Dream Nights

with the CEO

a Secret Desires novel

Kathy Lyons

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are
used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 2013 by Kathy Lyons. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form
or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

Entangled Publishing, LLC
2614 South Timberline Road
Suite 109
Fort Collins, CO 80525
Visit our website at

www.entangledpublishing.com

Brazen is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC. For more information on our titles, visit

www.brazenbooks.com.

Edited by Stacy Abrams
Cover design by Heather Howland

ISBN 978-1-62266-780-2

Manufactured in the United States of America

First Edition May 2013

The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks
mentioned in this work of fiction: iPad, Jell-O, ST: The Next Generation ,DC Comics, Spandex, World Wide Wrestling
Foundation, McDonald’s, Hilton, Marriott, Google, Ghost, Thor, Ben & Jerry’s, Ripley’s Believe It or Not.

To Liz P for her fantastic vision. And to Stacy A for helping get mine perfect.

Chapter One

Megan Bradford was trapped in a boring nightmare. She’d had this particular nightmare
so often it had lost its ability to terrify her. Or so she told herself.

Sadly, that did nothing to change the situation. She was the engineer of a runaway

train. It was the dead of night, and she (plus all twenty-seven passenger cars filled with
people) was about to go over a cliff. None of the controls that she touched, kicked,
pushed, or hauled on changed a thing. The train was going over that cliff, and she was
powerless to stop it.

It’s a dream, she told herself.
Despite her words, her heart was pounding and her hands were slick. The heat in the

little engine room was suffocating, and sweat was dripping into her eyes, making them
burn. She jammed her hands down on the controls, pounding on the big red stop button
for all she was worth. It didn’t help. Truthfully, she doubted that trains even had a big red
stop button, but that didn’t matter.

Seconds away from the cliff. She blistered the air with curse words, but it made no

difference. It was going to be a slow-motion dive into the abyss while the air filled with
screams.

And then the dream changed. Suddenly someone stood beside her. A man in a mask

and a cape.

Seriously?
She had the vague impression of a chiseled jaw and massive height. Wow, this man

was tall.

“Help me!” she screamed.
He said something. She didn’t know what. She couldn’t hear over the roar of the

engine. Then he abruptly grimaced and grabbed her hands.

She had enough time to notice that his fingers were long and his palms really broad. He

easily engulfed her much smaller hand. Something was familiar about that. It dinged in
her mind completely outside of the nightmare, but there was no time to think about it.

He grabbed her hands and half pushed, half threw her sideways to a different control. A

joystick. A huge stick that thrust up from the floor.

“Turn!” he bellowed. Then he enveloped her in his massive arms and together they

hauled sideways on the stick. Not stopping, just turning away from the cliff.

The wheels squealed, the controls seemed to buck before her eyes, but this man was

strong—Hercules strong—and she felt the shudder that went through the whole train at
his efforts. Their efforts, she realized. She had to be part of this, too, or otherwise it
wouldn’t work.

This isn’t going to work anyway, she told herself. This was a nightmare and it always

ended the same way. But that little voice was far away. Her body was living the straining
heat of pulling the joystick sideways. With a jolt, she discovered she was also aware of
the erotic press of the man’s body. And she even felt the hot huff of his breath against
her neck and his low grunt of effort.

“Not enough,” she cried. “We’re not enough.”
“We are!” he growled. And it was a growl, pulled up through his entire body. She knew

because the rumbling sound seemed to start from his taut thighs where they pressed
hard against her bottom. Then she felt the sound roll through his flat belly and even grind
in the air beside her ear. “We can do it!”

Just hearing his words made a difference. He was big, he was powerful, and he

believed. Which made her believe. So she put everything she had into pulling with him.

But they were out of time. Megan watched in horror as the end of the track appeared,

drew closer, closer, and then…they were off the edge in free fall. The train began to
plummet into the abyss. In the background, she heard people scream, shrill and piercing.
Or maybe that was just her.

Until the train abruptly veered. She didn’t think it was possible. Right there in midair,

the train suddenly took a right turn.

It wasn’t possible, but she wasn’t arguing. This was a dream, after all, and possible or

not, she was taking hold of the miracle with both hands. Behind her the entire train
followed her lead. A shift to the left and suddenly, the whole massive thing was headed
somewhere else. Somewhere with bright lights and happy sounds.

She took a moment to look at where they were going. Then she double blinked. Yup,

still there. “An amusement park?” she asked, her mouth gaping open. And then horror
abruptly rushed through her. No longer an abyss—now they were going to take out an
entire fairground.

She frantically hauled on the joystick again, trying to steer elsewhere. “We’re going to

crash!”

His hands covered hers again, gentle and soothing as he pulled her off the stick. “We’re

not crashing,” he said. And they weren’t. The train was slowing, slowing, slow…stopped.
Right at the front gates of a fifties-style fairground.

She stared, but no matter how long she looked, she still saw roller-coaster rides, a trio

of juggling clowns, a zillion booths filled with games and junk food. And of course, off in
the distance, the Ferris wheel with all its pretty dancing lights. “Oh my fracking God…”
she breathed.

“You don’t like amusement parks?” the man asked. His voice was still low—a gravelly

rumble beside her ear that made her shiver, this time in awareness, not fear.

“No. I-I love them. My family used to go to one every year. It was the best part of the

summer.” She glanced in her rearview mirror. And yes, some part of her knew that a train
didn’t have a rearview mirror, but she wasn’t at the bottom of an abyss so she was going
with it. There, she saw zillions of passengers pouring out of the cars. Kids, moms and
dads, all of them jumping and laughing as they ran for the park.

She smiled as she watched it. “Everybody’s happy.”
“Really?” he asked. “Everybody?”
She blinked, suddenly hyper-aware of him standing behind her. It didn’t seem possible,

but he felt scorching against her skin. In an amazing kind of way. Her skin tingled, her
nipples tightened, and her breath caught in sizzling awareness.

He felt it, too, she knew. She heard him drag in a ragged breath while lower down, his

thighs tightened as he pressed his erection into her bottom.

Nice, she thought. Really nice, because it had been a while since someone was this

happy to see her. He started to pull away, but she grabbed his arms—still locked on the
joystick—to keep him close. Again she had that tickle of a memory in her thoughts. His
forearms were big, the muscles granite hard.

They stood there, poised with him behind her, his body slowly easing forward. Her

nightmare was shifting onto a very different track and she was all kinds of happy about
that.

She felt his lips, soft and tentative at her neck. She moaned, letting her head drop to

the side and her body melt backward into him. His forearms trembled and though her
eyes were closed, she knew he was slowly releasing his grip on the joystick.

Would he touch her? Where? Her nipples were hard and her breasts heavy. Please

touch me, she thought. Please.

He didn’t. His hands hovered in the air just in front of her. “Megan,” he said, the sound

both a groan and a regret.

“You know me?” she asked breathlessly. Then she nearly rolled her eyes. Of course he

knew her—he was a figment of her imagination. But that didn’t stop her from turning
around. It was a tight circle there inside his arms, and he was practically dancing to keep
from touching her as she turned.

“Don’t—”
“I want to see your face.”
“No!”
She wasn’t going to give him a choice, but just as she turned, he whipped his cape up

and around them. The world went completely dark.

“That’s some cape,” she said, a little miffed that she was now blind.
She heard him chuckle and the darkness took on a warm, familiar feeling.
“Why can’t I see you?” she asked. “I want to thank you properly.”
Clichéd words, but what she said didn’t matter. She could still sense him in the total

darkness. She reached out, connecting with his broad chest. Muscles in a huge expanse.
No chest hair. She touched the tight buds of his nipples.

His gasp cut through the darkness like the sound of a massive stone breaking. She was

getting to him, she thought with a smile. So she let her hands roam, one slipping lower,
down across his flat abs and narrow waist. But she didn’t go where she really wanted. It
was too bold, even in this dark place. So she leaned forward, pressing her lips to his
chest.

She felt the beat of his heart, steady and hard against her mouth. “Thank you,” she

whispered. “Thank you for saving me.”

Finally his hands touched her. Just his fingertips as he gently stroked up and down her

back. She raised her face to his. It was still pitch black. She couldn’t see anything at all,
but she somehow knew he was bending to kiss her.

Damn, the man was huge, but they still found a way to meet. She stretched up as he

bent down, and finally they kissed.

It was the softest of connections—lip to lip, on the very tips of her sensitized skin. He

hesitated there and she wanted to curse in frustration, but that would have broken the
spell.

“Please,” she whispered.
That worked. He pressed deeper, harder against her, but still so slow.
Her lips were parted, as were his. They breathed the same air. Sweet. Hot.
“Won’t you kiss me?” she asked. She hadn’t even moved her mouth, but the question

quivered in the darkness around them.

“Don’t rush this,” he answered. “I’ve wanted it forever.”
She smiled. It wasn’t true, of course. He was a masked man come to save her doomed

train. But she loved the fantasy, loved the idea of a man who wanted her. One who’d
waited for her and wasn’t going to rush things even when she was already aching for
something a lot more graphic.

“Now?” she asked.
“Yes.”
His tongue swept inside. Strong, forceful, and so damned commanding. He took her

with his tongue with such power that her knees went weak. Her hands gripped his broad
shoulders even as his arms tightened around her, lifting her slightly off the ground. Soon
he was her only anchor, and she thrilled at the feel of his hard planes and shifting cords
of muscles.

His tongue seemed to own her, touching every part of her mouth in a dizzying frenzy.

He tickled the roof of her mouth then abruptly nipped at the edges of her lips. This was
possible in dreams, and she was extremely grateful for it. The sensations built as his
hands shifted to her breasts. Such large hands as they pinched her nipples, creating

lightning flashes that made her blood sizzle.

More. She so wanted more.
As if he’d heard her—and in this place, maybe he had—his hands slid to her hips,

gripping her tight. Was he holding her in place? Angling her for a better position? He was
sucking on her breasts now, making her body shiver and her blood pool in her belly. God,
she wanted to be naked with him.

Suddenly, they were naked. All those fabric barriers just disappeared leaving nothing

but smooth skin, flexing muscles, and him pressing hard and hot against her.

“Wow,” she breathed. In this dreamscape, her libido clearly had superpowers. Which

somehow gave her permission to be as bold as she wanted. She slid her hands lower,
taking his cock in her hands. Broad, thick, and so hot.

He groaned at her touch, his hands spasming on her hips. “Megan,” he said. Her name

was more of a moan than a word. “Listen to me, Megan. We—”

Ding dong, bing bong. Ding dong, bing bong.
Her alarm.
Megan woke with a jerk, a curse on her lips and an ache between her thighs. She

gripped the sheets as if she could hold onto her dream by sheer physical strength. It
wasn’t possible, of course, and eventually she fell back onto her pillow with a groan.

The dream was gone. Her masked savior was gone. Just when it had really started to

get good.

She lay in bed for a long moment, savoring the dream. It took her a while before she

admitted to herself that the sexual frustration she felt was much better than the cold
sweat she normally faced after her nightmare. Still, couldn’t she have slept just a few
moments longer? Long enough to feel his thrust—

Ding dong, bing bong. Ding dong, bing bong.
Megan cursed again as she fumbled with her phone. It took her three tries before she

turned off the alarm—snooze function and all. Clearly the universe didn’t want her
enjoying her dream even in fantasy. It was time to start her day.

She looked at the clock, even though she already knew exactly what it read. She had

thirty-four minutes before she needed to appear dressed and pressed in the hotel
breakfast area. But her very first task was to text her boss.

Good morning, Mr. Monroe. Weather forecasts rain today. Temperature in the mid-

fifties.

When did she become so perky, professional, and so very colorless? She rolled out of

bed with a jaw-popping yawn. But even as she moved, she tapped the recorder app on
her phone and spoke somewhat clearly as she shuffled to the bathroom.

“Miranda’s Place B&B, personal notes. Bed, sheets, and duvet are excellent. Interesting

headboard.” She absently touched the intricately carved board. On first glance it looked

like abstract bumps and swirls, but closer inspection made the flowing lines seem almost
sexual. There was nothing explicit, just a vague impression that made her think it
belonged in a honeymoon suite. Or a high-end brothel. Or maybe it was just the lingering
remnants of her dream.

She headed for the bathroom, then winced as she caught sight of her reflection.

Humidity equaled frizzy hair. Ugh.

“But humidity in St. Louis is annoying. Reminder to check for problems caused by

dampness before Mr. Monroe buys this place,” she recorded.

She set down her phone and made an effort to pull herself together. It was unusually

hard after that dream, but she had a job to do. Her boss was thinking of buying the B&B,
and she needed to be sharp. They only had one day to physically inspect the place before
they headed on. There were, in fact, six other B&Bs on the possible acquisition list, but
something about this little inn had her rooting for it. She liked it, liked Cherry Moon, the
historic northern suburb of St. Louis, and she liked the eclectic air here. The place had
character, and so she hoped Mr. Monroe would pick it.

But that wouldn’t happen if she didn’t get her brain and body in gear. So she picked up

her phone, steeled her spine, and checked her e-mail. No emergencies from the hotels
already in Mr. Monroe’s growing chain of B&Bs. Or at least no new instructions had come
from the CEO in the middle of the night. She had no idea when the man slept; she’d
gotten e-mails from him at all hours.

Sadly, while her boss had slept, her mother had been wide awake. Megan had no fewer

than seventeen e-mails from the woman. Most were dramatic Danger to Your Life!!
health scare spam, plus a few funny cartoons and political diatribes. Megan deleted those
without even looking at them. The problem came from the two remaining e-mails, long
ones about Megan’s middle brother’s newest girlfriend (apparently a bitch of the first
order) and the other about her mother’s health.

Megan knew her mother was just longing for attention. The woman’s chest pains,

swollen ankles, and even the lump just above her knee were probably nothing, but it was
hard to tell. Everything was written in the most dramatic tones, and Megan struggled not
to scream as she scanned them. Nothing life threatening—she hoped—and so she closed
her phone and headed for the shower.

Sadly, her mother’s last lines haunted her despite her attempts to forget. I know you’re

focused on your career, honey, but the best years of my life were with my husband and
children. Don’t rush to make a million dollars only to have no one to share it with.

Ugh! Like Megan needed the reminder that her biological clock was ticking? But there

just wasn’t time in her life for more than her job. Working as personal assistant to the
CEO of a rapidly growing hotel chain was a 24/7 kind of job. Wyatt Monroe absorbed all
her attention, all the time. And she liked it that way. So biological clock or not, Megan

was 100% dedicated to Mr. Monroe.

Rushing through her morning routine, Megan pulled on her MBA-clone wardrobe. Dark

gray business suit, crisp black pumps, and barely there makeup. Then she added her one
concession to her wild side: a beaded necklace she’d made herself. She didn’t have an
MBA, of course. It had been a stretch to get her college degree. But she knew how to
dress the part, and so she grabbed her leather padfolio, tucked two pens and a tiny credit
card holder in her inside pocket, then headed out the door. Her heels made precise clicks
on the wood floor.

She didn’t descend the stairs but glanced down them, listening closely. She didn’t hear

Mr. Monroe’s voice, so she was on time. She looked in the opposite direction to the room
next to hers. She’d be waiting when he emerged: a handsome man dressed in some
version of gray. Those were the constants. What changed were the words that would
come spilling out of his mouth—she never knew from one second to the next what he
would say or do. It didn’t matter. It was her job to stand beside him with pen and pad in
hand recording every piece of chatter, no matter how irrelevant.

She readied herself, schooling her features to a polite, professional smile. She loved her

job, loved the constant variety, loved watching her genius boss at work. He had steadily,
carefully built eleven other B&Bs to unique and extremely profitable businesses. And
Megan had been right here watching it happen.

But most of all, she loved watching her boss. It wasn’t just his looks, which were He-

man gorgeous. Rough cut, broad, and strong. His mind was even more fascinating. Years
ago she’d fantasized about a different kind of relationship with him. He was everything
she’d ever wanted in a man: smart, brilliant, and gorgeous. But that was before he’d
offered her this job. Before he’d given her a chance to become successful in her own
right, working at a job she loved.

Her mother might have found fulfillment in her family, but Megan was not going to

sacrifice her career for her mother’s dream. At least not yet. And not when she got to
stand right beside Mr. Monroe and help him build an empire.

She grinned. She couldn’t wait for her day to begin.

…

Good morning, Mr. Monroe. Weather forecasts rain today. Temperature in the mid-fifties.

Wyatt Monroe cursed as he set aside his phone. Then he fell back into bed with a

groan, his body throbbing in a way it hadn’t since he was an adolescent. He flung a thick
forearm over his eyes. It was bad enough that he’d nearly released on the pristine hotel
sheets, but to have a wet dream about his own assistant was well beyond the bounds of
decency.

He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t dream about kissing Megan in the dark confines of a

superhero cape. He couldn’t bring her into his adolescent fantasies of rescuing a sexy
damsel in distress. Except, of course, evidence suggested that he absolutely could do
that. He could dream about wrapping his arms around her curvaceous body and thrusting
his tongue down her throat while she made hot, mewling sounds of need.

His dick jerked at the thought and he cursed again. She was his administrative

assistant, for God’s sake. His employee and his friend. He couldn’t want her. Not like this.
And he sure as hell couldn’t be lingering in bed remembering the feel of her hands
gripping him.

He closed his eyes and sighed. He should have known this was coming—no pun

intended. From the moment he’d seen the petite brunette, he’d wanted to bed her. She’d
still been in college then, working in housekeeping at the first B&B he’d ever purchased.
Uninterested in wearing the optional maid’s uniform, she’d shown up every day in
tattered jeans and any of a dozen different tie-dyed tanks. Since the B&B had a sixties
vibe, he hadn’t minded. Truthfully, he’d adored seeing her arrive every day, her rippling
swimmer’s body a splash of dynamic color in his very gray, workaholic life.

It had taken him two weeks to see past her gorgeous looks to realize that she got twice

as much work done in half the time. Another week was spent analyzing exactly how she
did it. Then it had been ten minutes before he’d offered her a job as his assistant, and
he’d never once regretted it.

Well, his brain had never regretted it. His little brain, even now bobbing for attention,

had always hated him for that decision. He couldn’t sleep with an employee, no matter
how many times he’d woken up with a boner throbbing for her.

Sadly, tonight’s dream had taken his lust to a whole new level. Not just a sex dream,

but one where he was a caped crusader to boot. He glanced to the night table where he’d
set the stack of DC comics he’d been reading before bed. Well that explained the
superhero costume in his dream. No more fun reading before sleep.

Memories of the dream consumed him for ten more minutes, but then the thought of

seeing her in her prim business suit got him moving out of bed. He was halfway through
his cold shower before he could manage to think of something other than hot kisses, dark
engine rooms, and pressing Megan up against a really big joystick.

Fortunately, the financial news diverted him for a few minutes, though the fog in this

poorly ventilated bathroom made it nearly impossible to read, even on his iPad. He was
still reading as he pulled on his shirt, then his suit pants before padding barefoot to his
laptop. A few keystrokes later and he had an exact figure for how much he could spend
on the next B&B in the WM Enterprises Hotel Empire. Sadly, he didn’t think this place
would qualify.

Sure, he could probably get it cheap, but the repair costs alone would be exorbitant.

Sagging roof, water damage on a couple walls, and abysmal decor had him cringing.

Certainly this Cherry Moon area north of St. Louis had its charm, but that could only go so
far, especially if the roof were about to collapse.

He pulled on his glasses—a funky designer pair his sister said gave him style—then

headed for the door, barely remembering to grab a tie as he went. A moment later, he
hauled open his hotel door, then stopped short at the sight of a ripple on the hallway wall
opposite. The morning light slanted across it at the perfect angle to make it stand out. He
finished adjusting his tie, then popped off his glasses as he went nose to nose with the
wall. Definitely a flaw of some kind. He ran his hand along it, following it down until he
was kneeling on the floor, half his body wedged underneath a hall table. Was this an
indication of a major structural flaw? Or just a bad wallpapering job? He couldn’t tell
without ripping off the paper, so he rocked back on his heels, peering into the shadow
beneath the table.

“Well, that’s annoying,” he said.
“What is?” Megan asked as she stepped up beside him. From his position on the floor,

he got a good look at her sweet legs revealed so beautifully beneath her pencil skirt. And
that, of course, brought back his dream with a vengeance.

He shoved it away with equal vehemence, but his voice still came out rough as he

gestured irritably at the wall. “That irregularity.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t…” She stepped toward the wall to touch it. She had to stretch up on

her toes to reach across the hall table, and he couldn’t resist watching the way her calves
rippled and tightened as she moved. So damned beautiful. “I can feel it. Right here,” she
said. “But it’s so subtle.”

Long fingers, soft pink nail polish, so elegant on the cream-colored wall. Wyatt

swallowed as he watched her stroke up and down, his lust kicking into overdrive. If only
she’d touch him that way.

He forced his mind back to the matter at hand: the possible wall crack. He pushed up

onto his feet and Megan quickly stepped out of his way. Too bad. One part of his
anatomy had hoped he’d be able to slip up behind her, just like in his dream. But she was
quick, moving away with athletic—and very professional—ease. So he stretched out to
touch the exact same place her hand had been.

Yup. Small, infinitesimal crack, more like a ripple in the plaster. “Huh.”
“I’ll make a note of it,” she said. Then she abruptly grinned. “Maybe it was done by the

ghost.”

He barely refrained from rolling his eyes. “What ghost?” he asked, though he really

didn’t care. He knew Megan was a devotee of all things horror. If the movie went bump in
the night, she’d seen it at least twice. But lately, he’d caught her reading “real life” ghost
stories. “According to some sources,” she said, “this is a nexus of ghostly—”

“What sources?” he interrupted.

She sighed. “Internet sources.”
“Because they’re so reliable,” he drawled.
She shot him a look, then immediately caught herself. In her world view, an assistant

never expressed annoyance with her boss. It was a belief he very much encouraged. So
she smoothed her expression, even as her straight gaze dared him to criticize her. “I was
looking at the history of the area, learning about its character. It’s not supposed to be
factual. It’s supposed to be colorful.”

