Falling Awake

  At least once in a lifetime, everyone deserved the chance to make at least one dream come true.

  She kissed him the way she had wanted to kiss him in her private midnight fantasies, deliberately trying to provoke and incite; experimenting, sampling, savoring.

  Somehow her shirt had come undone. She didn’t realize he had slipped the buttons until he was peeling the garment off her.

  The emerald green fabric fell into a tropical pool at her feet.

  Ellis traced the line of her shoulder with the edge of his thumb, as though mesmerized by the curves and angles there. Then he bent his head and kissed her just above her collarbone.

  “You have the most beautiful shoulders,” he whispered.

  “I took out a gym membership last year,” she said before stopping to think. She blushed furiously. Great. That was a real sexy thing to say, she thought.

  “It was worth every cent,” he assured her gravely, and then he kissed her throat.

  She wished she had known what was coming. She would have liked to have put on one of the sensual nightgowns she always wore when she dreamed about him. That was the problem with waking life. You couldn’t predict it.

  “Maybe Lawson’s right.” Ellis’s voice was low and heavy with desire. “Maybe I am becoming obsessive. All I can think about right now is what it’s going to feel like to be inside you.”

  She unfastened the buttons of his shirt and slid her hands under the edges so she could feel the sleek muscles of his chest. “That’s okay, because that’s all I can think about right now, too.”

  He removed her bra and cupped her breasts in the palms of his hand. When he brushed his thumb across one nipple she felt everything inside her tighten into a knot.

  She managed to fumble his shirt off and then paused when she felt the unnaturally rough texture of the skin at the back of his right shoulder. Scars, she thought. Big ones. She was horrified in spite of the fact that she had known of the injury. He had come so close to death.

  “This was where Scargill shot you, isn’t it?” she whispered.

  He hesitated. “Not real pretty, I’m afraid. The doctors said they could do some cosmetic surgery after it was healed but I never went back. I don’t want to see the inside of a hospital again if I can avoid it.”

  She touched him as gently as possible. “It doesn’t matter how it looks. I just don’t want to hurt you.”

  “You won’t.” He raised his head. “But the damn shoulder doesn’t work as well as it once did. That means I can’t scoop you up in my arms and carry you off to the bedroom. I’d have to throw you over my good shoulder, which seems a little tacky.”

  Laughter bubbled up inside her. “Guess what? I can walk.”

  “Lucky you,” he muttered into her hair with great feeling. “I can barely stand up.”

  But he was obviously in better shape than he thought because he locked her close to his side and drew her down the hall. It took a while to get to their destination because every few steps he stopped and pinned her against the wall long enough to kiss her and remove another item of clothing. By the time they reached the shadows of her bedroom she had somehow managed to shed all of her clothes except for her panties.

  She slid beneath the covers and waited for him. Ellis got rid of his own garments with efficient, impatient movements. He turned toward her and then stopped and just stood there, looking at her as if she weren’t quite real. She realized that she was lying in a splash of moonlight.

  “You are so lovely,” he said.

  She could not speak so she smiled tremulously and raised her arms to welcome him into her bed.

  He said something low, husky and hungry-sounding when he lowered himself to her.

  And then the world went away. All that mattered was the hot, damp passion of their lovemaking.

  Ellis’s kisses singed every part of her from head to toe. When he found the inside of her thigh she gasped and clutched at him. Burying her fingers in his hair, she twisted beneath him, feeling full and achy and frantic.

  Her sexual experience had been limited—nonexistent altogether for the past year. She had told herself that one of the reasons she found it easy to forgo intimacy was because she had never found any genuinely stirring pleasure in the act. Her private fantasy dreams had always been a great deal more satisfying.

  But tonight she was swamped with sensations she had never experienced except in her dreams and even in those the feelings had never been so intense.

  When she reached down to cup him in her palm, he groaned, rolled to cover her and rested his forehead on hers. She could have sworn he was shaking a little. His back was slick with perspiration.

  He reached down between their bodies, found the part of her that was clenched tight and gently pried it open with his fingers. Her hips came up off the bed in response. With his hand he urged her toward the response that her body demanded.

  When her release struck she was so overwhelmed and so undone she could not even cry out. She convulsed, sinking her nails into his back.

  He was inside her before the shimmering ripples had subsided, sinking deep. The sudden pressure created by the heavy, rigid length of him caused her body to soar along the delicate border between exquisite pleasure and exquisite pain.

  “Ellis.”

  He stopped at once, halfway inside her. When he raised his head to look down at her she could see his face etched in the moonlight. Highwayman, vampire, dashing rake; he was all of them, all of her midnight men.

  “Are you okay?” he asked hoarsely.

  “No. Yes.”

  She encircled him with her legs, tightening her thighs. He groaned and crushed her down into the bedding.

  His climax tore through him.

  She heard satisfaction, exultation and astonished pleasure in the husky, elemental, utterly male cry of release.

  he came out of the bathroom some time later, got back into bed and wrapped her close. He put one hand behind his head and looked up at the ceiling.

