Damn, he’d been dying for a
taste for years. And the heat and the sun and a couple of beers,
watching her all day was enough to weaken his resolve.
And that was where the dream differed from reality. In his bed,
Dylan rolled onto his back, his hand resting on his belly, while in
his dream, his hands came in framed her face, holding her still. In
reality, her lips had parted under his for a second, one sweet, brief
second…and then the moment had been ruined as thunder cracked and the
wind started to whip around them.
But in his dream…he backed her up against the tree and he never even
questioned how it somehow became a bed. Or how her jean shorts and
damp shirt were replaced by black silk. Clichéd, maybe, but there
was something about a long, slim woman wearing black silk.
Just as he was peeling the black silk off of her…her lips parted—
ringing erupted from them.
His eyes flew open on a vicious curse and Dylan jackknifed out of
bed, wide-awake and hornier than hell. He grabbed the pager and
stared at the unknown number. Unknown, no emergency code, so he
tossed the pager down and rolled over, going back to sleep.
And it had actually been a sweet dream, almost—it almost felt real.
One day, he’d love to have that kiss followed by something more than