He winced, knowing she was right. Regional flavor was exactly the type of information

he needed when evaluating a hotel. In truth, he valued what she’d discovered; he just
wished she didn’t embrace it so readily. “I’m sorry, Megan. Please, tell me about the
ghost.”

She nodded, starting to speak in a factual tone, but quickly warming to her topic as it

clearly caught her imagination. “Being so close to the Kincaid mounds, there are the
usual Native American tales, but this house in particular has ghost stories all its own.
Typical stuff mostly. An escaped slave murdered on his way north, a TB patient gone
crazy, even a pulp fiction writer who lived here for decades before dying alone and
unloved. But the most enduring tale is about the sea captain who built this house for his
bride in the late 1800s. A doomed love story, apparently, so the ghost tries to bring
couples together from the afterlife.”

Does she believe this bunk? he wondered. Her tone said “no,” but the sparkle in her

eyes said “yes.” She wanted to believe and he counted that as a romantic aberration in
her otherwise very organized mind.

“Interesting,” he lied. Then he glanced at the wall. “But I don’t see how it tells me if

that’s a ripple in the wallpaper or a structural flaw.”

“It doesn’t. It just makes this place more interesting, that’s all.”
Maybe to her. He wanted to know about construction defects. But he didn’t say that

aloud, instead turning toward the smell wafting up from the main floor. “I need coffee.”

Megan straightened, all trace of ghostly wishful thinking gone. “Black coffee? Or would

you like to try their espresso?”

He grinned, momentarily diverted. “Give me the espresso. Something complicated.

We’ll see if they can do it right. Then give me a surprise for breakfast.”

“Of course,” she said with a grin. “I’ll get it ordered while you put on your shoes.”
He blinked then abruptly felt the cold wood floor on his bare feet. Had he seriously

forgotten his socks and shoes?

Lord, this was going to be a very off-kilter day.

Chapter Two

As Wyatt walked down to breakfast, he was struck by the potential in this place if only
someone managed to create a unified decor. His bedroom had been Chinese in design,
the hallway had been more French Country. Downstairs reception felt like a New Orleans
boudoir and now the breakfast area was a ship’s galley. Sunlit and airy, but with nets and
fishes around the walls. The plates even had romanticized galleons on them.

Dropping into his seat across from Megan, he sniffed appreciatively. Coffee. Eggs.

Blueberry muffins. Wonderful scents for the—he glanced around, counting—seven people
in the room.

His eyes narrowed. There couldn’t possibly be that many people staying at the B&B.

Not even one of the customers had the look of a vacationer or the occasional business
traveler. No, these people looked like locals come for breakfast.

“These customers. Are they…”
Megan nodded. “Locals. Here for breakfast. We were the only overnight guests.” Then

she lifted her coffee cup to her lips and sipped the dark brew. It must have been good
because she closed her eyes and released a small purr of contentment. It wasn’t loud
enough for him to hear, but his imagination had no trouble supplying the sound straight
from his dream.

“Good?” he asked, his voice strangled by lust.
“Mmm-hmmm. Try yours. I got you a half caf caramel mocha latte.”
He blinked at her. “Trying to send me into sugar shock?”
“To balance out the poached egg on dry toast you’re having for breakfast.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I’m having the fresh baked muffins and fruit salad. You can mix and match however

you like.”

He looked at her, impressed. She’d ordered a variety of dishes for each demographic.

Everything from the health-conscious octogenarian to the mom looking for fresh fruit to
the kids who’d want sugar. In one meal they’d get an idea of how the cook handled
everything.

“I suppose I should be grateful you didn’t order me thin oatmeal.”
“I considered it,” she said, “but really, how hard is it to make oatmeal?”
“You’d be surprised,” he joked. His own mother had been singularly unable to make the

stuff even with a microwave and written instructions.

Megan flashed him a smile, and he was momentarily blinded by her. So beautiful. It

wasn’t in any one particular feature. Her eyes were a mesmerizing dark brown, her skin
was peachy clear, and her lips were nicely formed. Individually she was fine. All together

she was still quite lovely. What kicked her into beautiful was the purity of her. Clean,
clear purpose, as if for that brief second, every part of her smiled—her eyes, her face, her
clothing, her whole presence. She smiled. At him. And the wonder of it struck him silent.

Then it was over. She twisted and tapped her iPad. “Here’s our schedule for the day. As

you can see, it’s relatively open. We’ve got reservations for tonight at that B&B in
Effingham, but that’s only a few hours away. We can take as much time here as you like.
Really explore the possibilities of the hotel and the town.”

He lifted his latte and sipped as he studied her carefully. Then he had to blink as the

taste hit him. Sweet, but also…very good. Strong coffee, right temperature without
scorching the milk. A robust flavor and a very welcome jolt of caffeine.

“Surprised?” she asked, her eyes sparkling.
“A little,” he said slowly. “You like this place?”
“Wait until you taste a muffin. They’re to die for. The owner came strolling by with

sample bits right before you came down. Whatever else might be wrong here, let me tell
you: they know their muffins.”

“Now there’s a reason to buy.”
She glanced significantly around. Every customer had his or her own muffin. Some had

three. “For the muffins? Might be.” Then she really did surprise him. “I like this place. It
has personality and a really good cook. Isn’t that the hallmark of a WM hotel?”

He huffed out a breath, willing to admit that the breakfast food was first rate. But cooks

could be hired away. By others or possibly even by him for one of his other hotels.
Meanwhile, his gaze traveled the room—looking inside and out, taking in a zillion tiny
details. And as he looked, his words started spilling out. Fortunately, he knew Megan
would catch them.

“Damp. Lots of possible problems from that. Needs a decorator and one theme. Army

green is a terrible color. Ceiling tiles too randomized. Two windows look out on dead
businesses. Is that a shoe store? Flowering bush might be nice to block the view. How far
to the St. Louis arch? Shopping? And what’s a Karma Kafe?” He pointed to a shop down
the street next to a hair salon, both of which had seen better days. “Carpet was a bad
idea here. Clashes with the nautical nonsense.” He babbled on, detail after detail piling
up in his head and onto her tablet.

Then their food arrived. The smell reached him first—heavenly. And the presentation

was perfection. Naturally, those thoughts flowed right out of his mouth too.

“Need to look into the cook. She deserves a better environment than this.”
“He is quite happy exactly where he is,” snapped their waitress.
He blinked, looking up to a woman who stood there radiating fury. Wyatt blinked,

assessing her in three quick seconds. She was a lovely young woman beneath the too-
tight bun of brown hair and the washed out, slightly freckled skin. But she was dressed as

a homely grandmother, her make-up much too brash, and somehow her shoes made no
sense at all. They were tight, laced up Victorian heels as if she had a secret steam-punk
obsession that came out in her footwear. All in all, she was a woman who reflected the
mish-mash feel of the hotel—scattered bits of this and that, as if she had no idea who she
was or what she wanted.

“Miranda, I presume?” Wyatt drawled.
“Miranda was my aunt. I’m Bethany Clark.”
“Owner?”
“Yes. And I’ll thank you to keep away from my cook.”
He glanced at Megan, who was wincing slightly in dismay. Clearly she hadn’t wanted

his first meeting with the proprietor to go badly, but why? Why was she so enchanted
with this disorganized mess of a hotel?

Meanwhile, he had an angry waitress/owner to deal with. He smiled urbanely and gave

her a nod. “Fair enough. You’ve found a treasure in your cook and you’re feeling
protective of him. I can respect that. And I promise not to speak with your chef outside of
your presence. Okay?”

The woman swallowed, visibly getting her temper under control. In the end, she gave

him a curt nod as she went about setting plates of food down before them.

“I looked you up on the Internet,” she said, her voice quieter than he’d expected given

her temper. “Are you here to buy my hotel?”

He quirked an eyebrow at her. “Are you selling?”
“No.”
Across the table, Megan released a soft sigh of disappointment. He tried not to let that

affect him. This was business after all, and he was the boss. A good boss did not let his
assistant’s emotions cloud his judgment.

“Why not?” he asked, keeping his tone nonchalant. “I’m guessing that you’re under

water financially. Our research says you have no experience in running a hotel. Some of
the pieces are here, to be sure, but you’re advertising to the wrong demographic and in
the wrong places. Your walls have seen better days and the roof needs repairs. Plumbing
seemed good—”

“And the beds,” inserted Megan. “Mine was divine.”
He nodded. “Beds and sheets work. Chef works. Decor doesn’t. And I heard something

very strange last night in the walls. Something like rats, but not really—”

Bethany rolled her eyes, though the gesture seemed forced. “That’s our ghost,” she

said. Then she turned to speak louder so that everyone in the room could hear her. “The
Captain scares people he doesn’t like. That’s what you heard last night, Mr. Monroe.”

Megan gave him a look as if to say, I told you so. “I sincerely doubt my bedroom is

haunted,” he said.

An elderly lady from the table nearest them spun around in her chair, her expression

gleeful. “Oh, the whole house is haunted,” she said. “It’s the Captain. He’s quite famous
in Cherry Moon.”

“Really?” asked Megan, clearly encouraging the woman.
“Oh yes. A pirate came up from New Orleans with his abducted princess bride.”
Wyatt nearly choked on his bite of a really excellent muffin. Megan passed over his

coffee cup as he cleared his throat. Meanwhile, other customers were picking up the tale.

“A Chinese princess. Straight from Shanghai.”
“Bought her along with a shipment of opium. She hated him of course—”
“She wasn’t a princess. That’s just romantic nonsense. More likely a concubine or a

prostitute.”

“Don’t be crass!”
“She had mystical jewels! Only a princess could have—”
“He bought those for her. He was in love with her. They were running from her father

—”

The patter went on and on. The details didn’t matter. Wyatt would be surprised if even

a tenth of what he heard had any basis in fact. But what impressed him was the way the
tale was debated so hotly. Everyone in the room—except for the still angry Bethany—had
a portion of the tale that was a cherished favorite. Whether concubine or escaped
princess, pirate captive or prostitute, the story of the Captain’s woman was on everyone’s
lips.

“And he’s the ghost here? What about the woman?”
“Died before they arrived. Of the pox.”
“She did not! They had three children and twelve grandchildren. Why, I would bet we’re

related to them.”

“Don’t be silly. He built this house for her, but she ran away. He never heard from her

again.”

“Though he searched for decades with a broken heart.”
Good God, these people were obsessed! Everything said had the feel of a long-debated

topic. Wyatt listened to them carefully, but what he looked at was Bethany’s face. She’d
relaxed a bit at the chatter, as one might when listening to a favorite family tale,
something that grew with each telling. And a wistful kind of happiness settled on her
features.

That was why she stayed when she was clearly out of her depth. If he had to guess, it

was an ache for family long gone. Pulling out his phone, he tapped a quick question to
Megan. Her pad dinged. He watched her eyes widen in surprise and then she tapped back
an answer, which he read as discreetly as possible.

Bethany Clark, orphan. Former estate lawyer. Inherited hotel three years ago from her

aunt Miranda. No other relatives as far as I could find.

He nodded. Exactly what he’d thought. Meanwhile, the conversation was winding down.

Taking one last look around, he made his decision.

“I wish you luck with this place, Bethany. You have something here,” he said in

complete honesty. “But it’s not something I can afford to buy.”

The woman started. “So…so you weren’t here looking to buy me out?”
“Oh, we most certainly were. But there’s too much to work on. I don’t have the time or

the money to do it effectively.”

“Oh,” she said. “Good.”
He smiled. She didn’t sound all that confident in her position. Then, on impulse, he

pulled out his business card and set it on the table. “I’m not interested in buying,” he said
firmly. “But there are other possibilities. If you ever want to talk about them, just give me
a call.”

The woman frowned at the pristine card, then looked back at him. Eventually her eyes

slid to Megan, holding there for a long moment. And right on cue, his assistant settled
into their typical negotiating pattern. Wyatt played the jerk, the hard-nosed ass who
wouldn’t give an inch. Megan’s job was to soften the blow, making it palatable to the
listener. He didn’t care if Miss Clark thought him the devil incarnate, so long as she
realized her problem and was open to real negotiations.

“He’s an honest man,” Megan said. “But he’s also a shrewd businessman. Whatever

possibilities he comes up with will be clever, have a great deal of potential, and will
require a ton of hard work.”

“I’ve never had a problem with hard work,” the woman answered.
Wyatt felt his lips lift in something that stopped just short of a smirk. “That’s what

everyone says. Until they actually have to work.”

Bethany bristled. “That’s not who I am!”
Fortunately, Megan was there, touching the woman’s arm in a soothing motion. “He’s

not talking about you.” Then she picked up the business card and pressed it into the
woman’s hand. “As he said: you’re under water here. Or nearly there. What would it hurt
you to listen?”

Wyatt abruptly straightened, his body tightening into alarm. “Listen? No.”
Both women—and the entire room of customers—turned to stare at him. He cursed

inwardly, silently considering his options. He could coddle the woman, soft pedal her
problems, and walk away. But that would only give her a false sense of security. She’d
end up sinking her last dime into this place, only facing the truth when it was too late for
him to help. He’d learned the hard way that the best choice was to hit people with the
brutal truth. Better to be blunt and without emotion; it was the quickest way through her
resistance.

“I’m not handing out free restructuring advice. That takes too much time to plan out.

You want a partner? You call me. You won’t like the terms of the deal, but there’s enough
here that I’m willing to think about it. To give you a chance of making this place work.
But I’m not putting my time into this without a deal in place. There are too many other,
better properties.”

Bethany glared at him, as he knew she would. “That’s not how a partnership works, Mr.

Monroe.”

“It’s exactly how a partnership works, Miss Clark. You’re confusing it with a friendship,

which is usually some version of a fifty/fifty exchange. You’re under water. I’m not. If you
want rescue, you’re going to have to pay for it. Rather painfully, I’m afraid.”

“You’re a jerk,” Bethany shot back.
He shrugged, not denying it. In truth, he’d been accused of much worse.
Meanwhile, Megan was proving herself invaluable again. She gave the woman an

apologetic smile. “He’s brutally honest. It’s irritating as hell, but it’s usually exactly what
you need to hear.”

Miss Clark’s eyes narrowed and her gaze hopped between the two of them. Then she

lifted her chin and looked hard at Megan. “What brutally honest, asshole thing did he say
to you? It had to be good to get you to defend him like this.”

Megan froze, and then her expression shifted into something he’d never seen before.

Part wistful, part embarrassed, and wholly bizarre. He’d never seen it on her face and he
wasn’t at all sure he’d interpreted it correctly.

“It was horrible,” Megan finally choked out. “But I needed to hear it.” Then she abruptly

straightened. “Give it some time. Then, when you’re ready, call him.”

Bethany didn’t respond. Instead, she pulled out her waitress pad and slapped down

their bill. Then she walked away. So…not a “yes,” but not a “no,” either.

Meanwhile, Megan slumped back in her seat as she toyed absently with the wrapping

on her muffin. She didn’t look at him.

What the hell had he ever said to her?

…

Megan stared out the window of her bland room in the Effingham B&B. Her fingers itched
for some quiet busywork. Anything that would keep her away from the internet. At home
she had a corner for her beading hobby, but none of that could be brought along on these
business trips. Which was a shame, especially as she’d just had three more emails from
her mother. The first had been an article about career women who delayed starting
families then ended up regretting their choice. The other two had been insulted diatribes
questioning why Megan hadn’t answered her phone calls throughout the day.

Apparently, her mother didn’t understand the words “business trip.” Megan spent nearly

every second with Wyatt on these jaunts, and she’d be damned if she let him hear her
get raked over the coals by her mother while they drove from Cherry Moon to Effingham.
And she certainly had no interest in talking about her mother’s bunions while sitting less
than two feet away from her boss.

So she’d ignored her mother and now she guiltily deleted the emails. Then, rising from

the desk, she dropped backward onto the bed of her sterile room. On paper, this B&B was
probably a great buy, but the place simply had nothing interesting about it. Beige walls,
pastel sheets, neutral abstract painting on the wall. It even smelled boring, and she
hadn’t thought that was possible.

Still, she’d set up the spreadsheets that Wyatt had requested. Interestingly, he’d had

her work on Miranda’s B&B, not this beige place. Even though they’d left the St. Louis
area with no apparent hope of ever setting foot in Cherry Moon again, his mind must
have still been churning away on that place.

Good. She hoped he could figure something out.
Not so good was the way he’d kept looking at her throughout the day. At least a dozen

times or more she’d found him staring at her with a pinch between his brows and a
tightness to his mouth. He was thinking about her, worrying about something in that
massive brain of his. But what? And why?

All sorts of panicked thoughts had run through her mind. Was he thinking of firing her?

Promoting her? Sleeping with her?

She dismissed that one immediately. Just because she’d had erotic fantasies about him

almost from the first moment they’d met didn’t mean he had any similar inclinations. He’d
always treated her with the utmost courtesy. Something that made him infinitely more
attractive even as it quashed the idea that there would ever be anything between them.
She was his personal assistant, plain and simple. A damn good one, that’s for sure. But at
the end of the day, he was boss, she was employee.

She stripped out of her clothes, carefully packing them away before laying out

tomorrow’s outfit. The plan was for one day in Effingham before traveling to Terre Haute,
then Valparaiso, then—hallelujah—back home to Chicago. After that…well, she didn’t
want to think about it, because her mother was there, living a bare ten minutes’ drive
away. It had been a mistake to find an apartment so close, but that was a problem for
later. Right now, blessed sleep.

And a dream…

She was walking through a park at night. She hadn’t a clue where she was going and

why it was so urgent, but she was looking for something, she thought, and it was really
important. Unfortunately, the park was creepy dark and the trees made all those
menacing sounds that screamed “slasher flick.”

She shivered, clutching her purse tight. In it, she had her rent money—in cash, of

course, because this was clearly a horror film and… She looked down at a lock of hair
curling over her too-massive boobs. It was a glowing kind of blond and… Oh hell. She was
the dumb blonde in a horror movie. Lord, she’d rather go back to her train dream, but no
such luck. She was stuck in a park about to be sliced by a maniac.

She tried to call out. She tried to scream at Freddie or Chuckie or whomever the

monster was to hurry up and get this over with. But she couldn’t. She was too busy
scanning beneath the bushes for whatever it was that she’d lost. Moron. Really, what
could be that important? She was about to get eaten by the Zombie Apocalypse.

She heard something—a whimper or a groan—and she immediately dropped down to

her knees. Great, a non-defensible position.

There it was! A shiver of dark chestnut amid the shadows. A flash of white. Teeth? But

it was exactly what she’d been looking for. She started to wiggle lower, reaching under
the brush to get it.

Hurry! Hurry! Her heart started beating hard, sweat made her hands slick, and she felt

the prick of the thorn bush as it ripped into her skin.

Then she heard it. Or rather not it, but a lack of sound, a muffling of the wind and the

trees and the crackle of dead branches. Dream Megan didn’t hear it. Of course not. But
Real Megan was an expert on horror movies, and she knew that any lack of sound was
deadly.

Wake up! Wake up!
No such luck. She was too busy shaking her butt as she wriggled her way half

underneath the bush. What the hell was so important that she had to climb under a bush
in the middle of a horror film? And what was worse, whatever it was had no interest in
being found!

Finally, she gave up. She just huffed out a breath and slithered backward out from

under the bush. Her clothing tore, of course, and her crop top now hung by bare threads
as she sat back on her heels and glared at the shrubbery.

That’s when Dream Megan knew something was off. Her back prickled and she abruptly

noticed how quiet it had gotten. She wanted to turn around but was too afraid.

Finally, a smart move. The dumb blonde never died until she turned and looked at the

horror that was behind her. Except, of course, she couldn’t not look. She had to know
what was creeping up so stealthily.

With her lower lip caught sexily in her teeth, she slowly twisted. She saw dead leaves,

a shadowed walkway, and…

Jell-O?
OMG, not just a slasher flick, but a classic slasher flick of hugely stupid proportions. She

was going to die by the Blob.

It rose up before her, all black oil, slick and smelly. Megan gagged and stumbled

sideways, and the Blob matched her movements, oozing ever closer as she did. She
backed away, and it came at her, surprisingly fast and in vaguely human proportions.
Dream Megan was terrified now. She looked at the slowly dissolving bits of debris inside
the dark mass. Sticks, leaves, and…and was that a skeleton of a squirrel? Ew!

She dashed sideways, but the thing followed, again too fast to be real. And then she

was trapped, caught against a wall and a stand of thick bushes. She was breathing hard,
staring at her doom. She hadn’t even had the presence of mind to scream yet. But
weirdly, Megan understood that. The terror had frozen her throat closed, and she found it
hard to breathe much less scream.

Then it happened. She was engulfed in the suffocating ooze of the Blob. She screamed,

loud and long, but no one was there. Tiny needles of pain ate into her skin. Death by a
zillion little bites.

Then suddenly a wash of cold cut through the agony. Water. Sprayed from a hose, hard

enough to wash away the filth.

She looked up, both turning her whole body to the cleansing spray and scrunching her

face up against the hit of it.

“Stay still!” a male voice bellowed.
“Nowhere to go!” she shot back, though it came out more as garble, blurble, gah.
Then it was done. The horrible stuff was gone, though the memory of it was still thick

and disgusting in her mind. She was standing there dripping wet as the last threads of
her clothes trembled and fell away.

She was naked? The Blob had eaten her clothes?
She gasped and wrapped her arms around herself, but her hero was there before her.

He whipped his cape protectively about her shoulders. “Are you in pain?” he asked, his
voice a soothing murmur of masculine strength.

“J-j-just cold,” she stammered.
“Of course,” he said as he rubbed her arms on top of his cloak. “You’re soaking wet.”
“W-what was that stuff?”
“Armus?”
“What?”
“It’s an alien thing on a deserted planet that was a really dumb villain in the early lame

days of ST: The Next Generation. Episode title…um…Skin of Evil, I think.”

“Uh…what?”
She saw him smile, his chiseled jaw softening beneath his mask. “Isn’t important. The

fact is, you’re safe now. What was so important that you had to risk your life to get?”