  “We should probably talk,” he said.

  Panic assailed her. Talking was dangerous. Talking was where things always went wrong. She did not want anything to spoil this perfect dream night.

  “Not now.” She drew her fingertips down his chest. “There’s no need. Go to sleep.”

  “You’re sure you don’t want to talk?”

  “Positive.”

  “Just as well, I’m not feeling real coherent at the moment,” he said in a voice that was already thickening with sleep. He tightened his arm around her, pulling her closer to him. “Don’t go anywhere, okay?”

  An odd request, she thought.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” she promised softly.

  That seemed to satisfy him. He relaxed immediately and she knew that he slept.

  It was a while before she managed to drift off into slumber. A part of her resisted closing her eyes. She was afraid she would wake up in the morning and discover that it had all been a dream.

  22

  i’m worried about Isabel,” Leila announced. She put the day’s edition of the Roxanna Beach Courier aside and reached for her glass of orange juice.

  On the other side of the table, Farrell glanced up from the financial documents he was studying. She noticed that, in spite of his air of distraction and secretiveness these days, he was paying attention.

  “Because she knew that guy who got run down out on the old highway or because of her connection to Ellis Cutler?” he asked.

  “Both. But mostly because of Cutler.”

  She put down the orange juice glass without taking a sip, picked up a spoon and toyed with her cereal. Her appetite had disappeared in the last few weeks. She had lost five pounds. She told herself she was either dying of some dreadful, as yet undiagnosed disease or she was depressed because Farrell was getting ready to tell her that he wanted a divorce. She was not sure which news would be harder to take.

  Farrell drank some coffee and briefly considered. “Cutler is definitely not
her usual type, is he?”

  “No, and that’s what’s worrying me. All this talk of hiring Isabel as a freelance dream analyst is just plain weird. He doesn’t appear to be some New Age type who would take the psychic thing seriously. He seems too tough and smart for that nonsense.” She broke off, trying to find the words. “He looks dangerous, to tell you the truth. The whole situation strikes me as very strange.”

  Farrell did not bother to hide his amusement. “You have to admit that there’s always been something a bit strange about your sister. Maybe it’s a case of weirdness attracting weirdness.”

  The anger boiled up out of nowhere. “Isabel isn’t weird, she’s just different, that’s all.”

  “Whoa.” Farrell held up both hands, palms out. “I take it back. I was just trying to inject a little humor into the discussion. Sorry.”

  Leila took a deep, steadying breath. She and Farrell had always prided themselves on their ability to communicate. They rarely quarreled until the last few months. But lately it took very little provocation to make her snap at him.

  “Isabel has always marched to a different drummer,” Leila said wearily. “She’s always had a fixation with dreams. But that does not make her a flake.”

  “I know. I apologize.”

  “I’m going to ask someone in HR to run a background check on Ellis Cutler. The kind we do on new hires. I want to at least be sure he doesn’t have a criminal record.”

  Farrell shrugged and stuffed the financial papers into his briefcase. “Suit yourself. My guess is you won’t find anything.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Just a gut feeling. If Cutler has buried a few bodies along the way, he’ll have made certain they are deep enough that no one can find them with a simple background check.”

  The spoon quivered in her hand. “Farrell, do you really think it’s possible that he might have killed some people? Or are you just joking?”

  Farrell actually hesitated a moment, head tilted slightly to the side, while he contemplated the question. She suddenly felt ill. Regardless of what was going on in their personal life, she trusted his judgment in such things. It did not bode well that he had to stop and think about the question.

  “It’s possible,” he said finally. “But I wouldn’t worry about it, if I were you.”

  “For heaven’s sake, why shouldn’t I worry about it?”

  His smile was wry. “Because if Cutler did get rid of some folks, there were no doubt very compelling reasons.”

  “How can you say such a thing?”

  “Give your sister some credit.” He got to his feet and picked up his briefcase. “In spite of her eccentricities, Isabel is no fool when it comes to reading people. If she thinks Cutler is okay, he probably is okay.”

  “We can’t depend on that. She’s attracted to him. That means she may be ignoring the warning signs. Besides, if Cutler is as smart as you think he is, he could very well be deceiving her.”

  “My advice is not to get too worked up about this, honey.” He came around the table and gave her a quick, absent kiss on the forehead. “Because from what I’ve seen of Ellis Cutler, there’s not a damn thing you can do to keep him away from Isabel.” He started toward the door. “See you at the office.”

  She crumpled the napkin in her lap. “You’re in a big rush this morning.”

  “Got a meeting with the publicity staff at seven forty-five.”

  “I see.”

  He paused, frowning. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes.”

  His mouth tightened. “You’re still upset about that conversation we had last week, aren’t you?”

  “Stop calling it a conversation,” she said tightly. “We aren’t in one of your motivational workshops here, Farrell. There’s no need to pretend that argument was an example of open communication. It was a quarrel, damnit. A bad one. And yes, I’m still upset about it.”