“I—I don’t…” She was about to say she didn’t know, but at that very moment, she felt a

wet nose and a pink tongue rasp licks up her calf. “Elmo!” she cried as she suddenly knelt
down.

“Elmo?”
She nodded as she scooped up the puppy she’d never had. It was all wriggling tail and

happy puppy kisses as she held it protectively in her arms. But of course, she couldn’t
both hold the dog and the cape, so the fabric slipped open.

Her masked man looked at her. His jaw tightened and his bare chest rippled above the

band of his tights. She frowned at him. “What are you wearing?” she asked. Then she
cursed herself. “I mean, who are you?”

He glanced down at himself, apparently startled by his own super-hero attire. Of

course, that gave her a nice moment to look at his sculpted body. Not an inch of fat over
his ripped abs and corded thighs.

“I—I need to get home,” she said.
He nodded as he stepped protectively close. “I’ll shield you from harm.”
She tried not to grin. The thing was, even though Real Megan was rolling her eyes at

how campy ridiculous this dream was, the blond her was soaking in every luscious
moment. She could feel the happy wriggling puppy against her skin, knew the heavy
warmth of his cape, and most of all, sensed his big hands so close, so protective as they
walked through the still creepy park.

They made it to her apartment quickly. Things attacked them, of course. All the things

she’d mentioned before: Freddie, Chuckie, and a horde of zombies. He fought them off
with quick, efficient movements. Each defense was unusual and damned smart. Monsters
dissolved as quickly as they appeared.

Then they were in her apartment. Elmo wriggled out of her arms to curl up onto the

couch near a baby blanket. No child as far as she could tell, just the soft fabric mound
and a snoozing puppy. Which meant suddenly it was just the two of them.

“Thank you,” she whispered, turning to look at him. Would he kiss her again? God, she

hoped so.

“My pleasure,” he answered. Then he just stood there looking at her.
She waited, hoping. Would he? She was just about to take matters into her own hands

when he released an embarrassed cough.

“Um, sorry,” he mumbled. “But I, uh, I need my cape back.”
“What? Oh.” Of course. She slowly opened her hands, letting the cloak slip off her

shoulders. Then she swung it wide, offering it to him even as her body was revealed in all
its blond, perky glory. No sense in wasting all that boobalishiousness. Except, she
suddenly wasn’t Ms. Perky Blonde. Nope, it was just her. Brunette Megan in all her normal
sized glory.

Oddly, that seemed to make him suddenly into her. With a groan of hunger, he closed

the distance between them. Those great big hands of his slipped onto her body, one
wrapping around her lower back to pull her tight. The other slipped into her hair, angling

her head to the perfect degree.

A kiss. Finally!
Deep. Penetrating. Masterful. She melted into his possession, loving the way his tongue

plunged into her mouth. Her body was pressed against every hot inch of his sculpted
form. God, she loved that Spandex because his thick, hot bulge was exquisitely outlined
and pressing hard against her hip.

“Yes,” she said, the word vibrating in the air around them.
His hands found her breasts and her head dropped back. Big hands shaping her. He

tweaked her nipples, and her knees went weak. No problem there, as he scooped her up
in his arms and nestled her against his chest. But he didn’t keep her there. Instead, he
lifted her higher against him. Up and up, until she felt his mouth claiming her right nipple.

She cried out as he sucked her. Each pull seemed to draw a total body response from

deep inside her. Each swirl of his tongue set her blood on fire. God, he was good. And oh
yes, she loved what he was doing.

“My bed,” she gasped. “Right over there!”
Or right here, she realized as her dream had pulled them right beside a huge, ruffly

expanse of mattress. Ruffly? She’d never had ruffles in her life. It didn’t matter, though,
as his mouth continued to draw rhythmically on her breasts. Oh, wow.

“The bed—” she began again, but his answer rumbled through the air.
“I can’t. We can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m —” His voice was abruptly cut off, the word lost beneath a burst of static

noise.

“What?” she cried. He’d gone to work on her other breast, and it was hard to think

around all the feeling. “Oh,” she said, her mind finally clicking thoughts into place. “Your
secret identity. You don’t want to reveal who you are.”

“Yes,” he said, though there were layers of meaning beneath the word. She had no

idea what, but that was the beauty of a masked superhero. He had layers. He had depth.
And she didn’t have to understand any of it. She just had to kiss him.

“I’ll close my eyes,” she said.
He dropped his head to her belly, then slowly, gently set her on the bed. He was going

to walk away, she realized. He was going to set her on the bed and leave her unfulfilled.

“Forget that!” she cried as she clutched at the utility belt around his lean hips. She

didn’t even remember a utility belt, but what the hell. It was there, and she was using it.

She grabbed a pair of conveniently placed handcuffs and snapped one around his wrist.

She slammed the other around the heavy iron post of her bed. Again, it hadn’t been there
before, but it was now.

Beneath his mask, she saw a surprised twinkle in his eyes. “You seriously think that will

hold me?”

“I do,” she said. “For just long enough.” Then she cupped him. He was full, hard, and

very proud. She stroked him through the Spandex, loving every delectable inch.

She heard his breath hiss in surprised pleasure, and that was enough agreement for her

to keep going. Rolling down his tights, she leaned forward, set her lips to his cock, then
engulfed him completely. He was big, but her tongue slid over his tip as easily as if it
were meant for her. He jumped in her mouth, but she had tight hold of him. And even if
she didn’t, she’d settled deep down and begun to suck just as he had for her. Long, hard
pulls while his thighs trembled and his breath heated the air against her legs.

Her legs? When had they gone into the sixty-nine position?
Her question stuttered off as she felt his tongue lick wet, rough strokes over her clit.

And while she was shuddering in pleasure at that, she felt his fingers press into her.
Stretching, pulsing, rolling inside her in an impossibly wonderful way.

Inside her mouth, his cock was pulsing and she attended to him with a need that

burned through her. It was like sucking on the best lollipop ever. No gagging. Hot, salty
taste. And she knew exactly how to swirl her tongue around and around to elicit another
one of his deep, rasping groans.

God, he was so masculine. His sounds filled her even more completely than he did.
Not that what he was doing wasn’t ridiculously good. He was still plunging into her, his

fingers thick and so wonderful with the way he touched every part of her. Then his
tongue got into the action. What had been long, slow strokes sped up. Faster. Harder.

Her belly tensed. Her back arched. More. Oh please, more!
She had no idea if her words trembled in the air or not. It didn’t matter. He gave her

just want she wanted. Stroke after stroke in a variety of patterns.

Swirl. Push.
Sweep, tease.
He was killing her with the variety, and she loved every second of it.
Nip. Yes, his teeth actually rasped over her clit, and she nearly exploded. “Again,” she

said. Or she tried to. Then she realized she could do the same to him. She pulled back
her lips and bit together. At the exact same instant.

Both of them seized up.
“Again!” That was him this time.
So she did it. As did he.
Then in perfect concert, they both sucked.
Yes!
Orgasms shot through her. His and hers. Identical.
She screamed, her body convulsing with pleasure.
Then she bolted awake.

Even so, her orgasm continued for another thirty-seven glorious seconds.

Chapter Three

Wyatt woke with an explosive jerk. “Explosive” being the operative term, as his wet
dream reached its culmination in an overwhelming—and rather enduring—release. Unable
to stop himself, he kept coming while his mind replayed the glory of her scent—sweet
and musky—and that incredible abrasion of her teeth.

How he could know these things in a dream, he hadn’t a clue. But he did. Her scent,

hell the taste of her, was fresh and pure, as if she were lying right next to him and not
one room over.

He hoped he hadn’t made any noise. What if he’d woken her? She’d never ask and he

sure as hell wasn’t going to tell her, but damn, just the thought made his face burn.

He struggled out of bed, cleaning himself up as best he could. It was barely after three

a.m., but he wasn’t going to sleep now. Not with that dream so fresh and hot in his mind
—he was too likely to repeat his very inappropriate fantasy. So he showered, pulled on
his favorite pair of ratty sweatpants, and sat down to work.

Fortunately, he had plenty to do, and time soon flew by. Until—maybe a couple hours

later—there was an insistent knock on his door.

He stood, groaning at the pull in his muscles as he hobbled to the door. He jerked it

open, his mind back on the spreadsheet he’d been manipulating. And there, pristine as
always, stood Megan. He blinked at her, only vaguely realizing that the hallway was
flooded with sunlight.

Sunlight?
“What time is it?”
“Eight th-thirty, sir,” she stammered, her eyes wide and her cheeks growing pinker by

the second. Lord, she was pretty this morning.

“What?” He frowned. “Eight thirty? Did you text me?”
“An hour ago. Um, overcast skies today heading toward rain tomorrow.”
Explained the slight chill in the air. “And don’t call me ‘sir.’ Makes me sound old.” He

was only thirty, and it was his grandfather who was called sir. “I know I’ve told you that
before.”

“Yes, you have, Mr. Monroe.”
He rolled his eyes and scratched idly at his chest. His naked chest.
Then awareness finally flooded in. Awareness that he was standing before Megan in

sweatpants that weren’t even tied. That not even the chilly air could disguise his dick’s
growing appreciation of her looking all flushed and pretty this morning. Oh hell, he wasn’t
even wearing a shirt.

“Shit.” That was it. That was the cleverness he came up with. One word, but it

summarized it all.

“I’ll reschedule the meeting with Mr. Paulson for ten,” she was saying, her voice husky.

And didn’t his dick love the sound of that? “And, um, would you like me to bring you some
coffee?”

He’d already drunk a pot of the in-room kind. Every drop had tasted like crap, but in the

middle of the night he hadn’t cared. “Mr. Paulson?” he asked as he abruptly grabbed the
nearest shirt off a hanger.

“Owner of this B&B. You said you wanted to talk to him.”
He nodded, his mind hopping back to his spreadsheet. “What do you think of this

place?”

She swallowed. “It’s a good buy,” she said, her words careful and slow.
He blinked. “Really?”
“I saw the spreadsheet you sent me sometime after four this morning. It’s a good

summary. Does that mean you’re going to buy?”

He heard the careful neutrality in her tone. “Answer the question. What do you think of

it?” He gestured to the hotel in general.

She sighed, her breasts lifting and lowering in a distracting display. “It’s boring.”
Like hell, she was. He blinked. Oh yeah. The hotel. “Boring?”
She nodded, then began itemizing the details that her very smart brain had catalogued

for him. Most of them would usually be called good things. Non-offensive decor, clean
rooms, durable carpets. But taken all together…

“You really hate this place, don’t you?” he asked.
She frowned. “No. I…I just don’t like it very much.”
He nodded. “Okay. Cancel the meeting with Pauly.”
“Mr. Paulson.”
“Whatever. I’ll shower and meet you downstairs in a half hour. We can get on the road

early.”

She nodded, but there was clear panic in her expression. And she didn’t move. God,

would his erection ever go down? Shouldn’t embarrassment help in that area?

“Megan?”
“Um, are you sure? I mean, the numbers look good. Really good.”
He tilted his head, confused. “If it were your money, would you buy this place?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Enough said.”
“But it’s not my money or my decision!”
“Correct. It’s mine. And I value your opinion.”
“But…” She bit her lip, and he noted that the flesh plumped and swelled under her

attention. He nearly groaned out loud.

“Megan,” he said, “go downstairs and order us some breakfast. I’m starving. I’ll meet

you there in fifteen.” Now that they didn’t have any meetings today, he could wear jeans
and a tee. Thank God.

She nodded, the movement crisp and professional. He started to shut the door, but she

put out her hand to stop him.

“Um, sir?”
“Have you ever called me Wyatt?” he asked, already knowing the answer. “We’ve

worked together for three years now. Why haven’t you ever called me by my first name?”

She swallowed. “It’s not appropriate, s— Uh, Mr. Monroe.”
“I’m not some multi-billionaire with a stick up his ass. Just call me Wyatt when we’re

alone, okay?”

She nodded, her voice quiet. “Uh, Wyatt?”
“Yes?”
“If you give me your shirt, I can fix that button for you.”
He blinked and looked down. Sure enough, in his haste to pull on his shirt, he’d tugged

too hard on some buttons. Two—no, three—of them hung by a thread. He looked up. She
was standing there with her hand outstretched. White hand, exquisitely soft as it
wrapped around his dick. Then he felt the strength of her…

Oh God. He slammed down hard on those thoughts. “No need,” he said, the words

strangled. “I got it.”

Then he gave her a crisp nod before closing his door. Ten seconds later he stepped into

any icy cold shower.

…

Megan cradled her hot coffee and closed her eyes. It didn’t help. If anything, it imprinted
the sight of her boss in near naked glory even more indelibly on her brain.

She’d always known he was a good looking man, but she’d no idea of the power in his

frame. The chiseled cut of his muscular chest. A little bit of hair and a whole lot of
muscle. She’d nearly swooned right there. And that was so not the sight she’d needed
after last night’s erotic dream.

She’d started this morning keyed up, lusting after her mysterious masked savior. And

then to see her boss—her boss!—looking like a hot Hulk made her knees go weak and
tied her belly into knots. What she wouldn’t give to be the woman to take Wyatt to bed.
She’d always loved a big man, and he put even the World Wide Wrestlers to shame.

In fact, she mused, hadn’t he been a wrestler in high school? Bet he’d had girls trailing

after him by the dozens.

Lord, what was she doing? Fantasizing about her boss in tight spandex as he pinned

someone to the mat? Herself, maybe?

This wasn’t helping. She had to get her libido under control before he came down for

breakfast. He was her boss. She needed to focus on work.

So she pulled out her iPad and started studying the spreadsheets he’d sent her. His

work was flawless, as usual, but the way he labeled the line items was odd, the
categories bizarre. But that was Wyatt’s genius and she enjoyed studying how he
thought.

Lots of businessmen could see a piece of property and figure out its current value. But

Wyatt had an ability to see potential, to give it a number and project out based on a
variety of costs. A lot of it was speculation, but over the last three years, Megan had
come to see that his guesses were very close to psychic. It was one of the primary
reasons he was so exciting to work for. If she paid very close attention, she would start to
understand the method behind his madness.

Though looking at page after page of spreadsheets—easily a dozen of them on

Miranda’s Place—she wondered if he was just too much of a sideways thinker for anyone
to comprehend. Megan’s gift was in follow through. She might not be able to see the
potential, but she sure could help bring it into being.

That led neatly into a topic she’d been planning to broach with him for a month now. A

promotion. It was time, she realized. Past time, really. And now they had all day to
discuss it. Which naturally pushed her body into a cold sweat.

She waited until they were a half hour outside of Effingham. As was usual for them, he

was driving, she was taking notes. Or she would have been if he were talking. Normally,
it would have taken at least that long for him to stop going on about this property or that
idea, but today he was unusually silent. So a half hour into their drive, she had no excuse
left.

“Um, Mr. Monroe—”
“I thought you were going to call me Wyatt.”
She blinked, thrown off track for a moment. “Sorry, Wyatt.” His name rolled too easily

off her tongue. Maybe it was last night’s dream, maybe it was another email from her
mother about the joys of children, but she was feeling extraordinarily attracted to her
boss right then.

It was only natural. They’d worked side by side for over three years now. He was the

most amazing man she’d ever known, and he was drop dead gorgeous to boot. Of course
she was attracted to him. That was why she’d called him “Mr. Monroe” and “sir” for all
these years. It reminded her that he was off limits. She loved her job, and she’d be
damned if she let hormones derail what she planned. Especially now that she was about
to demand a promotion.

“No need to apologize. It just that I’ve been thinking about when we first met. You

were a maid then. I was the new owner. ‘Mr. Monroe’ was appropriate. But now…” He

shrugged. “It just feels stilted all of a sudden.”

He was right. And if she wanted to be on a more even basis with him—professionally

speaking—it only made sense for her to stop talking to him like she was still just a
housekeeper. “All right, Wyatt, I’ve got something I’d like to talk to you about.”

He glanced over at her, his expression unreadable. It seemed part wariness, part

excitement. As if his eyes warmed even as he grew nervous, but he didn’t speak.
Eventually, she realized that he was waiting for her to say what was on her mind.

“Right. I think, um—Wyatt—I mean…” She took a deep breath. Be bold! You deserve

this. “It’s time I had more responsibility. And, um, a raise.”

He glanced over at her again. She looked at the road. The car was tracking straight.

Everything about him was rock steady except for that little look. And here her heart was
beating triple time..

When he spoke, his deep voice filled the little car almost to bursting. “What more

responsibility do you want? Has it become, um, difficult as my assistant?”

“Not at all. In fact, I’d like to continue in this capacity. But I’ve been looking at your

numbers.”

He arched a brow at her, and she shrugged. “You send me spreadsheets nearly every

day. Did you think I didn’t look at them?”

He shook his head slowly. “No, of course you look at them. I just…” He flashed her a

rueful smile. “They’re only my tortured thoughts—”

“Put down in an intelligible fashion. Here’s the thing. You hate making sure that what

you see for a project actually happens. You like the thinking up part.”

This time his smile was wider and rather handsome. “‘Like’ is such a pale word. I would

go with ‘obsessed’ with that part. Driven by it. Neurotically so.”

She chuckled. “I was trying to be polite.”
“Don’t. Just say what’s on your mind.”
“Okay. You hate the follow through, but I love it. I like yelling at contractors, picking

out paint, and seeing the details come to life. I know I’ll need lots of direction, but I think
I can do it. And I want the chance.”

He was silent a long time. They were in a freeway interchange, so he had to navigate

that. But once they were through, he was still silent. Not a word, not a gesture. And
pretty soon Megan was wishing she’d kept her mouth shut. She liked her job. Why was
she pushing—

No, she stopped herself. She wanted this promotion. She deserved it. And she’d be

damned if she let anyone—even Wyatt, her hot, brilliant boss—keep her from it.

In the end, he finally nodded. “Okay. Promotion plus a twenty percent raise. Whatever

property I buy, you get to spearhead the work. On one condition.”

Her heart had leapt nearly out of her throat at his words. Twenty percent raise? Yes!

But then she processed his last three words. “What condition?” she said, pleased that she
hadn’t stammered.

He didn’t answer until he’d pulled over into a rest stop. Then he parked the car and

killed the engine before turning to face her directly. His gaze was so dark that she
stopped breathing. She’d never seen him looking so…haunted.

“What did I say to you?”
“What?”
“Back at Miranda’s Place, you told Miss Clark that I had said something to you.

Something horrible that you needed to hear. What was it?”

Megan felt the blood drain from her face as he asked—no, he demanded—that she

expose one of her most painful memories to him. She wasn’t surprised he didn’t
remember it. What had been a normal, generous discussion for him had been a
watershed horror for her. But its full effects hadn’t hit her for days.

Of course he didn’t know what he’d done. She sighed. “I was so young then.”
“When? Three years ago? We’ve only been working together that long.”
“Almost four,” she said. But it felt like a lifetime ago. So much had changed for her

since that morning. “It’s not important,” she said, but looking at his face, she knew he
wasn’t going to let this go.

“I hurt you,” he said softly. “I want to know how. I want to try to fix it.”
She smiled, her heart melting. Wyatt the fixer. That wasn’t how she usually thought of

him, but it fit. He saw potential and tried to make things better. It was one of the reasons
she…

Well, she wasn’t going to let her emotions start talking now. That was the surest way

to disaster.

“Megan—”
“I’m not broken, Wyatt. I was young and needed a wake-up call. You gave that to me.”
“What did I do?”
He wasn’t going to let it go, so she gestured outside. “I don’t want to do this in the car.

Let me go to the restroom and then we’ll meet at the picnic bench.” That would give her
time to think of how to best express what had happened.

He agreed, but was clearly anxious. And the weird kept getting weirder because she’d

never seen him look so upset. Not when the financing had fallen through on B&B number
6. Not when B&B number 1 had lost its roof to a tornado. Both times, he’d simply sighed
then gone back to work. New financing on better terms. New roof with an expansion. New
possibilities. That was Wyatt.

“At the picnic table,” he said just before they separated.
“Yeah. I’ll only be a moment.”
He nodded, then paused. “Megan, if it’s really too painful—”

She flashed him a bright smile. “It’s terribly painful, so I expect my raise effective

immediately.”

“Immediately?” he cried in mock outrage. “It’s the middle of a pay period.”
“I think your math skills are up to the challenge,” she drawled, relieved to see the pinch

between his brows ease. Then before he could say more, she ducked into the bathroom.

Ten minutes later, she was sitting at the park bench with her back to the freeway and

her gaze on a row of evergreens. It was really very pretty here. The sun had warmed her
seat and was now pleasant on her face. The breeze was non-existent, which was a good
thing considering it was early spring. All in all, it was quite nice for April in the Midwest.

Her phone dinged and she winced. Looking down, she saw that it was her mother. She

should never have taught the woman how to text. Scanning the missive—this one a rant
against inconsiderate women at the grocery store—she tapped out a quick response.

Sorry about the rude people. In a meeting. Talk to you later.
She hit send, then turned the phone to silent. And when she looked up, it was to see

Wyatt standing across from her, his eyes hooded.

“Problem?” he asked.
She shook her head. “My mother. She’s just lonely.”
“She needs a hobby.”
“She needs to get laid.” Then her eyes widened in horror. Had she just said that out

loud? And to her boss?

Apparently so, because he snorted a laugh. “Can’t help with that. But maybe she could

go on one of those bus trips. We passed at least five of them in the last hour. Lots of
people her own age, lots of potential friends.”

Megan’s eyes widened. Had he just given her the perfect solution for her mother

problem? If nothing else, it would keep the woman occupied for a while. “Her birthday is
coming up,” she said.

“There you go. Give her a trip, then guilt her into going.”
“I could do that.” She suddenly brightened. “I will do that. Thank you!”
He shrugged. “Glad I could help.” Then he sat down across from her, his expression

serious, his body very, very still. And he waited while she watched the way the wind
flattened his tee shirt against his very broad chest. What if she didn’t work for him? What
if instead of taking her promotion, she asked him out on a date instead? What would he
say?

“Megan?” he asked.
She blinked, abruptly jerking her thoughts away from her sudden longing. She loved her

job, she reminded herself. She was not going to tank it just because her boss was the
greatest guy she’d ever met.

“Okay,” she said, mentally re-ordering her thoughts. “You remember when I was a

maid for you? At that first B&B?”

He nodded. “Tie-dyed tanks, ripped cut-offs. Best maid I’ve ever had. Er, employed.”
“You got that right,” she said with a smile. “It was a week or so before you offered me

this job. I was talking with Paulita about weddings. She was pregnant, you know, and she
was so happy. They’d only been married a month, but she’d wanted a kid. So bam, her
dreams had come true.” Over the years, Megan had thought often about Paulita. Was the
woman still as happy as she’d been then? Did she miss having a job? Money?
Independence?

Meanwhile, Wyatt was frowning, obviously sorting through his memories. “She needed

the job, needed the money, but I didn’t know if she could work pregnant. It’s a strenuous
job.”

“Don’t I know it,” she murmured. Working in housekeeping had convinced her that she

wanted a desk job. “Then, at the end of my shift, you called me into the office and
showed me a spreadsheet.”

“An early form of my Employee Risk Evaluation.”
“Yeah, that.” She bit her lip remembering the neat column of figures. “It wasn’t just

risk. You tabulated marketable skills, education, health, any number of other factors. You
laid it all out there and boiled everything down to a single number.” She’d been a 6. On a
37 point scale. She remembered staring at that number and all but sobbing on the spot.
Her whole life, all of her reduced to a single digit number.

“I remember. I had blank spaces on your line. Things I didn’t know or couldn’t

evaluate.”

Megan took a breath, forcing herself to continue. “You told me you saw possibility in

me. That there might be a better job for me but only if I got that number up to double
digits.”

“You hadn’t graduated from college yet. I knew you were tired. You were studying

every break you had. I was…I was trying to give you incentive to finish.”

Her lips curved into a smile. “You were afraid I was going to drop out?”
“Yes.”
A single word, but it explained so much. “Well, it worked. I took that damn paper home

and stared at it. I filled it out for my parents, my brothers, my boyfriend. Hell, I even
wrote it out for Paulita. Her greatest ambition was to stay home and have a dozen kids.
That gave her a big fat zero according to your spreadsheet on all sorts of line items.”

“It wasn’t an evaluation of you as a person. It was simply a list of your job skills and

value. And I kept Paulita on. I never fired her. Not even when she was so huge she
couldn’t make a bed right.”

True enough. But at the time, she hadn’t known how big Wyatt’s heart was. Sure, he

boiled people down to a number, but then he let his heart sway him away from the cold

black and white.

“I know that now. But back then, I was getting a degree in anthropology. The only way

I could score lower was if I didn’t graduate.” She glanced up at him. “My boyfriend—the
history major—thought you were a major ass, by the way.”

He swallowed. “I’m sorry.”
She could see he still didn’t truly understand what had happened. “I dumped him

because you were right. Your entire spreadsheet boiled down to two things: hard work
and no excuses. Commitment, work hours, goal setting—that was the hard part. College
degree, job skills—that was the no-excuses part. You either had the skills or you didn’t.
The why didn’t matter. Yes or no. Point or no point.”

“Geez,” he breathed. “I was just trying to make sure you graduated from college.”
“I did. And my brother did. The other went military, but that’s another story,” she said,

studying his frowning expression. “You don’t get it. Up until then, I was thinking of the
world as my playground. I studied what I wanted when I wanted.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that. That’s what college is for.”
“But I’d never seen myself as a marketable commodity. And it’s a valuable perspective,

one that I needed to see. Otherwise, I might have graduated with an anthropology
degree and ended up working at McDonald’s.”

“You always had more drive than that. You wouldn’t have been in fast food for long.”
She smiled, extraordinarily pleased that he knew that about her. “You gave me a wake-

up call that I needed. That my brothers needed. That my mother still needs.”

“She may be a little old for some lessons.”
“But not to understand my value. That I’m trying to make a different future for myself

other than wife and mother. “ She pulled out her iPad and brought up a file. “I still have
your ERE. The newest version, by the way, not the one from three years ago.”

He looked at it, his eyebrows rising. “My goodness, look at your value. Clearly you’re

underpaid and undervalued.”

“Damn straight. Which is why my boss just gave me a twenty-five percent raise.”
“Twenty.”
“You sure?”
He flashed her smile. “I’m disorganized, not senile.”
She shrugged. “Worth a shot.” She reached for her pad, but he refused to give it up. He

was studying it closer.

“Do you have a goals list too?”
She nodded and shifted the screen to the appropriate file. That had been another one

of his ideas—done by example rather than specific suggestion. Taped to his office wall
was a list of five business goals to accomplish within a year, five years, and ten. He was
making steady progress on all three.

He looked at it and blew out a low whistle. “You want an MBA and…a hotel chain?” He

looked up. “Planning to become my competition?”

“If only,” she joked. “No, I’m not thinking ownership. Just executive in a mega corp.

Like Hilton or Marriott. You’re smaller and more innovative. There’s room for us both in
the millionaire club.”

He smiled as he swiped the screen, moving through her different lists. “What’s this?”
She glanced down. It was her personal goals list. Things she wanted in her life beyond

her career. Something that had never been on his wall. It included things like marriage,
two kids, and a vacation in Australia. “I’ve always wanted to go to Australia,” she said,
ducking the bigger items.

“Have a husband in mind?” he asked. His words sounded casual, but a glance at him

showed an underlying tension in his body. Or maybe that was her with the sudden cramp
in her belly. After all, she’d seen him without his shirt just this morning. And right now he
was outlined by the sun, his tee stretched across a sculpted body. Add to that what she
already knew about his brilliant mind and great big heart, and she was halfway to love.

“No husband yet,” she rasped. Then she swallowed. “Notice that the list doesn’t have a

timeline attached. That’s for some day. After my career is established.”

He nodded, his expression blank. Then he tapped the pad off and passed it back to her.

“So three years ago, I ripped away your childhood innocence.”

“And I never thanked you for that. Thank you, Wyatt. And my brothers thank you, too.”
He took a deep breath, his expression still vaguely haunted. “So I’m forgiven?”
She laughed, the sound surprisingly light. In fact, it felt damn good. “Yes, I believe so.

Assuming, of course, that I get that raise.”

“Twenty-five percent. Effective immediately.”
She blinked. “Twenty-five percent?”
“I just looked at your ERE. Clearly, I need to pay you more before someone else

snatches you away.”

She grinned, loving the sound of that. Then his phone rang. He glanced down at it,

flashed her a bright smile, and asked another question. “We’re agreed then, right?
Promotion, raise, and a commitment for at least another three years’ work?”

She thought about it and nodded. It was exactly what she wanted. “Agreed.”
“Good. Because you’re about to earn every penny.” Then he answered the phone. Ten

minutes later, they were headed back to Miranda’s Place.

Chapter Four

Wyatt was standing in a private graveyard on a stormy moonlit night. His head was
bowed, his cape flapped about him, and in his hand he held a blood-red rose. The other
hand crumpled a pristine sheet of linen paper.

He lifted his head and looked around. How could it be both stormy and moonlit? Mood

lighting, he realized. And mood clothing, he added, absently noting he wasn’t wearing a
shirt. Then he went back to the flow of his dream.

He looked at his hands. He lifted the red rose, seeing its sculpted perfection. He was

about to toss it on one of the graves, but his attention turned to the sheet of white linen.
Lifting it up, he read it, even though a few stray raindrops blurred the words.

PERSONAL GOALS
1. Marriage
2. Two children
3. Vacation in Australia

Megan’s list. He dropped his hand, feeling a sense of desolation fill him. Was he

standing in front of her grave? Was that why—

“Aren’t you cold?”
He looked up to see her walking through a gate that he would swear hadn’t been there

a moment ago. She was standing in a rainbow tie-dyed tank and light blue cut-offs, her
smile and her whole demeanor at odds with the gray, barren landscape. She was so
beautiful it made his heart lurch in his chest.

“I might ask you the same thing.”
She glanced down at herself and grimaced. “Oh God. My tie-dyed phase.”
“I like it.”
“I like seeing you without your shirt on, too, but…” She gestured at the stormy

landscape. “Isn’t this a little impractical?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, his eyes went down to the gravestones. He couldn’t read the

names on the markers, and he really wanted to.

“Who are they?” she asked as she came to his side.
He opened his mouth to answer, but he had none. Just an overwhelming sense of

loneliness.

“Come on, Caped Crusader,” she said as she touched his hand. “Let’s take a walk.”
Her fingers were like a live wire on his skin. The shock was electric, jolting his breath

from his body and freezing his limbs. He turned to look at her, feeling desperation
consume him. Why couldn’t he move?

She stopped and frowned. First she studied his face, then his whole body. “Stuck?” she

said, pointing to his feet.

He looked down. Somehow he had sunk knee deep into the mud and he hadn’t even

noticed. “When did that happen?”

“Doesn’t matter. Just step out. I’m sure there’s a moonlit beach around here

somewhere.”

“Why not go up toward the house?” he asked, gesturing behind her. There hadn’t been

a house there before, but there was now. He could hear kids laughing as they played on
the lawn.

“Beach,” she said firmly. “Come on.”
He tried to lift his legs, but they wouldn’t budge. He frowned, crumpling her damned list

even further while his other hand dripped blood from where the rose thorns had pierced
his skin. He looked at it. It didn’t hurt, but it sure looked dramatic.

“What’s that?” she asked, pointing to the paper.
He offered her the rose instead. “For you.”
“Somehow I’m not so keen on taking a dead woman’s rose. I assume it was for her.”

She gestured to the nearest gravestone. A woman’s name was written there, dark and
bold. Lily.

Lily? Who the hell was Lily?
“Shouldn’t you have brought lilies to Lily? Or didn’t she like them?”
“I… It doesn’t matter,” he finally said. Then he tossed the rose—suddenly turned into a

lily—onto the mound.

“And what about that?” she asked, pointing to the paper. “Last love note she wrote

you? Letter telling you she was marrying the hot young Assistant District Attorney?”

“No. It’s a list. Of things I want.”
“Really?” she said as she reached for it. “Like a shopping list? Did you put T-shirts on it?

Regular pants? Or are you more into the spare cape and new utility belt kind of
shopping?”

He frowned as her tone finally penetrated his distraction. “Are you making fun of me?”
She laughed. “It’s kinda hard not to. Look at you. So far, you’ve taken out a runaway

train, the Blob, Halloween, a psychotic doll, and the zombie apocalypse. But you’re going
to let a bit of mud keep you from walking with me? Come on. This whole graveside bit is
self-indulgent.”

He peered at her, trying to process words he could only half hear. Like sounds spoken

underwater. “I don’t understand.”

She flashed him a rueful smile. “I’m walking away. I’m going to swim.” She pointed far

down the hill to a stretch of pristine sand and the steady rush of the waves. “Looks like
Australia, doesn’t it?”

He tried to keep her with him, but he couldn’t hold on. Her fingers slipped through his

as she stepped around the graves to the gate.

“Wait!” he called.
She looked over her shoulder, her eyes flashing in mischievous delight. “I’m way past

my tie-dye phase. And swimming’s much more fun naked.” With that, she pulled off her
top. Her breasts were luminescent in the moonlight, the shape pointed and high.

“I’m going to need a little help here,” he called.
“I am helping.” She laughed. “I’m giving you incentive.” Then she shimmied out of her

cut offs. He watched her bottom wriggle, her breasts bob. Then he saw her beautiful legs
as they slowly, step by step, walked away from him.

“Megan!”
He woke on a cry, sitting bolt upright in bed, his heart hammering. Looking down, he

stared at his frozen legs. What the hell was wrong with him?

He rubbed his hand over his face and shifted his feet. Wait, he shifted his feet? He

wriggled his toes and bent his knees.

It was a dream, he reminded himself. Just a dream. His legs weren’t trapped, his body

wasn’t half sunk in a grave. He was alive and healthy.

He flopped back on his bed, the remnants of the dream still haunting him. He

remembered Megan all glowing perfection as she walked—naked—to the beach. He
ached at the memory and one part of his anatomy stirred restlessly. He tried to will
himself there, force himself back into the dream. Not on the hilltop, but down on the
beach with her.

No-go. Instead, his thoughts wandered back to the gravestone and the list he’d held

clutched in his hand.

Lily. Who the hell was Lily?
He closed his eyes, searching his memory, but he came up with nothing. How could he

have this lingering hole in his heart for a woman he didn’t even know?

He lay there, his mind chewing on the wispy threads of his dream. But the more he

thought, the more indistinct the memory became. It was a dream. Just a dream. Only a
fool would lie in bed and obsess about something so unimportant.

So he didn’t. He got up and started the hotel room coffee.

…

Megan groaned and rolled over, unfulfilled lust coursing through her. Her dream beach
had been cold and lonely. The sand had been coarse beneath her feet, and she was
miffed that her masked hero hadn’t followed her. She tried to make him appear. She’d
begged and strained. She’d even gone back to help the man. After all, something had
clearly been wrong, and what woman abandoned her guy just because it looked like he

could handle it?

But when she’d topped the rise again of that stupid graveyard, he was gone. The

emptiness had cut straight through her, shredding her heart and her dream in one cruel
stroke.

She blinked and looked around. She was back in her lovely bedroom at Miranda’s Place.

Wyatt’s phone call at the rest stop had been Bethany with a change of heart, so they’d
returned here. But even soft sheets and an eyelet comforter did nothing to dispel the
ache in Megan’s heart or between her thighs. God, how stupid was she? All but crying
over a lost dream.

She took a deep breath, trying to center her thoughts. It didn’t take long for her to

realize what was going on. It was simple biology. Her biological clock was ticking away
fast. That stupid list of personal goals had haunted her thoughts since Wyatt had poked
at it that afternoon.

Sure, her professional goals were taking a big leap forward, but maybe it was time to

work a little on her personal ones too. After all, a husband didn’t just magically appear.
One had to go looking for him. Meet men, go on dates, all that horrible singles scene
stuff.

But if she wanted a real man in bed with her instead of a dream one, then she had to

make the effort. With a flash of resolve, she pushed up in bed and grabbed her laptop.
She could stick a toe into the dating waters again. She had friends who’d met some really
nice guys through on-line dating sites. Maybe it was time to create a profile.

Ten minutes later, she found what she wanted and started creating her profile. She was

all signed up and uploading it when her email dinged.

It was from Wyatt. He was the only one who would send her email at—she peered at

the clock—3:26 a.m. Normally she would have clicked on the mail icon immediately, but
tonight she paused. Front and center in her 3:26 a.m. brain was the idea that she was
making a choice. Right here, right now, she was making a life choice. Did she keep
working on her profile, separating private time from work time? Or did she drop
everything and go back to work when normal people were sleeping?

Well, put like that, the answer was obvious. Her job would still be there in the morning.

Whatever stuff was piling into her in-box could be handled then. Wyatt didn’t expect her
to answer him in the middle of the night. I’ll wait, she decided, just as another two emails
dinged their arrival.

She clicked back to the dating site, only to start cursing herself. She had three emails

from Wyatt and she was itching to read them. What was on his mind? What amazingly
brilliant thing had come to him in the middle of the night? The curiosity was so bad, she
couldn’t focus on the personality profile of her ideal man. She couldn’t even read her own
profile at the moment. She was like an addict trying to resist her next Wyatt fix. When

had she become this obsessive about email?

She bit her lip, cursed loudly, then clicked on the icon. She’d just see if it was really a

message from Wyatt. How ridiculous would she feel if she’d been angsting over a please-
help-me-invest-my-millions email? But the minute the mailbox opened, she knew she was
doomed.

Three messages from Wyatt, all sent in the last four minutes. She sighed. It was all

well and good dividing her life into work time and private time, but Wyatt wasn’t just
some nebulous idea of her job. Wyatt was a man. A brilliant, driven, sometimes clueless,
handsome man. And he was sending her messages.

She couldn’t refuse them. Job or not, she didn’t want to. She loved working with him

and day or night, if he called, she would answer. So she opened the first email and read it
with a kind of fascination that was almost sexual. Within ten minutes she was intrigued.
Within a half hour, she was excited, her mind racing. Within an hour, her back ached, her
bed was covered with papers and pads, and she was grinning.

Four hours later, she flopped back onto her bed with a cry. Then she sighed in blissful

delight before a giggle burst free. Good God, that had been like an extended work
orgasm!

She and Wyatt had an appointment with Bethany in an hour. Megan groaned as she

looked at the time. She needed a shower and a printer. And a nap! But she was still too
keyed up.

The night before had been incredible. Once it became clear that she and Wyatt were

both awake—and working—at the same time, they had thrown ideas and spreadsheets
back and forth for how to revitalize Miranda’s Place. Wave after wave of possibilities,
plans, and numbers. Such numbers! Each email had fed on the next until she’d been
breathless and her fingers had cramped from all the things she was typing. And now, well
before the meeting with Bethany, they had a plan in place, multiple possible budgets,
even a prospective re-launch date.

“Work orgasm” was her new urban slang phrase of the day. And she had lived it. Better

yet, she had loved it. Especially since she was going to be the one to spearhead the
renovations. But only if Bethany came on board.

And that would be decided in an hour.
Another email dinged into her box. From Wyatt. She smiled. It was like one last pulse

of his orgasmic frenzy. She clicked it open and couldn’t stifle her laugh.

That was incredible. Quick! Send me the weather report and let’s close this deal! Holy

shit, I need a shower!

She picked up her phone and texted her usual wake up call to him.
Good morning, Mr. Monroe. At nine a.m. today, we have an appointment with Bethany

Clark, current owner of Miranda’s B&B. The weather appears to be clear today, mid-fifties.

She set down the phone then headed to the bathroom but was stopped short when her

phone buzzed. It was a text message.

From now on, I order you to call me Wyatt. After last night, I think our relationship has

risen to a whole new level.

Megan grinned. He was right. They’d reached a whole new working relationship. One

that felt sexual but without any of the ethical constraints. A week ago, she hadn’t even
dreamed that this type of relationship existed, much less thought of having it with Wyatt.
But they did now. A partnership. A meeting of minds, if not bodies.

Her smile faded. This is great, she reminded herself. But apparently, her body was

feeling left out of the equation.

No problem, she thought with a sigh. She was working on that too. She’d just finish her

online profile tonight. Except that thought killed her happy mood. Sure, she wanted a
whole life, one that included a husband someday. Kids, too. But her career was so
exciting right now. And the idea of a man in her life—one who wasn’t Wyatt—had her
cursing her biological clock. She didn’t want someone else. She wanted Wyatt with his
hard body and his gentle hands. She wanted him covering her body in kisses as he slowly
spread her legs and thrust inside. And she wanted those pornographic dreams with an
intensity that hurt.

Why did she have to want the one man she couldn’t have? Not without risking

everything she’d spent the last four years building.

Chapter Five

Something was wrong with Bethany. Wyatt wasn’t a man to normally notice such things—
after all, he expected the woman to be somewhat distraught when selling majority stake
in her business. Wild, sunken eyes and shaking hands were the norm, and he wouldn’t
usually let it faze him.

But flush from the success of last night’s work frenzy, Wyatt was humming with

excitement. He felt bizarrely powerful, as if with Megan’s help, he could conquer the
world. So the movement from complete sync with Megan to the jagged anxiety that was
Bethany was enough to jolt him out of his typical distraction.

He glanced at Megan, throwing her a question in a look. She just shrugged, but her

eyes were very intent as she watched Bethany pick up and put down a furred…hat pin?
What the hell was that? He had no clue except that the woman kept picking it up and
stroking it absently, only to suddenly realize what she was doing before dropping it with a
squeak. After the third time, she slammed open a desk drawer and threw it inside with an
honest to goodness growl.

Again, Wyatt exchanged a glance with Megan, who had started making discreet

notations on her iPad. He wondered if she was Googling that strange hat pin thing. Either
way, it was time to get down to business. He just didn’t really know how to start with the
jittery Bethany.

Fortunately, he had already worked out the process with Megan sometime around 5

this morning. Her job: the soothing compromiser. His job: the hard, cold bastard.

He started the process, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. “Well, you

called the meeting, Miss Clark. What is it that you wanted to talk to us about?”

She frowned at him, her scowl growing cold and furious. Fortunately, that was the

perfect time for Megan to step in.

“We know this is hard, Miss Clark. We’d like to make it easier for you if we can—”
“You want to buy this place lock, stock, and barrel. It’s my heritage, the only thing I

have in the world, and you want to take it from me.” The words were bitter, thrown out
like a gauntlet, but Wyatt would swear there was an undercurrent of hope in there. As if
she wanted him to buy the place.

He shook his head, playing his part to the utmost. “Actually, Miss Clark, as I told you

before, I can’t afford the repairs to this place. I don’t want to buy it. It’s much too
expensive.”

Megan stepped in, her voice as soothing as his was brutal. “But we did mention

compromises. Alternative possibilities. And you did call us…”

Bethany’s jaw jumped as she ground her teeth together. “I know I called you. I know

what kind of negotiating position that puts me in.”

Weak, Wyatt silently answered. Desperate. So what was going on? Meanwhile, Megan’s

eyes flashed him the same question. He had no answer for her, so she turned back to
Bethany.

“Did you have something in mind?”
Bethany nodded and flipped over a piece of paper on her desk. Then she pushed it

across the cluttered surface. “Here’s what I propose.”

Megan picked it up, scanned it, and released a semi-dramatic sigh before passing it up

to Wyatt. He didn’t even have to look down.

“That’s not the way this works,” he said softly. Right on cue, Megan pulled out the first

of their three ideas—all printed and pristine. She passed it to Miss Clark.

Bethany took it with shaking hands, then read their proposal. “Unacceptable.”
Wyatt pushed to his feet. “Sorry this didn’t work out—”
“Wait!” Bethany cried. “There’s got to be some middle ground. Isn’t that how

negotiations work?”

“Sometimes, sometimes not,” Wyatt said, making sure he sounded cold and heartless.