  Farrell flushed a dark red. The hand holding the briefcase became a white-knuckled fist. “I told you, I’m not ready yet to talk about children. Kyler, Inc., is in a very delicate growth phase. You’ve got to understand, Leila, I need to concentrate on the business.”

  “Farrell, please be honest. Is there something you’re not telling me? Something I should know?”

  He flushed and checked his watch again. “We’ll have to talk about this some other time. I’ve got to get to work.”

  Anger, frustration and fear came together in a devil’s brew of painful emotions that churned her insides. “You care more about the future of the business than you do about us. Why don’t you just say it?”

  “Because it’s not true, damnit.” Farrell’s jaw locked. He checked his watch. “Look, I told you, I can’t discuss this now. I’ve got a full day of meetings. Maybe we can do lunch at the café.”

  Lunch. Now he was giving her appointments, as if she were a client.

  “I’m not sure I’m going to go in to work today,” she said stiffly.

  Farrell looked first baffled and then anxious. “Are you sick?”

  “No. I just don’t seem to have a lot of interest in your business today.”

  “It’s not just my business. It’s our business.”

  “Is that so?”

  “You know it is.”

  “Well, I’m not so sure I want my half of your business anymore.”

  Farrell stood there, unmoving. A sense of uncertainty washed through her. She did not understand his expression. He should have looked outraged or uncomprehending. Instead, she could have sworn that what she saw in his eyes was pain and fear. But that didn’t make any sense. Why should he be hurt or afraid? His dreams had all come true. Hers were the ones that had been put on hold indefinitely.

  Farrell pulled himself together with a visible effort. “You’re upset. We’ll talk about this later.”

  “Why bother? You’ve already made your decision, haven’t you?”

  “I said, we’ll discuss it later.”

  He swung around and strode quickly out of the room, clutching the briefcase.

  She sat, trapped in a tangled skein of remorse and anger, until she heard the front door close behind him. What was happening to her? She loved Farrell. Until these past few weeks, she had believed that he loved her. The future had seemed so bright four years ago when they had married. But now it was all falling apart.

  Silence echoed in the big house. The space around her felt utterly empty. She thought about all the times in her childhood when her father had phoned from some distant city to tell her he wouldn’t be able to make it home in time for her recital. It’s okay, Dad, she had lied. I understand.

  It wasn’t supposed to be this way, not with Farrell. There should have been babies by now. But the children she’d planned to have existed only in her dreams. She saw them almost every night.

  Tears swam in her eyes. She put down the spoon and grabbed a handful of tissues.

  23

  isabel ran for the door, aware that Ellis was watching her from his position at the counter.

  She was in a mild frenzy because she had slept in late. There had barely been time to shower and dress. The downside was she had not had an opportunity to cook the elaborate breakfast she had planned to serve Ellis. The upside was there had been no time to have the conversation she was dreading.

  She was halfway out the door, escape in sight, when Ellis stopped her in her tracks.

  “When do you want to talk about last night?” he asked without any inflection.

  All her tango dancing dreams flashed before her eyes. Gloom settled on her, weighing her down. She turned slowly, keys clutched in her fingers. He was going to tell her that he considered her a really good friend and a terrific dream analyst and, by the way, it was probably better not to mix business and pleasure.

  “I’ve got classes all morning,” she said, cringing inwardly when she heard the brittle-bright note in her voice. “And you said you wanted to get started reading Belvedere’s research papers.”

/>   He set the tea down on the counter, got to his feet and walked toward her.

  “I thought women liked to talk about relationships,” he said.

  What was the point of delay? Putting it off wouldn’t change anything. She’d had her one night with the man of her dreams. A lot of women never even got that.

  She steeled herself. “Okay, let’s get this over with. Is this where you tell me that you’d like to be friends?”

  “This isn’t about our friendship. It’s about last night.”

  “Do you think of me as a really swell pal?”

  “I don’t sleep with my pals.”

  “Do I remind you of a sympathetic aunt?”

  “I don’t have any aunts, sympathetic or otherwise. Isabel, I’m trying to talk about last night.”

  “You’re sure you didn’t wake up this morning and decide that maybe we should go back to a business relationship? Maybe have a couple of drinks together occasionally so you can tell me your dreams?”

  “Am I missing something here?”

  She held up a hand. “One last question. Do you think of me as your own personal advice columnist or fortune-teller?”

  He did not answer that, at least not verbally. Instead, he took two strides forward, seized her shoulders and pulled her hard against his chest.

  His mouth ravaged hers in a no-holds-barred kiss that stole her breath. The sensation was so intense she suddenly understood why a girl might faint at the prospect of a fate worse than death. But she was a tango dancer. Tango dancers did not faint. They danced. They seduced.

  She managed to get one arm around his neck and returned the kiss with equal fervor.

  When he released her a moment later, she was breathing again, but really, really fast.

  “For the record,” he said, “I do not see you as a pal, sympathetic aunt, advice columnist or fortune-teller. I see you as a lover. Is that clear now?”

  “Clear.” She swallowed and hastily adjusted her skewed glasses. “In that case, we can talk about last night. If you really want to, that is.”