Inside he was starting to feel sorry for the woman. Obviously, something momentous had
happened. Three days ago, she’d all but thrown him out of her breakfast room. Worry
niggled at the back of his mind. What didn’t he know?

And just like that, Megan was there, smoothing the way. “Of course there’s room for

negotiation,” she said in a tone of mild reproof aimed at him. He glanced at her,
momentarily worried that she was annoyed with him and not acting. Before he could
figure out which, she was talking to Miss Clark. “Obviously something has happened
recently. Something has upset you, Miss…can I call you Bethany?”

The woman nodded, her chin dropping in a single dramatic slash.
“It would help if you could give us an idea of what you’re looking for.” Megan set the

woman’s paper aside.

“Something a little more realistic,” Wyatt inserted.
Bethany took a long moment. She looked at him coldly, then over to Megan with a little

more hope in her expression. She opened her mouth to speak, then abruptly shut it
again. Her hand twitched, heading for the drawer with the furred thing, but then she
abruptly slapped it back on her desk. A second later she was opening another drawer and
pulling out a neat folder.

“This is what Miranda’s Place is worth. Here are tax statements, assessor documents,

the improvements I’ve made.” She swallowed as she all but threw the folder at them.
“That’s everything.” Then she looked at Wyatt, her gaze disturbingly pleading. “Can you
pay me that?”

“No,” he said. He’d seen the bottom line. Megan was paging through the documents,

double checking everything, but it really wasn’t important. He didn’t have that kind of
ready cash. Sure, he could raise it if need be, but why do that on such a long-shot
investment?

Bethany flinched and he feared she was about to burst into tears.
Megan glanced at him. He knew that she was echoing his own thoughts. This woman

was desperate, but she wasn’t evil. He didn’t really have it in his heart to gouge her, and
with Megan looking at him like that, he knew all this maneuvering was best saved for
someone else. Bethany’s control was fraying by the second. For her sake, he needed to
end this right now.

So he leaned forward and manually slashed at the numbers on his proposal. Earlier, he

and Megan had worked out the worst deal he could still live with, and that’s what he
wrote out.

“This is the best I can do, Bethany,” he said softly. “And I mean that sincerely. I’ll get

majority control of the property, but I’ll promise these renovations.” Megan pulled out
their list and set it on the desk. “We’ll redesign all the marketing. You’ll stay on with a full
salary and can continue to live in your third floor apartment—”

“No!”
Wyatt recoiled at her terrified word. “What?”
Bethany swallowed and made an effort to control herself. “I’ve, um, I’m planning on

moving out, Mr. Monroe. Living off site. I can…” She shuddered. “I can continue to work
here, and I need at least twenty percent ownership. But you can…um, you can rent out
the top floor for guests.”

He frowned. “What’s wrong with the upstairs, Miss Clark?”
She flinched again. “Nothing’s wrong with it.”
Now it was Megan’s turn to be cold. “Don’t lie to us, Bethany, or we end this now.”
Bethany blanched but didn’t speak. Meanwhile, Megan pulled out two more printed

pages of spreadsheets.

“These are the offers that Mr. Monroe and I worked out. This was our middle offer, and

this one was bottom line what we could live with.” She pointed to where the file names
were indeed exactly that. “As you can see, he’s just made you an offer even better than
our bottom line.” Megan gave him a considering look. “I don’t know why; he appears to
be feeling generous. But I won’t let him sign anything until we know the truth. Why are
you suddenly so anxious to get out of your only home?”

Bethany shot her a hard look. “I was a lawyer before I inherited Miranda’s place.”
“And if you still wanted to be a lawyer, you’d never have started washing bed linens for

a living,” Megan cut in. “What happened?”

Bethany bit her lip, then looked away. In the end, the words came out of her in a

grudging half whisper. “This place is haunted.”

Wyatt grunted his disgust. “Yes, we are aware of the local pirate legend. A lovely tale

—”

“It’s true,” she hissed. Then she raised her hand. “Well, actually, I don’t know if that’s

really true. The whole pirate bit. And frankly, this building has been a host to a dozen
different scary or weird things over the years. But that’s not what I’m talking about.”

Wyatt sighed, uninterested in dramatics. “What are you talking about?”
“The upper floor is haunted. I suggest you renovate it, make it over into a Halloween

parlor, allow ghost tours or something. Whatever works. But I refuse to be here at night.
Look, I’ll take this deal.” She shoved the Bottom Line page at him. “But I’ll only be here
during the day.”

Wyatt shook his head slowly. He didn’t know what to think. Part of him was tallying up

exactly how much money could be made on a ghost tour or a Halloween Fright Night.
Part of him just wanted to give poor Bethany what she asked for because she looked so
incredibly unraveled at the moment. The contrast to who she’d been three days ago was
shocking. But he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not without knowing more. It was too
big a risk to everything he’d spent the last decade building.

“What happened?” he asked.
Bethany coiled in on herself. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“We’re not here to judge you.” Megan spoke up once again, her voice gentle. “We just

want to understand. You can tell us.”

“Look,” she rasped. “I don’t believe in ghosts. Never have. I leave all that weird stuff to

the tourists.”

Wyatt nodded. That was exactly how he felt.
“But it’s been getting worse,” Bethany continued. “Noises, cold spots, my things moved

around—”

“Weird dreams?” Megan inserted, a note of hope in her voice.
Wyatt jolted, as he turned to Megan. Why would she ask about dreams? Had she been

having strange ones, too? His had been off the charts bizarre. But there was no time to
ask as Bethany shook her head.

“Nothing like that. But I haven’t gotten a full night’s sleep in months, and I’m

exhausted.” Her shoulders slumped. “Just spend the night up there. Tonight. Then we can
talk about it tomorrow.”

Wyatt stared at the woman, then his eyes hopped to Megan’s. He really didn’t know

what to think. He mostly dealt in numbers. All this woo woo weirdness was as far outside
of his frame of reference as to be on Mars. But if anyone could have a handle on it, it
would be Megan. And so he looked to her. And she looked back at him.

“One night?” Megan asked. “In a haunted B&B? Some people would pay a lot of money

for that.”

Bethany cut in, her voice growing stronger as she spoke. “Not me. Look, the haunting

seems to be centered up there. In my bedroom. And I’m just not doing it anymore.”

Megan leaned forward, and he could sense her excitement even though she kept her

tone very neutral. “I wouldn’t mind giving it a shot.”

Wyatt bit back a curse. She was disguising her interest, but he knew that deep down

she was beyond thrilled by the idea of her own otherworldly encounter. As for him, he
couldn’t imagine anything more unsettling than waking to a bloody spirit hovering over
his bed. Or more ridiculous. It was all crap, but that wouldn’t stop Megan from rushing to
the experience. And since they did have to check it out, he gave a slow nod. “We’ll spend
the night on the third floor and reconvene in the morning.”

Bethany looked both relieved and anxious. “But…you have to know that there’s only

one bed up there. You will have to…um…share.”

Oh. Hell.
Meanwhile, beside him Megan trilled a too-high laugh. “That’s not a problem. I assure

you, Mr. Monroe and I are complete professionals. We can share a bed and not have any
problem at all.”

Wyatt turned to look at her, feeling a little insulted. No problem at all? Complete

professionals? What was he, a dead fish? “Right,” he heard himself agree. “No problem at
all.”

…

Megan climbed the steps to the top floor, her thoughts churning. Bethany led the way,
her every movement steeped in exhaustion. Behind them was Wyatt’s steady tread.

He’d surprised her during the negotiation. Over the years, she’d seen him be ruthless,

boiling entire lives down to numbers. No emotion, no generosity. Just cold hard facts
assigned a single value. But not today. Something in him had given in to Bethany’s
distress. Something had turned kind in him, and she was pleased to witness it. Not that
the man had ever been mean. Just callous in the way a spreadsheet is blind to the softer
side of life.

But today he’d cut straight through all the drama to a simple offer. They both knew that

if he’d just drawn out the meeting, Bethany would have sold the place lock, stock, and
barrel for a fraction of its worth. But he hadn’t done that and Megan admired the man for
that generosity of spirit.

Plus they got to spend a night in a haunted bedroom!
“Can you tell us anything about the history of this place? Anything you know as fact?”

she asked.

Bethany shrugged. “Aunt Miranda—she’s the one who willed the place to me—was a

collector of folklore. Anything wild or weird, she was into it. To make things worse, she

was a great storyteller—I’ve been sorting through her stuff, but I can’t tell what’s real and
what she just made up. It can be cross-checked, of course. Verified some way. But there’s
been so much to do just keeping this place afloat that I haven’t gotten to any of that.”

“What about the pirate tale?”
“The essence is true. A very successful ship’s captain came up from New Orleans and

built this home. He had a bride, I think. Possibly a couple kids, but I’m not sure. Whether
the woman was a Chinese concubine or a local tanner’s daughter, I haven’t a clue. As for
a grand passion, there is no evidence one way or another.” Then she pushed through the
door and shuddered. They stepped into a comfortable sitting room. There was a
television, a tiny counter with a microwave and refrigerator, and a massive reading chair
and bookcase. But as comfortable as this room looked, the woman wrapped her arms
around herself and her voice dropped to a bare whisper.

“You don’t feel it, do you?”
Megan looked at Wyatt, and they both shook their heads. “What?”
“Cold spot. Every time I walk into the room.” She sighed and looked infinitely sad. “Like

the ghost is trying to push me out. This really isn’t my kind of thing.”

The way she said that was heartbreaking, and Megan found herself impulsively

touching the frightened woman. No one should feel unwanted. Certainly not in the place
she lived.

“We’ll figure this out,” she said softly.
Bethany turned away, but when she spoke, her voice was strong. The woman had

mettle beneath her exhaustion. And that said a lot about what it had taken to get her to
this place.

“There is nothing to figure out. The ghost and I don’t get along. I can’t financially cut all

ties here, but I can move out. I can give him what he wants.” Then she started showing
them the small apartment. “This is the sitting room. There are others down the hall that
can be renovated. Right now they’re just storage for Aunt Miranda’s junk. There’s an attic,
too.” She pushed open another door. “The bedroom’s in here. I’ll have the bedding
changed and my important stuff out of here before the sun’s down.”

Clearly the woman wasn’t wasting any time. In fact, she already had a suitcase open

and mostly packed, not to mention a half dozen already sealed boxes ready for the
movers.

Wyatt stepped in and frowned down at the taped boxes. “Just how long have you been

thinking of leaving?”

“Since the middle of the night two days ago.”
“Right before you called me,” he said.
Bethany turned to look at him, her spine straightening and her stare level. “Yes, Mr.

Monroe, I’m desperate to leave, but I’m not a fool. I’ll declare bankruptcy before you gut

me or destroy the legacy here. Just because I’m not wanted by the great ghost Captain
doesn’t mean I’ll let you turn this into a box motel.”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. Oddly, he didn’t seem insulted or angry. More like

impressed. “B&Bs need character to survive, Miss Clark. It’s good that you recognize that.
And it’s much easier to build on an existing legacy than to create a new one out of whole
cloth.”

She blinked. “You’ll return this place to the majesty it once was?”
He shrugged. “Was there majesty before? Or was it the hodgepodge that exists today?”
Bethany shook her head and walked over to a portrait on the wall. It was a watercolor

of a house—this house—done by an amateur hand. From the looks of it, the house had
been 1820s Edwardian elegance, very old world and absolutely stunning.

“Aunt Miranda thinks this was painted by the pirate’s wife. I wanted to bring the house

back to its old glory, but…”

“But the restoration would cost a fortune,” Wyatt murmured.
Megan sighed, picturing this strange hotel in that style. It was what a B&B should look

like: magnificent as it presented a bygone era. A way to touch what had once been, while
still having clean sheets, good food, and an excellent staff.

“I could do this,” she said softly as she reached out to stroke the picture. Her hand

connected with the old gilt frame. A single touch and a sizzle shot through her. Electric.
Wild. It set her heart to singing even as she jumped backward with a gasp.

“Megan!” That was Wyatt, his voice sharp with alarm.
Megan looked at her finger and frowned. Nothing wrong there. No redness, no swelling,

and yet a feverish intensity still hummed in her blood. “I’m fine,” she said, resisting the
urge to close her eyes and revel in the surging emotions within her. Sadly, the feeling
was fading fast. A moment later, she wondered if she’d imagined the whole thing. “Is
there…um, some sort of live wire behind the picture? I got a kind of electric shock or
something.”

Bethany shook her head, and her expression abruptly closed down. “The wiring has

been checked multiple times. By experts. The last one was just a month ago. No
irregularities.”

Wyatt folded his arms. “How many times?”
Bethany’s eyes widened. “What?”
“How many times has the wiring been checked in the last five years?”
The woman swallowed, obviously caught. “Seven times,” she said. “Full house

inspection.”

Megan felt her eyebrows rise. “That’s a lot of checking.”
Wyatt nodded. “Must be a lot of people get electrical shocks here.”
“Just me,” Bethany said as she grabbed a stack of papers. “I’ve got all the reports right

here. Nothing is wrong with the wiring. It’s the ghost making things unpleasant.”

Wyatt grabbed the pages, flipping through the stack in rapid succession. He would

absorb everything written there in less than three minutes, which left Megan to study
Bethany.

“How many times have you gotten shocked?” she asked.
The woman’s eyes were haunted. “Every night, ever since I first came here.”
Well, that certainly gave Megan goose bumps, especially since she’d just gotten

shocked. Did that mean the ghost didn’t want her here either? Then Wyatt crossed to the
frame, touched it, and shook his head. Obviously no shock for him. He felt all around the
frame before carefully lifting the picture to inspect its back and the wall.

“Nothing that I can see,” he murmured. “But there’s got to be a logical explanation.”
“There never is,” Bethany said.
Megan ignored the non-believers. Instead, she slowly turned, looking around at every

corner of the room. She tried to ignore the furniture and the decoration. Her mind went to
the bones of the house, reconstructing in her mind the entire building to its absolute core.

Something is lonely here, she thought. Wild, alive, and so bitterly alone that it ached.

Which meant that Bethany with her tired eyes and her core of steel ought to fit perfectly
here. She seemed almost a living embodiment of this house. And yet, she was leaving. It
made no sense.

And what the hell was Megan doing imagining the emotional core of a building? Not of

a marketing plan or a decorating scheme, but deep down in the earth of this land? She
needed to squelch this wild, imaginative side of her personality. She knew Wyatt had no
acceptance of the paranormal, but she loved everything about it. Always had since she’d
seen the movie Ghost. Then her phone rang. The tone was abrupt and jarring, making
her jump. She snatched her phone, an apology on her lips, and answered without
thinking. It took barely a second before she realized her mistake.

Oh hell. She’d just answered the phone during a work day. Not a big mistake unless a

certain person was on the line. A certain person with a wheedling voice and layers of guilt
built into every word. But there was no stopping it now. She’d answered. She’d said hello.
So she grimaced and leaned against the wall trying to keep the annoyance out of her
voice.

“Hi, Mom.”

Chapter Six

Wyatt watched Megan’s whole body pull into itself as she listened to her phone. He knew
it was her mother even before she spoke. No other person called Megan at all hours—
work day or not. No one else made his otherwise amazing assistant slump or caused her
skin to go pink with embarrassment. And frankly, the whole thing pissed him off.

Mothers and daughters always had their issues, and he certainly wasn’t an expert on

the topic. But what could possibly have poisoned the relationship enough that Megan
dreaded her mother’s calls? The possibilities rolled through his mind, each more tragic
than the next. It was at times like these that he desperately wanted to be a superhero,
able to wipe away anything that scared Megan.

But he wasn’t a superman, masked or otherwise. All he could do was watch in helpless

frustration while he respected her privacy. He was her boss, not her savior, and if she
needed help telling her mother to go to hell, she would ask him for it.

So he cursed under his breath and turned away, his gaze going to the supposedly

haunted suite of rooms. Bethany was busy changing the linens of her massive king-sized
bed. He quickly looked away, unable to think about tonight with anything approaching a
professional attitude. A night spent with Megan? Hell, he’d been dreaming about her for
almost a week now. What was he going to do when she was right here? In bed with him?

He couldn’t do it. He had a good thing going here with Megan. Last night had showed

him better than anything how perfect their professional relationship worked. He’d never
had such sync with anyone. She covered his weaknesses and made him better. With her
beside him, his business future looked very bright indeed.

He’d be a thousand times a fool to mess that up. Which meant that tonight was going

to be a trial of gargantuan proportions. But he could do it. He’d just have to man up and
keep his hands to himself and his thoughts completely non-sexual. Besides, he reasoned,
they’d started working this morning at three a.m. They were both exhausted. He’d call it
an early night and drop into…not the bed. Not the soft, enticing bed.

“Do you have an extra blanket and pillow?” he abruptly asked Bethany. “I’ll sleep on

the recliner in your sitting room.”

Meanwhile, Megan snapped her phone shut. “You don’t have to do that,” she said.

“You’re the boss. You should get the bed.”

“Boss and gentleman. I’ll sleep on the recliner—”
“I’ll get what you need,” Bethany interrupted, her tone clipped. “You can figure out the

whos and the wheres later. Meanwhile, I’m sure there are documents you want to see.
The bookkeeping and the like. If you give me another hour here, we can meet for lunch
and start talking.”

Megan nodded and Wyatt was pleased to see her body coming back to her. Now that

she was off the phone, she was straightening her spine and her voice grew stronger as
she reoriented herself with the business details. “Should we meet you downstairs—”

“No,” Bethany said. “I don’t want anyone else to see. Not yet.”
“You won’t keep this secret for long, especially if you move out this afternoon.”
“I know,” Bethany said. Her gaze touched on individual pieces throughout the room. A

stack of books, a pair of earrings, the contents of her closet. He frowned, looking around.
For someone who’d lived here for years, she really didn’t have a lot of stuff.

He was just about to say something stupidly generous—to offer a delay or a

compromise or something. He had no problem being ruthless with a real estate shark;
bastard or bitch made no difference to him. He could play the game and be as heartless
as the next guy. But show him a vulnerable woman, and he crumpled. It was a major
flaw in his character, and one he had to ruthlessly suppress—especially whenever
Megan’s needy mother called. But it was real, and only a fool would pretend it didn’t
exist.

So he forced himself to turn away. To look hard at Megan who had completely

recovered from her mother’s call. He leaned down and murmured into her ear. “I’m going
to go check out the basement. Why don’t you hang here and talk to her? This just feels—”

“Awkward,” she whispered back. “And it breaks my heart. But maybe there’s a happy

middle ground.”

He flashed her a grateful smile. She understood him completely. “This is your project,”

he said. “Do whatever you think best within the limits we worked out last night.”

Megan looked up, her eyes suddenly very huge and very vulnerable. “Are you sure

about this?”

Damn, she was always this way after one of her mother’s calls. A little more unsure of

herself, a lot more unsteady. So he touched her arm, squeezing her elbow. He didn’t
know how to do “reassuring,” and that type of strength had to come from within anyway.
So he did the one thing he knew would work with Megan. He threw down the gauntlet.
“Are you telling me you’re not up to the task?”

He watched her bite her lip, the doubt coiling through her entire body. But then she

found her way. He didn’t know how, but she always did. She took a breath, straightened
her spine, and got a steely look in her eyes.

“I’ll find the middle ground, Wyatt. And I’ll make this place sing.”
He smiled. “I never doubted it.”
She blinked. “Never?”
He snorted. “Please, Megan. I never double-think you—good, bad, or otherwise. You

showed me your number. Is it wrong?”

“Nope.”

“Then do your job. I’m going to look at the foundation. And after that,” he added as he

rubbed at his eyes, “maybe a nap. Christ, I’m tired. Been years since I pulled an all-
nighter.” And with that, he escaped as fast as his cowardly feet could go.

…

Megan yawned and rubbed her eyes. Bethany was downstairs, showing Wyatt something
in the basement. She had wanted to go with—really ought to be there—but she was dog-
tired after last night’s work. She tried to resist, but hell, that big king bed was right there
covered in fluffy pillows.

With a sigh, she let herself sink into the mattress. Just a short nap. Twenty minutes

max. Just enough to get her through the afternoon…

The dream was familiar enough to be welcome. Lonely gravesite, tree and gate,

windswept sky. It was where she’d found her masked hero before. Looking down, she
realized she was carrying a bouquet of lilies. Huh. With a shrug, she placed them on the
grave then looked around. He wasn’t here, so she settled down to wait, her back to the
gravestone, her feet stretched out toward the ocean.

It wasn’t the intelligent way to sit. It would make more sense to look the other way. If

her hero showed up, he would come through the gate that way. But for whatever reason,
she chose to put her back to the sounds of laughter behind her. She would look out at the
ocean and be content.

“What are you ignoring?”
She blinked and frowned at the dark silhouette of a man as it emerged from the tree to

her right. Was it…?

No, not her caped, half-naked hero. This man had dark hair and a thick beard. His eyes

were like sharp agates, bright and hard as they stared at her. Too hard, actually, and she
shrank away from the very physical pain of his regard.

“W-who are you?” Her voice came out in a squeak, and she felt the dream world start

to slip. She was waking up, and that felt like a really good idea.

“Sorry,” he said as he abruptly moderated his entire presence. It made no sense, but

this was a dream. What had been too sharp, too cutting, suddenly turned vague. He
became more shadow than form, more vague impression than reality.

But she still remembered him as frightening. She should wake up now. She had a job to

do and really, she’d only intended on a twenty-minute break.

“Don’t worry,” he said softly. “You’re safe here.”
It was a lie, but not in the normal sense. The knowledge reverberated in the very air,

giving her both reassurance and fear. She knew that despite all the urban myths about
dying in a dream, she wasn’t in any mortal danger. She would nonetheless wake up
before hitting the bottom of a fall.

The danger with this man was different. The fear was that she’d be trapped here

forever—insubstantial and unloved. And though that terrified her, his hypnotic voice
pulled her back into slumber.

“It’s not what you think. This place is meant to help.”
She shook her head, denying it even as she settled more firmly against Lily’s

gravestone. “You shocked me. When I touched the picture frame.”

He huffed out a breath. Odd to see in a ghost, but his chest lifted and lowered just like

a normal person’s. “I was trying to talk to you. It didn’t work.”

No kidding. “Who are you?”
He answered her. A word, a breath, a scream—she didn’t know. It was an answer that

vibrated throughout the fabric of this world but had no translation into words. He was
something, and this was his place.

She opened her mouth to demand clarity. To force this vague shadow to answer her

specifically, but other words came out.

“Where’s my hero?” she asked. “Where is he?”
“Busy.” Then the man shrugged. “Awake.”
She tilted her head, trying to listen closer. How could her dream lover be awake?

Wasn’t that a contradiction in terms? After all, if she were asleep and dreaming, he ought
to be here.

“What does that mean?” she asked. Or she thought she asked. It was hard to tell, as

the kid noise behind her got steadily louder. There was a banging now.

The man answered, but what must be a crowd behind her was roaring so loudly she

saw nothing but his indistinct lips working.

“Wait, wait. I can’t hear.”
The man nodded and shut his mouth, and then they both waited with less and less

patience. What had begun with the occasional clang was now filled with trucks backfiring,
murmurs of a crowd getting increasingly agitated, and then the absolute worst thing
ever: a baby crying. A thousand babies crying. Incessant, angry, and screeching. Some
child wanted its mother, wanted food, and was beyond furious that it wasn’t getting what
it needed.

“Oh my God, that’s awful,” she gasped, pressing her ears to her head.
The man nodded. Then he jerked his chin in her direction. “It’s right behind you. Just

look.”

She didn’t really hear his words so much as know what he said. It didn’t matter. She

wasn’t looking. She wasn’t! Except as the noise got louder, the child gasping in its
screaming fury, the whole situation became an infuriating necessity.

Where the hell was the kid’s mother? Or father? Or hell, a friend of the family? Anyone

who loved the child would do. But the kid kept screaming until the very grave she sat on

seemed to tremble with the fingernails-on-chalkboard type rasp of the starving child.

“Just look,” said the man.
“No,” she said. And just like that, she woke up.

…

Megan sat bolt upright in bed, her hands clutching the pillow around her head. Her body
was trembling, her spine still arched in reaction to the noise.

Except there was no noise. Up on the top floor here, there was nothing but the

occasional scrape of a tree branch against the outside wall. No baby cries. No insistent
shadowy man. And no…no reason for her to be angry to the point of tears.

It was a dream. Just a dream, and not the fun kind.
With a sigh, she pushed out of bed and headed for the bathroom. She needed to get

herself together. Wyatt would probably want to work all evening long and she needed to
be ready.

She took her time, brushing out her hair, smoothing her clothing, and reapplying her

makeup. The familiar routine steadied her nerves. Even so, she couldn’t resist looking
over her shoulder. She had the awkward feeling that she was being watched. Not in a
threatening way. No, she didn’t sense any danger. Just a presence on the edge of her
awareness but never poking through to true consciousness.

Creepy.
There, she thought with satisfaction as she looked at herself in the mirror. Everything

was back in place. Hair, makeup, clothes. Stepping out of the bathroom, her gaze went
immediately to the watercolor painting.

Beautiful and lonely. She ached for it without even knowing why.
With a sigh, she did what she always did when confronted with an awkward emotion.

She sat down at the desk, popped open her laptop, and started in on one of Wyatt’s
spreadsheets.

Chapter Seven

Wyatt was tired of working.

He frowned as the unusual thought filtered through his sleep-fogged mind. He’d been

holed up in Bethany’s sitting room going through some reports from his two other B&Bs
when exhaustion finally caught up with him. After last night’s work frenzy with Megan it
was no surprise that he was dragging this afternoon.

So he’d kicked back in the recliner and shut his eyes for a minute. Apparently, he’d sunk

immediately into a dreamless sleep because…hell, it was nearly dinnertime. He needed
to get moving. He wasn’t close to done on those spreadsheets, and he’d had an idea
about the linen.

He rubbed his hand over his face, trying to pull back the threads of his brilliant linen

idea. Nothing. Just the pervasive thought that he was tired of working.

He and Megan had been hitting it pretty hard lately. Travel always did that to him.

Without his regular schedule at home, he ended up working non-stop. Talk about
unhealthy. It was time they did something completely relaxing.

He glanced out the window to the glorious expanse of St. Louis in a stunning panoramic

display. Then he realized with a start that he wasn’t looking through a window but a
windowed door that led out to a catwalk. Amazing. He had no idea how stable the
walkway was, but it was certainly a selling point. If he set up a bridal suite on the
opposite side with a private balcony…

He winced. Work, work, work. When had he gotten so one-sided? He was about to

spend a night with a beautiful woman. What was wrong with him that he imagined it
would be spent on marketing ideas and construction costs?

No. Just…no. Tonight he was going to see if he could do something extremely rare for

him. He was going to relax with a beautiful woman. The problem was, all the women
he’d ever dated had ended up calling him cold. One had even said, “a dead fish has more
emotions than you.” By the time he’d met Megan, he’d given up on women completely.
Besides, building his business had consumed him.

But suddenly, he was going to try again. At least in a small way. A night off with

Megan. He could do that right?

…

“You want to do what?”

Wyatt felt the strain in his smile. “I thought we’d go out tonight. To a nice restaurant.

Maybe a movie if you like, or…I don’t know. It’s St. Louis. Have you ever been to the
arch?”

“Yeah. A couple times, first with my family, later with friends. It was fun.” She said it in

a tone that meant she’d suffer through the usual tourist things if he wanted to. Not the
response he’d been hoping for.

“Well, there’s all sorts of antiquing here. And I know you like beading, right?” He

gestured to a lovely piece that peeked out between the collar of her blouse and dripped
down into her cleavage. She always wore something like that, made by her own hand. He
only caught glimpses because she buttoned her blouses over most of it, leaving a quiet
hint of color and style. Passion, he thought, carefully tucked away. “Bethany said there
were some craft stores nearby, but she didn’t know if they were any good.”

Megan frowned slightly. “She’s the owner here. She ought to know that type of stuff.”
“Um, right. So I thought we could go there, see if anything struck your fancy. Wander

through—”

“Oh! You mean check out the local color. Figure out what the tone of the town is. See

how we can capitalize on—”

“Er, no.” He took a deep breath. “Megan, brace yourself.”
She blinked and nodded at him, her expression very serious.
“We’re taking tonight off.”
“What?”
Wow, that cut. Her look of dumbfounded shock was rather alarming. Was he really such

a workaholic? He didn’t have to think hard for the answer. He supposed he was. And as
his assistant, she was too.

“We work too much,” he said firmly. “That’s not healthy.”
“But—”
“And so we’re going to do something fun. Something you enjoy. So pick it and we’ll go

do it.”

She pursed her lips and studied him. He almost checked his clothing to make sure he

was fully dressed. But then she tilted her head. “But what do you like doing? If I get to go
to a beading store, then you get something fun, too.”

He frowned. “I like to work out.”
“No, you don’t,” she shot back. “I remember when your father had his coronary bypass.

You didn’t start working out until then because you’re just terrified of ending up like your
father. You won’t, by the way.”

He winced. She was right. He worked out to keep fit, not because he enjoyed it.

“There’s nothing wrong with staying healthy.”

Her lips quirked into a…oh my, an appreciative female smile. “By all means, stay

healthy. I enjoy the eye candy every day I come to work. But that’s not exactly fun. Not a
craft store kind of fun.”

He didn’t know how to respond. The idea that she thought he was eye candy

completely short-circuited his brain.

“Oh hell,” she said, as her skin flushed pink. “I’m sorry, Wyatt. I shouldn’t have said—”
“No, no! God, don’t stop! My ego loves it.”
She laughed. “Well, that’s just what you need. More ego.”
He shrugged, feeling more awkward than he’d ever been as a teen. Sure, he knew he

was smart but that was a hell of a lot different than eye candy.

Her laughter shifted into a low, musical chuckle that seemed to drop into his spine and

reverberate straight into a very unprofessional part of his anatomy. What he wouldn’t
give to be lip to lip with her now, capturing her laughter with his mouth while—lower
down—he embedded himself deep inside her. Hell. She was his assistant, for God’s sake,
and he was in trouble.

“So, did you want to go to the craft store?”
She rocked back on her heels, her eyes dancing. “Where are we going to go that’s fun

for you?”

He grimaced, unwilling to admit the truth of his real hobby. “You’re enjoying this way

too much.”

“I wasn’t until I realized you’re hiding something.” She leaned forward, her eyes

waggling. “Come on, Wyatt, what is it going to be? Porn shop? Strip club?”

“I liked it better when you called me ‘sir.’”
“Too bad, so sad. You’re Wyatt now—by your own insistence, I might add.”
God, he’d been an idiot. There had been flashes of camaraderie between them before.

Hundreds of instances where she floated a tease, and he poked right back at her. But
now for the first time, she was being openly playful, and he loved it! He’d had trouble
resisting her before, when she was all “yes, sir” and “no, sir.” Tonight’s sleeping
arrangements loomed large in his mind.

He abruptly sobered, realizing that half his brain had traveled straight south, and he

was struggling to hold onto the other half. “Megan,” he said softly. “Are you okay with
this? Are you okay with us being…friends?”

She blinked, and her expression softened. Not in the way of a woman yielding, but in

the way of a long time friend struggling to hold off hysterical laughter. “Wyatt, we’ve
been friends for years now. I’ve taken care of your dry cleaning, helped you bus tables
and fix plumbing at the other hotels. You’ve even force fed me chicken soup when I had
that miserable cold last year.”

He blinked. “But you kept calling me ‘sir’ the whole time. And besides, you were

practically hallucinating. I didn’t think you remembered.”

She tilted her head. “I don’t forget things like that.”
Like what? It was on the tip of his tongue to ask, but this whole conversation made him

uncomfortable. Over the past few years, she’d become an integral part of his business.

He knew how rare good assistants were. And good partners. Last night’s work frenzy
would be impossible with anyone else. Not to mention how much of his multi-million
dollar corporation would fall apart if she left her job for whatever reason.

He couldn’t risk screwing that up. Office romances never worked, and there was too

much at stake for him to give in to his lust for her. No one screwed the golden goose, and
he’d be damned if he did it. The fact that he’d been having erotic dreams about her was a
flaw in his character that would never, ever be revealed. It was a bleed-through to the
personal side of life that he couldn’t afford to let go any further. Sadly, the logical side of
his brain was fast losing ground to the lustful, lonely side of him. God, what he wouldn’t
give to have her in his bed for real!

He didn’t know what to do about that. So rather than face it, he ran directly to the

lesser of his secrets. “A comic book store,” he said. “I’d, um, love to check out…” He felt
his face heat.

She smiled. “You got it. Give me a moment, and I’ll find directions to them both.”
He nodded, grateful to her for shifting into the logistical details. “And a restaurant too.

A nice one. My treat.”

“Damn straight it is,” she said as she grinned at him. “On my off days, the gentleman

always pays.”

…

Megan was in beading heaven. Bins and bins of gorgeous beads. The possibilities were
endless. Usually, she’d be wrist deep and all but quivering with the project possibilities.

Instead, at least half her attention was on her boss. They’d gone to the comic book

shop first because that was the way the logistics worked best. And wasn’t that adorable
that he thought she didn’t know he read comics? Please. Like she hadn’t seen the issues
tucked away in his briefcase. There were always at least three in there, and once she’d
caught sight of a couple graphic novels as well.

So he was a superhero fan. Who wasn’t? And now he was plopped in a chair with the

latest issue of Thor open on his lap. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him chuckle
and his large hands stretch slightly on the issue before settling back into a more relaxed
position. His shoulders, his face, even the way he sat in the too tiny chair seemed to
settle more deeply into the world. Just like a kid in his favorite place, doing his favorite
thing.

She smiled, her heart twisting inside her. No wonder she was dreaming about him. No

wonder he appeared as a superhero in her thoughts. No wonder he…

Wait. What?
Holy crap. She’d been dreaming about Wyatt.
All those amazing erotic dreams with her own mysterious superhero—those had been

about Wyatt. Wyatt with his sculpted torso, his ripped abs, and…and about fifteen inches
more in height. She glanced back at the man in the chair. He wasn’t short by any means.
But her dream superhero was close to seven feet tall. That’s why she hadn’t recognized
him before. Apparently, her subconscious wanted him taller. But that was ridiculous. He
was stunningly gorgeous just the way he was. Broad and solid, the Hulk without being
too big or too green.

He was her superhero, and she’d been… Oh God, they’d done such things in her

dreams! And even more afterward when she built on her fantasies during her awake
time. Oh, hell…

The realization made her hands shake and her knees go weak. Sure, she knew she was

attracted to Wyatt. Had been since the first day. But she’d always managed to keep him
firmly locked away in either the “boss” or the “friend” category. But her dream superhero
had snuck in through her subconscious. She had real sexual, womanly feelings for the
man. And now with the two of them merged into one person, she couldn’t keep her
feelings tightly locked down anymore.

Then to make things even worse, he chose that moment to look up at her. She watched

his eyes widen and his head tilt in an unspoken question. She knew exactly what he was
thinking: Are you all right? Anything I can do to help?

She shook her head, the answer to both questions at once. He quietly folded his comic

and sat still, his gaze on her. Lord, that just made everything worse. He was looking at
her. He was waiting patiently to help her. All that broad body, muscular thighs, and big
hands were waiting to serve her. That’s what they’d done in her dreams. That’s what part
of her was suddenly lusting for with a strength that stunned her.

Holy crap, what was she going to do? Office relationships never worked. She’d seen

some of her friends go through them, and they always ended badly.

Megan loved her job. She’d just committed to three more years with Wyatt. She

couldn’t screw that up now. She had career goals that would get completely derailed if
she messed with this.

Wyatt set aside his comic and came to her side. Now suddenly, she was hyper-aware of

his scent. She didn’t even know what deodorant he used, but it smelled lovely and was
him through and through. Hard. Manly.

“Aren’t you finding anything?” he asked. His voice rumbled through her, settling low in

her belly. Big man, big voice, big—

“No, no! Uh, I mean, yes, I am. Lots of great stuff here. Let me just go buy this—” She

dumped some random beads in her tray. “Then we can get going.”

He looked at her, a question in his eyes, but he didn’t push. Thank heaven. She didn’t

think she could string together a coherent excuse for her babbling.

“No rush,” he said. “Take your time.”

A year wouldn’t be enough time for her to process this disaster, but she’d take what she

could get. “Five minutes,” she mumbled.

His long fingers dropped lightly on her shoulder. The flash of recognition sizzled through

her entire body. That’s what she’d felt in her dream. Big hands on the joystick. Strong
hands right before they’d…

Oh no.
“Are you sure you’re okay? We’ve been pushing it really hard. If you just want to go

back and crash, that’s okay with me.”

Crash. Like on a bed. With him right beside her? It didn’t matter that he planned to

sleep in the recliner. Her libido had them wrapped together on that luscious king-sized
bed.

“No, no!” she squeaked. “I mean, I’m doing great. Hungry. Just, um, hungry. Very

hungry.” For him. No—don’t think that! “Let me go buy this and then we’ll eat. I’m really
—”

“Hungry. Yeah, I got that part.” His tone was teasing, but there was still that

underlying question. What was up with her?

What was she going to do? She’d only just gotten to the point where she could tease

him without him stiffening up. It wasn’t that he was a cold person. Far from it. Just that
with his brain in work mode, they acted in a certain manner. The ebb and flow of
business ideas was well established and very familiar. Anything outside of that easy
pattern seemed to jolt him, and she immediately rushed to put them on a professional
footing again.

That had been the reason she’d stuck to “yes, sir” and “no, sir” for all these years. He

seemed to be comfortable in that pattern. But now that she’d pushed for a promotion,
now that she wanted to be more of a colleague than an assistant, suddenly all these
extra possibilities were appearing.

She called him “Wyatt” now. She went to a comic book shop with him, and now out to

dinner. And at night…

She swallowed. One step at a time. She’d figure it out as she went along. After all,

three years ago she hadn’t a clue how to be an administrative assistant. Now she was a
dream at the job. The best one on the planet, or so he often told her.

This change would just take a little time. She’d find her sea legs. She’d be okay. They’d

be okay. Because this job was just too important to her to screw it up.

“I’ll just buy my beads,” she said. “Then we’ll have a great dinner.”
“Ooooo-kay,” he said as he stood there waiting for her to do just that.
“Yeah. Right. Good.” Then she turned tail and ran to the cashier.

Chapter Eight

“So I did some digging while you were napping.”

Wyatt stiffened in his seat, his waistband tightening almost painfully against his

overstuffed stomach. Wow, dinner had been great. “I did not nap,” he said with mock
horror.

She laughed, her mysterious nervousness from earlier completely gone. “Fine, while

you were studying the back of your eyelids this afternoon and making those very rhythmic
snoring-like sounds—”

“I don’t snore!”
Her expression went completely deadpan, but her eyes danced. “Of course not, sir. Not

a snore. Just a new form of talking to yourself, I’m sure.”

He huffed. “I have been known to talk to myself from time to time.”
“Sign of genius, sir.”
He arched a brow at her, trying to look intimidating. It didn’t work, but then it never did

on her. “You were doing some digging?” he prompted. “And call me Wyatt.”

She nodded, leaning forward eagerly as she pushed aside her empty dessert plate.

Watching her eat double chocolate decadence cake had been a torture all its own. Her
pink tongue had been dexterous as she licked at the chocolate, and her eyes had gone all
dreamy. He’d had to adjust his trousers for the thousandth time. He just knew what
sounds she made during climax. That memory—and that fantasy—was crossing the line.
But he’d given up fighting it. He had feelings for his assistant. Lots of feelings, and no
matter how hard he tried to suppress them, they weren’t going away.

“You wouldn’t believe what I found,” she said. “Bethany wasn’t kidding when she said

her aunt had collected all sorts of weird stuff. Folklore wasn’t the half of it. She’s got
magic amulets from New Orleans, beautifully carved ink blocks from China, pigmy tribe
poison darts—”

“Seriously?”
“Books galore and even some hand-written stuff on velum. Velum!”
Wyatt blinked, his mind momentarily diverted from the sight of her flushed face and

animated movements. “How much stuff?”

“Enough to decorate the whole B&B with plenty to spare. Who knows how much of it is

valuable. We’d have to bring in an expert. Possibly several experts. Don’t know. But
there’s a theme and a marketing angle in there somewhere.”

“At least one.”
“Honestly, it’s called Miranda’s Place. We should make it her place for real. The woman

had a fascinating past.”

“The whole house is interesting,” he said. “The pirate was just the beginning. The place

was a stop on the Underground Railroad. It served for a time as a home for TB victims.
It’s amazing. The past goes on and on.”

She released a happy sigh. “I want this building, Wyatt. I want to make it over the way

it should be.”

“You’re not afraid of the ghost?” He knew she wasn’t. In truth, he was hoping she’d say

she didn’t believe in ghosts.

“Ghost shmost! No shadowy bearded guy is going to keep me from making this place

into a gold mine.”

He was about to say something, but his words caught and changed halfway to his

mouth. “Shadowy bearded guy? Did Bethany say he looked like that?”

She swallowed and her gaze slipped away. “Um, no.”
He studied her, dread coiling in his stomach. She wasn’t actually a true believer? Was

she? “Something happened. You think you met him.”

She snorted, the sound much too emphatic. “Nothing happened, Wyatt. I just had a

dream obviously prompted by all this ghost talk.”

He didn’t believe her. Her eyes were sparkling with excitement. She got into this stuff,

he knew, but now he didn’t know how to take that. Part of him wanted to classify her as a
paranormal nutcase, but he knew that wasn’t true. Meanwhile, she must have read the
skepticism on his face because she looked him dead in the eye and lied. “Active
imagination. Nothing supernatural about that.”

“You’re a terrible liar,” he said.
She looked back down at her food. “I know you don’t believe,” she said, “but a lot of

people do.”

“Meaning, you.”
“Meaning a lot of people.” She huffed out an irritated breath. “So long as no one gets

hurt, what does it matter?”

It didn’t. Assuming he didn’t start to doubt her sanity. Meanwhile, his brain went back

to business as he mulled over the angles in his mind. She was right about the sales
opportunity to the paranormal nutjobs. “What would make you turn around and run from
this place?”

“Earthquake. Tsunami. Termites.”
He chuckled. “No termites. But seriously, what would be a deal-breaker on this house?

Forget the money. We can work out the numbers. What would be too scary for you to
accept?”

She took her time answering, filling the silence with the business of leaving the

restaurant. They were going to walk back through scenic Cherry Moon. At least half the
storefronts were closed, but he still saw potential. Always possibilities. Sadly, the

possibilities his mind focused on right now were all pornographic. And all involved
tonight’s sleeping arrangements with Megan.

“Wow, that’s loud,” Megan commented.
He nodded, reading the sign above an open door. “The Pirate Bar. Yo Ho Ho.”
“And a bottle of rum,” Megan added.
Wyatt gestured at the deafening music coming out from the open doors. “Who knew

pirates loved bluegrass.”

“They have reggae on Wednesday nights, swing dancing on Thursdays, and classic rock

on Fridays.”

Wyatt blinked. “Reggae? In the Midwest?”
She lifted her chin. “Don’t judge. Music is universal.”
He chuckled, then quieted. She still hadn’t answered his question, and from her heavy

sigh, she knew he was waiting. Finally she took his arm, her fingers slipping through the
crook in his elbow as if they’d always done that. As if she were his date and he were the
happiest man in the world taking a stroll with his woman at his side.

“I love all things horror,” she said. “There isn’t a zombie apocalypse I haven’t watched.

Paranormal sleuths are my escapist reading and true life ghost stories get me every
time.” Her voice trailed away into a vaguely awkward silence.

“But?”
“But I’ve read scary true-life stories. If we’re talking sparkly lights and tingling feelings,

that’s one thing. Give me scents and sounds that make your back clench and your breath
freeze, and I’ll belly up and ask for extra sprinkles.”

“You know you’re mixing metaphors, right?”
“This conversation calls for a little mixing, don’t you think?”
He chuckled. “Good point. Please continue.”
“But…” She took a deep breath. “I won’t endanger anyone. I know that sounds weird

given that we’re talking about ghosts, and we really can’t control anything, but—”

“We’re going to have to figure out exactly what we’re selling and what we’re getting.”
“Exactly,” she said, squeezing his arm. “I knew you’d understand.”
“So what would make you say no-go?”
She grimaced. “You’re like a dog with a bone,” she groused. “I don’t know.”
“Well, think about it. You wanted the promotion and more responsibility. I’m giving you

profit sharing here. So think like an owner.”

She jolted. “You are?”
Oops. Had he forgotten to tell her that? “I am. But that means debt sharing too if it

goes bust. You up for that?”

“Can I work it off? I don’t have the cash. You might be forced to keep me around a

really long time.”

“I’ll find a way to endure,” he said with a laugh. In truth, more time with her sounded

like heaven. Or hell if his current thoughts were any indication. They’d just had a lovely
afternoon and a fabulous dinner. They were walking along moonlit streets and tucked
tightly together against the wind. If his dick got any harder, he’d have to call for a cab
because he sure as hell wasn’t going to be able to walk.

“Okay,” she said, oblivious to his physical difficulties. “If one of us wakes up with a

bloody stump for an arm, obviously the deal’s off.”

“Bloody stump. No sale. Got it.”
“Same if we’re dead or dismembered in any way.”
“Good thought. What if we’re just possessed?” He was pulling out all the scary things

from a lifetime of reading comics. There wasn’t a superhero yet who hadn’t been
possessed in some way.

“Weeeeeell, that’s a different story. I mean, if it’s a permanent possession, then we’re

good. Especially if the pirate takes you over. After all, no one else is going to get
possessed. So I’ll just trot you out to all the guests as the dead pirate and make a mint.
Course I’d have to take over the business, as the pirate wouldn’t have a clue about your
other holdings and stuff.”

He snorted. “I think I’m going to have to draw a line here. Any possession—of either of

us—and the deal’s off.”

She heaved a dramatic sigh. “Well, if you insist.”
“I do.” Lord, this was a ridiculous conversation. But oddly enough, he was enjoying it.

He could laugh at it with her.

“Okay,” she said with a huff. “I’ve already covered fancy lights, bizarre scents, even the

random moving objects—those are all good.”

“I hate it when someone misplaces my keys.”
“That’s not a ghost, Wyatt. You misplace your own keys.”
“And I hate it.”
She laughed as he pulled open the B&B doors. The musical sound filled the foyer as the

light and the heat enveloped them. It felt like coming home in a way his real house had
never been. Joyous, filled with laughter, and all because of one woman.

He turned, seeing her eyes sparkle in the light. Their gazes caught and held for an

endless moment. What he wouldn’t give for a sprig of mistletoe right now. His belly
tensed, his arm rippled beneath her tightening fingers…

But then he pulled away. He couldn’t kiss her. It was too big a step to take without

some serious thought. He was a logical man, and he didn’t do anything without proper
planning or forethought. “Come on upstairs,” he said, pushing the words through his tight
throat. “There’s something you need to see.”

“Are you going to show me your etchings?” she quipped, using that old swinger’s line.

It was a lame joke and he tried to laugh. He really did. But the idea of being on a real

date with her—one where he could make moves on her—had him clenching in hunger. He
wanted her with an ache that began in his balls but spread to his heart.

And what a shock that was. As a man of logic, he’d assumed that tender emotions

didn’t really affect him. But suddenly, he was thinking of other things. And in a day of
revelations, that was the biggest surprise of all.

They made it to Bethany’s apartment. He took Megan straight to the blocked

window/door, opening it up to the catwalk just outside. He’d performed a cursory
inspection late that afternoon, and so he felt secure in showing Megan some of it. “This
main part’s safe,” he said, “but we can’t go anywhere along the east side. I don’t trust the
construction. But it can be fixed. And frankly, I think opening the upper floor and the
catwalk ought to be priority one.”

She nodded as she stepped outside, her gaze peering down as she made her own

assessment of the rough wood planks. “How did I not even notice this?” she murmured.

“Because it isn’t in any of the pictures. It’s the back of the house and it’s only on the

third floor.”

Then she looked up. “My God,” she breathed.
He smiled, knowing what she saw. The back landscape was a spectacular expanse of

dark trees, black ribbon of river, and the occasional colored dot of city lights. It wasn’t St.
Louis that was on the opposite side of the house. No, this view was mostly moonlit
shadows in varying shades of lavender. It was lovely, but nothing compared to the spread
if you tilted your head a few more degrees up.

“That’s incredible,” she said. Stars. A zillion beautiful stars spread like diamonds across

the sky.

He smiled, his gaze caught by something else. Yes, the sky was incredible, but he

looked at her face. Pink cheeks, red lips, and her hair fanning out from the wind.
Beautiful. But what made the sight transcendent was her expression. Awe—stunned and
reverent.

This land, this house, this view—it all combined into something magnificent. And if a

ghost lived here, then he could understand it. Who would want to leave this?

Except in his mind, the question changed. Who would want to leave her? How could he

ever want anyone but Megan? Having finally acknowledged his feelings for her, his
emotional side apparently was going whole hog. Suddenly, Megan was perfection itself.
She was what made an awe-inspiring view into something life changing. The sane part of
him said the wine at dinner must have gone to his head and he needed to lie down until
it passed.

While he struggled with his own feelings, she turned a slow circle, looking at everything

with wide eyes. Then she ended up facing him, her lips parted on a sigh. “Oh Wyatt,” she

whispered.

She held out her hand to him, and he crossed the last distance to her side. She stood in

the wind, so he felt the cold cut through him. Without even thinking about it, he wrapped
his arms around her, trying to shelter her from the elements. They were face to face,
their mouths a few inches apart.

“Better?” he asked as he turned his back to the wind. He wasn’t over six feet tall, but

he was broad. At a minimum, he could function as a wind break.

She nodded. Then she reached up, her fingers cold against his cheek, but he still felt

her touch like a brand. Was it an invitation? There was a question in her eyes, and her
body felt so perfect as she pressed tight into him.

Heat seared through his groin, and lust trapped his breath. His logical side made one

last effort to keep him from making an irrevocable mistake, but he couldn’t stop himself.
His head dipped down and hers stretched up.

Their mouths met in what he would swear was a flash of sparks. He was kissing Megan

for real, and that was the most miraculous thing.

Lip to lip at first. Then fuller, hotter as he bore down and swept into her mouth. She

opened to him, her own tongue bold and hungry. He’d wrapped his arms around her to
shield her from the wind, but now he pressed her tightly against him, thrilled that her
athletic body felt strong enough that he didn’t crush her. Then she flexed, her hips
pressing into him. It was a blatant invitation. And in case he missed it the first time, she
did it again in what had to be a demand.

He growled, deep in his throat. It was a sound he’d never made, but it roared up from

his most primitive soul. He gripped her tighter, bending her backward enough that he
could plunder her mouth, her face, and down to her neck. His hands slid down to grip her
hips, and he thrust his groin against her in a mindless tempo. Hard thrust. Powerful grind.
Once. Twice.

God, he wanted her. He lifted her up, wanting to spread her legs and slam himself

inside her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held on, a cry escaping her lips.

Yes! He wanted to strip her right there, but he was still holding her up. And then a gust

of wind hit, cold enough to cut through the sensations of willing woman to make him feel
acutely uncomfortable.

Too cold. They had to get inside.
He took the steps—three of them—to get to the door. But he couldn’t maneuver her

inside without letting her go. Damn it, he didn’t want to release her! But the logistical
puzzle was too much for his Neanderthal mind to sort through. His higher brain functions
kicked in. Enough to set her down, manage the door knob, and then…

And then he watched her swallow, her eyes growing wide as she took in the door, the

bed, the way she was still wrapped around him and he wasn’t about to let her go.

“Oh shit,” she whispered.
Oh shit? Those were not the words he wanted to hear. He swallowed, trying to strangle

his lust so he could think. They were still outside, and she was tightening her arms on his
shoulders. Not to pull her tighter, but to hold him back. No! No!

“I like my job, Wyatt. I love my job.”
He nodded, his head bobbing up and down like a complete idiot. “I love it, too,” he

said. He meant that he loved that she loved hers, but that was too many words for his
brain to handle just then.

“We can’t screw this up,” she said.
There was panic in her tone and that chilled him more than the weather. “Don’t be

afraid,” he said, and a part of him wondered if he was talking to himself or to her. Just to
make it clear, he took a deep breath. “I’d never hurt you.”

“Not on purpose,” she said. “I know it would never be on purpose.”
Caution. Reason. All those things Neanderthal him did not want to hear. He closed his

eyes. He had to let her go. He had to step back.

“We’re consenting adults,” he said. Damn, had he just started begging her?
“But that means we are logical beings. We can think before we act.” Her leg dropped

away from his. No!

He searched her face. “What do you want?” Say my name. Say you want me.
She swallowed. “Let’s go inside. It’s warmer in there.” But neither one of them moved.

And in that chill silence with the wind pushing them and the stars reeling overhead,
Wyatt felt himself settle into that cold, empty graveyard of a place of his dreams.

“I’m going to go inside,” he said to himself. The words weren’t intention so much as

prediction. It’s what he always did. “I’m going to sleep in the recliner.”

“It’s probably best,” she said, her expression tightened and her gaze centered on the

rickety catwalk.

He nodded. “We can talk about this in the morning. When we’re a little more clear

headed.”

“No moonlight, no stars.”
“No impulse. No hormones.”
She touched his face. Just like before, her fingers were cold but the wake of her touch

burned. “We’re damned fools, Wyatt. We both want this.”

“We want a lot of things. Are you willing to risk what we’ve built together? What about

this B&B? And all our plans?”

“Are they at risk?” she challenged.
He didn’t know. He couldn’t think. He only wanted her. “One week,” he said. “We

should give it one week. The question is already on the table. In a week, we’ll be back in
Chicago, we’ll have thought about it. We can…”

“Go on a date then?”
“Yeah. I’ll find someplace nice for dinner. We’ll do it right. And we can—”
“Talk about it. Make a rational decision.”
“With pros and cons and risks and rewards. Just as if we were talking about a new

property.”

She flashed him a half-hearted smile. “You going to make a spreadsheet about this

too? Reduce it all to a number?”

“Probably.”
“Yeah. Me, too. Probably.”
He swallowed. He was freezing. She had to be an icicle by now. So with shaking hands,

he managed the doorknob and pushed inside. She followed a heartbeat later. Heat
enfolded them, and he couldn’t help but notice the tight points of her nipples. He could
push the situation. He could right now be kissing those peaks while settling between her
thighs. He could suck and thrust his way to a screaming orgasm.

Instead, he’d chosen to stop. They both had. Did she regret it as much as he did?
“I’m, uh, going to…read now. In the recliner. And then…”
She nodded too vigorously as she gestured to the desk. It looked at first as if she were

about to point to the bed, but then rapidly shifted to the desk. “I’ve got a lot of numbers I
want to run.”

He grimaced. “Don’t work, Megan. Just…don’t.” He didn’t want her to turn into him—all

about money and a cold, empty bed.

She nodded as if understanding what he meant. “O-okay. I’ll read something fun then.

Or, um, sort through my new beads.”

“Good idea.”
“Are you sure you don’t want the bed? I could—”
“No! No.” He wasn’t likely to sleep much anyway. No sense denying her a good night’s

rest if he was going to spend the night wide awake with blue balls. “I’ll take the recliner.”

“Okay.”
“Okay.”
Then they stared at each other for the longest, most awkward silence of their entire

relationship.

“Good night,” he said. Then he walked to the parlor and firmly shut the door.

Chapter Nine

Megan was screaming her lungs out. Hot and hard and with every inch of her diaphragm.
She didn’t know why. She was just standing in a…darkened warehouse? WTF? Definitely a
warehouse with stacking crates and a huge hook hanging from the ceiling along with
chains and all sorts of evil nastiness.

And she was in stiletto boots. Shiny black stiletto. Was she nuts? She could break an

ankle in these things. Maybe she was screaming because her shoes hurt so damned
much.

Then she heard it: a roar and a crash. In flew Wyatt, dressed as her masked hero,

bursting straight through the wall. Cement blocks flew past her, dust went everywhere,
and he stood there with his cape billowing and his skin…blue? What?

“Megan!” he bellowed. “Where are you?”
“Here!” she cried between coughs. Cement block was not a good inhalant.
He spotted her where she was crouched, praying she didn’t get flattened by a random

piece of wall. She flashed him a grateful smile as she started to stand. He rushed forward
and…ran straight into a trap.

It was a rather impressive trap. And wholly unbelievable. Before the man had burst in,

she’d been standing right there. She’d walked across the entire floor without triggering
anything. But one step by her masked hero and whip, bang! Suddenly he was suspended
in air, wrapped in chains, and that big hook in the ceiling? It had him by the back of his
utility belt.

She rocked back on her heels and just stared as steel links seemed to grow and

entwine about his massive torso. “That is so not possible.”

“What are you doing?” he gasped as he struggled futilely in the chains.
“Uh…”
“Why would you do this to me?”
She blinked then abruptly put the pieces together. That’s why she was in stiletto boots.

And her screams had been to lure him inside. She was the villainess! The black body suit
gave her curves and a waist that had never been hers, a golden rope hung at her side
from an invisible latch, and a cat’s tail whipped and coiled behind her. She glanced
around. She had a tail? Cool!

Meanwhile, Evil Megan strutted forward. She moved with various seductive parts of her

body sticking forward in awkward but apparently attractive poses. She knew because his
eyes were riveted on her body, his nostrils flared, and certain very prominent parts of his
body became gargantuan.

“Why are you blue?” she asked.

He blinked, then looked down at himself. “What? Oh. Uh, never mind. Megan, let me

down. We can talk.”

“I don’t think so, hero boy. And while we’re on the subject of appearances, why do you

look like that?”

He blinked. “Like what?”
“Tall. I know who you are.”
He reared back, horror on his face. “You couldn’t possibly!”
“Oh please,” she drawled, then she gestured with her hands. The chains—now turned

to dark green vines for some bizarre reason—slowly lowered him to eye level with her.
His feet were still suspended well off the floor, but now she could touch him freely. She
reached for his face, but he drew back. He fought her vines, his muscles bulging, his face
beaded with sweat, but there was nowhere for him to go. Her vines held him immobile.

“Careful,” she mewed. “You’ll hurt yourself.”
He shot her a glare. “You know you’re mixing metaphors right? Chains, vines, cattail.

You’re all over the place.”

She smiled. “And you’re trying to distract me.” She grabbed hold of his mask—a dark

Lycra-like hood that covered half his face—and started to peel it back.

“Don’t! You’ll ruin everything!” he bellowed. But she was relentless.
“I already know who you are.” She lifted the thing off and threw it away. “Wyatt.”
He grimaced and just like that, his body compressed and broadened. It even became

mostly flesh colored, the blue fading out to a dark violet shadow that emphasized his very
cut torso. “You shouldn’t have done that,” he said softly.

“Why?” Unable to resist, she touched his broad chest, loving the bulk of him. The sheer

power in every hot inch of him. “I love how you look.” Then on sudden inspiration—or
because it was the natural part of this dream—she grabbed her golden rope from her hip
and quickly twisted it around his head. “Now you have to answer my questions truthfully.”

“Do not!” he shot back, then he winced. “Oh wait. I guess I do.” His words came out

more like: Eyy wreess. Eyyy <grunt> do. Clearly he was fighting the compulsion, and she
just grinned. Wow, it was fun being the evil bitch. Except for the stilettos, of course, but
she wasn’t thinking about them so much now. Not with his glorious body splayed so
beautifully in front of her.

“So, truth time, Hero. Why did you hide your identity from me?”
He swallowed and turned away, clearly trying to outsmart the truth rope by not

speaking at all. She reached up and firmly pulled his face back to hers.

“Why, Wyatt?”
“You’re not supposed to know!”
“Know what?”
He swallowed, his eyes growing panicked. Then to his horror and her delight, his

extremely impressive organ twitched. It more than twitched—it surged and rocked as if
straining for her.

“I wasn’t supposed to know that you want me? Is that it?” She studied his face, then

slowly trailed her hand down his naked torso. He let out a strangled sound—part hunger,
part terror—but she would not stop. She explored inch by glorious inch across then down
his quivering torso until she held him cupped in her hand. Well, not all of him. She’d need
way more of her body to fully grip him, but she held enough. Hot and hard, he throbbed
beneath her hand. His face contorted as he fought the feeling, but in the end he
surrendered. Releasing a moan of pleasure, he closed his eyes and let his head drop.

“It’s not professional,” he said on a soft moan.
“Blah blah, you work too hard.” She stepped closer, thrilled by the idea of having him

completely at her mercy like this. “There’s something else. Something you’re not telling
me,” she said.

She didn’t even have to think about the next step. It happened as if on an afterthought.

All those tiny green vines that surrounded him suddenly grew shoots that pierced his tight
pants. A thousand little stabs through the fabric that then coiled back and out, around
and through.

“No,” Wyatt moaned, but it was a sound filled with pleasure. Whatever those vines

were doing, apparently it felt very good. And then—pfft—his costume completely
disintegrated. He was gloriously naked, and she couldn’t stop staring.

“Is it hot in here?” she quipped. “Someone took off all your clothes.”
He didn’t answer. His jaw was clenched tight, his belly was rippling, and…oh my…had

she been stroking him all this time? Guess so. Because his abs were rippling, his body
tightening just before his release.

“Megan! Stop!”
She did. She wasn’t about to let him get off that easy. So she stepped back and then

had an icy cold vine wrap around him. She knew it was icy because it was blue and he
hissed—and shrank—as it wrapped around his organ.

“Not so fast, un-masked man. We’re not done talking.”
“Nothing… to… say…” he ground out.
She eased up the vine around his cock. She didn’t want to cause it permanent damage.

But she did add a blue chill to all those other vines holding him still. He cried out as much
in frustration as in pain, and she got to watch his whole body contract in reaction. Wow,
all those muscles were so pretty. But she wasn’t about to get distracted.

“So you’ve been attracted to me for a while.”
“No! Of course not!”
“Golden rope of truth, remember?”
“Oh hell. Fine. Since the day I first saw you. Your tie-dyed crop top still haunts my

dreams.”

She smiled. Really? Well, of course it did. After all, she’d been a saucy college student

then. She’d known exactly what kind of looks she got when she wore tie-dye. Or at least
that particular top.

“Yeah.” She drew out the word. “I think I wore it just to torture you.” Then she blinked.

Hell, was the rope of truth working on her at the same time? She hadn’t meant to admit
that.

His eyes popped open as he stared at her. “So you noticed me too? Even back then?”
She shrugged, feeling compelled to answer. “What’s not to like? You looked hot,

worked hard, and are worth $4.7 million.” She knew. She’d looked it up.

“Not back then.”
“You were close enough. I was a broke student on scholarship working as a maid. You

owned the hotel. That equated to billionaire in my book. Besides, you noticed me. And
not just how I looked in the crop top. You saw me. My skills, my potential, my—”

“Your brain? Yeah. Sexiest part of you, Megan. You’re wicked smart. And yeah, I’ve

wanted to bed you from the very first day. But I hired you. Then I promoted you. Now I
work with you every damn day. Don’t you think I’ve been tortured enough? God, to see
you, to smell you, to know you, and not be able to touch you? Some days I think I’ll go
mad with wanting.”

She blinked at him, her mind reeling. “Really?”
“Rope of truth, remember?”
She swallowed and slowly let go of the rope such that it dangled down between them.

It was still looped around his neck, he was still strung up like a Christmas turkey, and yet,
it felt like they were both just standing there looking at each other. Eye to eye. Nose to
nose. And…breast to breast. Hip to hip.

“Wyatt, what’s going on?” She had a guess. It was out there, hovering somewhere. But

right now, it was less than nothing to her. She wanted him. He wanted her. Why should
they wait?

“Because I’m a cold fish,” he ground out.
She stared at him. “What?”
“I reduce everything to numbers, just like a robot. And you’re…” He gestured with one

finger. It was the only part of him not strapped down. “You’re wild and free. You wear tie-
dye and believe in ghosts. We work well together in business because your free spirit is
restrained, and my logic is an asset. But a relationship is different.”

She swallowed, knowing the truth of it in her core. He was a numbers guy who’d never

had a serious date in all the years she’d known him. Maybe he didn’t feel those tender
emotions. Even though he exaggerated her wild side, she was still a person. She still
wanted love and affection. “You’re saying you don’t want a serious relationship?”

He shook his head, his expression infinitely sad. “I don’t know. It’s never worked

before.”

“Is that why I’ve never seen you date anyone?”
He snorted. “You think I built to $4.7 million by looking for girls? By the time I finished

college, I’d had enough women dump me because I’m more computer than man.”

“That’s not true!” she said, her irritation making the vines tighten on him until he

groaned. Then she started stroking his body, glorying in the ripple of his muscles and the
way his skin heated beneath her touch. She heard his ragged breath and knew he was a
man, not a machine. “You’re logical, Wyatt. Not a robot.” She said the words, but part of
her wondered. After all, until tonight, she’d never even known he wanted her. What kind
of man could hide his lust for years?

He touched her face. Where had all those chains and vines gone? “This is a dream,” he

said. “We should wake up.”

She bit her lip, looking down at the ugly concrete floor. “Yes, we probably should.”

Then she felt his fingers sink into her hair, popping off her own tight bandana mask. Huh.
She hadn’t even realized she was wearing that.

“I’d much rather unlatch this evil villainess costume. Think your magic vines can help

me out?”

Her head jerked up and she looked into his eyes. They practically burned with a dark

intensity, one she’d only seen when he’d had a brilliant inspiration. It was a kind of fever
that gripped him when he was focused on one thing. And this time, he was looking at her.

She swallowed, feeling dizzy with the possibilities, but she wasn’t backing down.

“You’re the superhero. You figure it out. “

A couple of his fingers slipped beneath her jaw, tilting her head up for his kiss.
“With pleasure,” he murmured, then he lowered his mouth to hers.
Wow. Just wow. His kiss was both sweet and powerful at once. His lips were

surprisingly soft even as the edges of his mouth abraded hers. But those sensations were
lost as his tongue thrust against hers. They struggled for domination for a bit, but
eventually she lost. Or surrendered. Whatever. It didn’t matter. He was thick and hot and
inside her mouth, touching everything while she lay her entire body atop his.

Lay?
He was lying down, and she was stretched on top of him. There was so much of him, it

was easy to sink every inch of her flesh into the broad expanse that was Wyatt. But it
was catsuit to flesh, and she didn’t like it.

“Naked, Wyatt. Nothing stopping us. Please.”
Her words weren’t remotely coherent, but he seemed to understand. He broke the kiss

and flashed her a mischievous smile. “I’ve always wanted to do this.”

He flipped her over until suddenly she was on her back and he was towering over her.

“What?” she gasped, startled and pleased by their sudden reversal.

“Pull off a woman’s clothes…with my teeth.”
She blinked, unaccountably aroused by that idea. “With…only your teeth?”
“Think I can’t do it?” His eyes seemed to dance, and she realized he loved the idea of a

challenge. So she lifted her chin and met his gaze.

“I think you’re going to lose focus halfway through. You are a guy, after all. Unless one

of your superpowers is super-human restraint.”

“Or super-studly focus.”
She chuckled, and she liked the way his eyes dropped to her breasts. “Have at it,

super-guy. Let’s see what you got.”

He grinned and held out his wrists. A green vine bound them together before pulling his

hands up and away. Wow, that did nice things to his pecs. They bulged as he tested the
restraints. No go. His hands were bound tight.

“Game on,” he said with a grin. Then he lowered down to her neck and the catsuit’s

high collar.

She lifted her chin, giving him access just so she could feel the gentle abrasion of his

teeth. It was wonderful. Every sensation burned itself onto her flesh. The stroke of his
tongue, the heat of his breath, and the steady rrrrrrumble of the zipper as the suit
opened like a ripe orange.

Zipper? What zipper?
The zipper that was still sending shots of sensation between her breasts, down her

belly, and now over her mound.

“Not fair!” she gasped.
“My fantasy. My zipper.”
That didn’t even make sense, but she hadn’t the breath to respond as his mouth

stopped at her groin. His tongue pushed in between her folds and she cried out, bucking
against his mouth. It just forced him deeper in the most wonderful way.

And then he abruptly stopped. She was gasping, straining as she looked up to see her

own wrists were restrained instead of his.

“Not yet,” he said. “I said ‘my way.’”
“But—” she gasped, unable to voice her words. But she wanted to spread her legs and

have him deep inside. But she wanted to dispense with the whole catsuit thing and get to
the thrusting and the ecstasy part. But a thousand things.

He just shook his head, his eyes dancing. “I’m not done with the zipper.”
How much farther could the zipper go? She found out a second later as she felt him pick

up the metal tab again and start pulling it down. It rrrrrolled along the inside of her left
thigh and knee. Then down into her stiletto boots. Go figure. The entire costume was a
huge onesie.

But God how wonderful it felt to have him nibble all down her leg. His teeth made tiny

nips along her flesh—sharp and tingly—before his tongue soothed it with swirling, wet
strokes. Then he’d move farther down her leg while the air cooled the wetness left
behind. Hot breath with a trail of cooling wet on superheated skin. The dual sensations
cut short any kind of thought. She just felt…everything. And she wanted more.

“I’m open,” she murmured, meaning that the catsuit was fully parted now. He could do

whatever he wanted to her and she couldn’t stop him. Didn’t want to stop him. “You win.”

“Not hardly,” he said as he nuzzled the arch of her left foot. “I’ve got to peel apart the

sides.”

She lifted her head. “You’re not…?” Going to finish? Going to do me until I’m screaming?

She didn’t say those words aloud, but they seemed to reverberate in the air. So much so,
he started laughing.

“Impatient?”
“Very,” she said, strangely unashamed of her honesty.
“Good,” he said. Then he returned to her chest. The catsuit still held in her breasts,

though her cleavage was exposed. He leaned down and began to nibble, using his nose,
his tongue, and most especially his teeth to press open the costume. Inch by
excruciatingly slow inch, he peeled the fabric back. And every exposed cell got his loving
attention.

By the time he reached her nipple, she was drowning in anticipation. God, she ached.

Everything in her was straining in that tiny peak, and the moment he latched on and
sucked, she went wild with erotic explosion.

She bucked. She heaved. Hell, she was surprised she didn’t throw him off of her, but he

stayed right where he was. He laved her nipple, sucked and nipped while she went
ballistic. He never let go and he never let up.

Then he switched to her other breast.
She lost track of time, of individual sensations, of everything but his mouth on her

breast, his weight on top of hers, and the glorious waves of orgasm after orgasm.

Then he thrust. She hadn’t even felt him position himself, but God, she was grateful he

had. The sensations were sharp, as if he pierced her. It felt like he’d split her open all the
way to her spine. And then he was inside her, big and hard and everything she wanted.
She loved his weight, loved his thickness, loved his thereness inside her.

“Yes!” she cried. In truth, she’d been crying it for a while now. So much so that the

word was embroidered in every molecule of this dream.

He withdrew then thrust again. Steady, big, and so very male. In, and in, and in again.

A piston with increasing tempo.

Her individuality seemed to dissolve. He was everything, and he was filling her with

such power that she felt like she was expanding. Every push, every impact splintered her

into a cloud, a rainbow, a firework of light and color.

Hard.
Hot.
Him.
Detonation.

…

Megan sighed happily, her aching body shifting delightfully against his body. Skin against
skin, she reveled in the feel of his masculine ridges and bulges. She heard a heartbeat
beneath her ear, strong and steady. Outside a bird trilled. Inside was all warm and hot
man.

God, he smelled wonderful.
Wait…what?
Her eyes popped open while her brain grasped onto individual facts, lining up in her

brain like a spreadsheet.

1. She was naked.
2. She was in Bethany’s bed, top floor of the B&B.
3. She was stretched across an equally naked and just waking Wyatt.
4. They were naked and wrapped around each other.
4. — again — They were naked and wrapped around each other!
She felt a jolt of awareness hit his body. How could she not as she was practically lying

on top of him? His head jerked, and his gaze locked onto hers.

His mouth dropped open in surprise, somehow looking sexy, especially with his morning

beard. His gray eyes seemed to widen, becoming more blue than gray.

5. He was hard, and she wanted him to slowly, steadily, push straight to her core.
Again?
“What—” he began.
“How did—” she said.
They both cut off their words as one more extremely shocking fact seeped into their

mutual awareness.

6. She had climbed on top. And he had started that steady push inside.

Chapter Ten

Wyatt froze, his sleep-fogged mind barely keeping up. Sadly, his body had no such issues.
There was a willing woman by his side, warm, naked, and…and it was Megan. Every cell
in his body was waking to her. And the words: do her now!

There was something wrong with that idea. He was sure of it. But he couldn’t quite

focus and he couldn’t quite remember what. Still, he had enough pause in his brain to
grab her hips and keep her from moving. Except the majority of his thoughts were
violently opposed to stopping anything.

Fortunately, she’d gotten a panicked look in her eyes and had abruptly stilled. So there

they were, completely naked, with her trembling against him in a place that really
enjoyed that. And really wanted to push deeper inside.

“Wyatt?” she asked, her voice shaking.
He closed his eyes, trying to focus. But of course that just brought every sensation into

blinding focus: the soft suppleness of her body, the firm press of her thighs, and of course
the sweet wetness building between them both.

“Uh…” she said as she started to slip sideways.
Oh God! The friction was unbearable. Her thigh brushed against his dick, sending a bolt

of pure lust rushing up and down his spine in a kind of clarion call. Flip her over! Mount
her! Now Now Now!

His fingers spasmed, gripping her tight. “Don’t move,” he ground out.
“W-what?” Thankfully she didn’t sound afraid. More confused. Unfortunately, even her

stammer sounded sexy to him. Throaty and hungry.

He swallowed. “I’m a guy, okay? I’m trying to get it together but…it’ll take a moment.”
“O-okay.” She straightened slightly, settling deeper onto him and he groaned.
“Don’t. Move.”
“Right. Sorry.”
He swallowed, taking shallow breaths as he tried to think of something. Anything, so

long as it wasn’t her. And in this manner, he managed to pull out, but only barely.

She was silent, her breath curling about him and fogging his thoughts. He was in a

holding pattern, holding her, holding onto his lust, holding…just holding. And sadly, the
situation must have gotten the better of her. He heard her make a sound of distress—a
quiet kind of gasp, deep in her throat and clearly involuntary. He opened his eyes to see
her skin flushed a rosy pink. Then he saw her breasts, those glorious soft mounds as they
rested on his chest. He couldn’t see a lot, but his imagination was well up to the task of
picturing her tight nipples as they rubbed against him.

“Megan,” he said, wondering if he had more words than just her name. He did, but how

did he tell a woman as luscious as her that he had no recollection of being in bed with
her? Of how he’d gotten naked or what they’d done. “Don’t be afraid,” he said.

Her eyebrows shot up and her eyes lost some of their panicked expression. Her lips

curved into a smile and as she tilted her head, some of her hair spilled over her
shoulders. Gorgeous chestnut locks, slightly curled and wholly seductive. He wanted to
bury his face in them.

“Is this where you tell me it’s all natural? That nothing will hurt?” She was teasing him,

her voice light though he could still hear the strain in her. Then she chuckled and the
vibration had his eyes rolling back in his head. God, she felt so good. Just a little push. A
single tightening of his abs and he could be in heaven.

“I don’t remember,” he suddenly blurted. “I don’t remember what happened last night.”
She released her breath on a whoosh, her head dropping to his shoulder. “Oh thank

God, Wyatt. Thank you for saying it first because I don’t either.”

He frowned, his mind starting to kick into gear. “You don’t?”
She shook her head, her hair sliding across his torso. “Not a clue.”
“That’s…um…odd.”
He felt her smile against his neck. And then, after a long tense moment, he felt her

shift to press a slow kiss there. It might have been a mistake, but his body roared to life
with a vengeance. And while he was desperately trying to control his racing pulse—and
throbbing dick—she did it again. This time adding a slight lick, the wet of her tongue
sending all sorts of wonderful signals to his body.

“Megan,” he said, his voice strangled.
She pulled back slightly, and his whole body mourned the loss. “I know this isn’t the

slow we talked about,” she said. “I have no idea what happened last night. But I gotta
tell you…” She shifted her chest slowly, then hummed deep in her throat. “I like this. And
I’m not real interested in thinking clearly right now.”

Oh God, could he second that notion. His hands tightened on her hips, his dick surged,

and his hips started moving. He was trying to go slow, but there were too many fast, fast,
fast! signals for him to do anything but jerk roughly against her.

And then rationality threw up one more red flag. One tiny flag that he almost brushed

away. But he couldn’t quite keep it to himself.

“No condom,” he gasped. “You on the pill?”
She froze. “Oh crap. No.”
One word that nearly crushed him. “You sure?” Like that was a rational statement? Of

course she was sure. But he was clutching onto straws here. Worse, he was clutching her.

“Very sure,” she said.
Then she rolled away, the motion sharp and incredibly awful. He let her go. No real

choice in that matter as she took herself right out of his hands. Worse, she took all the

covers with her, leaving him naked and totally exposed, his dick weeping as it stretched
for her.

His hands dropped to cover himself, but that was all he could manage as his skin

heated to burning. He looked about the room, but his clothes were nowhere in sight. She
was doing the same, but from a standing position.

“Stay there,” she said. Then she rushed to the other room, taking all the sheets with

her mummy style. She returned a second later with his sweatpants. Apparently they’d
been discarded on the floor next to the recliner. Then she grabbed some clothes right out
of her suitcase and in one fluid motion, disappeared into the bathroom.

Gone.
Right along with his dignity, his mind, and any chance of life returning to a less painfully

erect state.

Hell.
He pulled on his sweats, then walked slowly to the other room where he found his tee

and jerked it on. He couldn’t think. This was way too complicated. And damn it, there
wasn’t a coffee maker in the room!

Stifling a curse, he padded back to the bathroom and knocked softly.
“Um…just a min—”
“Take your time. I’m going to get us a pot of coffee and some breakfast. It’ll take a

while to get a tray together, so don’t expect me back for twenty minutes. I’ll bring it all
up here and then we can switch places. I’ll shower while you eat. Deal?”

“Deal,” she said, relief in her voice.
He nodded and turned toward the door, wondering if he had a sweater long enough to

hide his current discomfort. He was halfway across the room when the bathroom door
suddenly opened.

“Wyatt?”
He whipped around, seeing Megan’s anxious face as she peered through the small

opening in the door. “Yeah?”

He watched as a slew of emotions flitted across her face. Fear, hope, anxiety, and

maybe even lingering lust. Or maybe that was him projecting onto her. Either way, her
face finally settled on a soft, achingly sweet smile. “Thank you.”

And just like that, everything settled into all right. It was awkward, but this was Megan.

If anyone could help him sort through whatever they’d done last night, it would be her.
He could trust her. They’d find a way to get past it and still keep working, still keep living,
still keep…

Oh God. He couldn’t. He couldn’t bed her and still be her boss. He couldn’t go from

feeling her naked and willing to not ever touching her again. No way could he see her in a
pencil skirt with her hair pulled up in a bun and not think of easing her zipper down with

his teeth.

He couldn’t do it. And he couldn’t work with his mind centered on bedding her. Hell. It

wasn’t going to work. Their professional life was at an end. And what the hell was he
going to do about that? Too much of his business was in her hands—no way could he
function without her. The idea of trying to handle everything without her or worse, trying
to find a new assistant, left him physically ill.

What the hell had he done?
All those thoughts flashed across his mind in an instant, and some of it must have

appeared on his face. It must have because he watched Megan’s face drain of all color.

Oh hell. That sight spurred him to act, to reassure her even when he felt his entire life

crumpling around him.

“We’ll work it out,” he said, his voice thick. “But not until coffee.”
“And a shower.”
He nodded. Yeah, a cold shower would be good. A very, very cold shower. “You work

on one, I’ll get the other.” And with that he turned and fled.

…

Megan sat at a humongous breakfast array and sipped her coffee, her belly twisting in
loud, churning groans. Thankfully, Wyatt was in the shower or she’d have to invent some
excuse for the horrible fear she was experiencing.

She thought back on that moment just before he left to get breakfast. He had looked so

lost. A man aching for something he didn’t think he could have. What was it in his life that
had taught him to expect less for himself? She already knew he believed in his own
financial success. He was brilliant at it and worked hard to make sure his dreams came
true. But she’d never before realized how much he locked his personal life away.

She’d assumed that he was just a private man. That like her, his attention was on

making his financial future secure. But that one look had told her something entirely
different. And if she thought back to the dream—which was hazy now but still in her
memory—she started to wonder about his past girlfriends. Clearly, some bitch had called
him a robot. And somehow, the pain of that had stuck deep. She considered what she
knew of his personal life. He had family. A brother and a sister, plus two parents, still
alive and doing well. She knew they all got together in Florida on holidays but that
everyone cut out early to work. Type A workaholics, every single one of them. Which was
obviously where Wyatt got his drive.

But until now, she hadn’t realized what that meant personally. What if there hadn’t

been much warmth in his family? What if they were all introverts like Wyatt? Would the
entire family retreat to their laptops rather than talk? She couldn’t imagine getting
together for a holiday without wrestling with her brothers or playing a game of

basketball. Mealtime was a zillion voices all talking over each other. That was a large
reason why her mother was such a pain now: because she missed the riotous, wild free-
for-all that was her family.

So, her mom needed to move on and find a life outside her kids. Wyatt needed to see

what family life could be among the loud and boisterous.

Or maybe she was just spinning fantasy dreams. The idea of bringing her boss to one of

her family gatherings was both terrifying and terribly wonderful. But she wanted to do it.
She wanted to enfold him in her arms and show him how real love could be.

But first, he had to get out of the shower.
He came in about ten minutes later, his hair towel dried, his nearly black curls running

every which way. He wore slacks and a sweater and looked casually elegant. But his bare
feet and the anxious way he kept jingling the coins in his pocket told her he was nervous.
In fact, she didn’t think she’d ever seen him looking so out-of-place.

“You’re freaking out, aren’t you?” she asked.
His face registered a brief moment of panic before settling into a firmly neutral

expression. If she hadn’t been watching—and if she hadn’t been working side by side with
him for three years now—she probably wouldn’t have noticed. She would have taken the
way he settled in the chair opposite of her as a man in total control of himself.

She decided to cut him off before he could decide what to say. “Well, I’m freaking out. I

don’t generally wake up naked in my own bed, much less in a strange one and with my
boss.”

He nodded and his hands reached for the coffee pot and a mug. He poured with steady

hands and when he spoke, his voice was quiet and calm. Too calm. Normally, he’d be
flinging ideas at her, his hands and his words going every which way.

“So you, um, you went to bed in, um—”
“Pajamas. Top. Bottom. The whole deal.” She glanced at him. “You?”
“Sweats. And with a book on my lap, if I remember right. Stupid book. Out of date

economic theory wrapped in…” His voice trailed away. “You probably don’t care what I
was reading.”

“Not today.”
He nodded. “You don’t remember anything?”
“Nothing. Well, nothing except for my dream.”
“Yeah, I was dreaming too.”
“Stupid thing really. Very comic book, and you know I don’t read them. But I was this

kick ass villainess.” She was babbling. Using words to distract herself, but when she saw
his reaction, it made her jump into hyper-alert.

His head had jerked around. Given the way the table moved, she guessed his whole

body had jolted. “What? What did you say?” he asked.

She frowned at his suddenly very intent focus. “Um, about my dreams.” She sure as hell

wasn’t going to say she dreamed about him. “I was a villain unmasking a blue comic book
hero. Well, he started out blue…”

“But then you pulled off his mask and he… He…” His face turned bright red.
“Wyatt?”
“Tell me about your dream. In detail, please.”
Hell, no! Not going to happen. Not with what she and her dream Wyatt had done… Oh.

Oh! Could her dream have anything to do with how they’d ended up in bed? Oh God, how
was she going to explain that?

Wyatt abruptly leaned forward. “I’ve been dreaming too, Megan. Really vivid dreams,

though last night topped the charts.” He cleared his throat. “I’m this masked hero only
taller. In one I’m standing by a grave.”

“Lily,” she whispered. “It was Lily’s grave.” She locked gazes with Wyatt, her mind

reeling with the entire impossibility of what they were discussing. It couldn’t be. It just…

“In one I was a blond bimbo from a slasher flick.”
“Attacked by Armus, the oil-like blob,” he said. “But you didn’t stay blond. You were you

by the time we got to your apartment.” His voice was matter-of-fact, but she saw the
panic in his gaze.

Oh God. The apartment. Hadn’t they sixty-nined on the bed? Oh shit! She saw the

memory hit him at the exact same moment. But whereas she just felt numb with shock,
she could see the heat creep up his neck and burn in his cheeks.

She cleared her throat. “So, you’ve been having the same dreams?”
“It’s not possible.”
“But you have, haven’t you?”
He nodded, the motion a sharp jerk of his chin. She bit her lip, trying to assess the

damage here. Just how much had they been doing in their dream state? When was her
first super hero dream? “I can’t remember when they started.”

His face was turned as he glared out the window. He was a numbers guy who thought

people who believed in ghosts were nuts. He was not going to take well to the idea of
shared dreaming.

“Let’s just figure out what happened,” she said. “There’s going to be a logical

explanation.” She said it, but she didn’t believe it. Shared dreaming wasn’t so big a
stretch for her. Especially for two people who’d worked closely together for years.

“The train,” he said, his voice strangled. “My first really vivid dream was of leaping into

a train and diverting it—”

“To a state fair. That’s my nightmare!” she cried, feeling an irrational outrage. As if he’d

taken away something personal to her. Which he had. He’d taken away a nightmare and
made it into a happy memory. “I’ve had that nightmare for years and you changed it to…”

“To a state fair and a kiss.”
She swallowed. “Yeah.” She remembered the kiss. She’d spent many a happy moment

remembering that kiss. “I’ve haven’t had that dream since.” She flashed him a smile.
“Thanks.”

He just looked at her, clearly at a loss. “That was the first night we spent here.” Then

he lifted the coffee mug to his mouth, but he didn’t drink. Instead, his mouth dropped
open and just stayed that way—poised—as if only now realizing what they’d been doing
in their dreams. “Last night, I dreamed we…that I…” He swallowed and set his cup down
with an unnaturally loud clank.

“Do you think that’s why we ended up in bed together? Because we dreamed we

were… That we…”

He shook his head, denying the whole thing. She could relate. In fact, she realized that

she was doing the same thing. Shaking her head.

“I’ve never sleepwalked before,” he said.
“Me, neither.”
“I’ve never dreamed like that before.”
“Me, neither!”
“What we’re thinking isn’t possible.”
“Of course it’s not!”
Their voices were getting louder, their tone turning angry. But who exactly were they

angry with? Each other? They were agreeing. And yet…

He rubbed a hand over his face, and when he emerged from the movement, he looked

even more haggard than before. “Do you think this had something to do with Bethany’s
ghost?”

She bit her lip. They were both just talking out loud, testing theories before they could

even begin to deal with them. “Wait, I dreamed about him,” she said. “You were
downstairs checking out the basement and I fell asleep…”

He leaned forward. “The shadowy bearded figure. Was he the pirate?”
“I have no idea. He just wanted me to turn around.”
“Turn around?”
“We were at your graveyard and there was a child crying. And…”
He waited for her to finish, but she couldn’t grab hold of it. Or more precisely, she didn’t

want to grab hold of the memory.

Abruptly Wyatt’s hand dropped down to the table. Without thinking, she gripped his

fingers so tightly she thought she might break them. “How can this be real?”

“It can’t. We already established that. But…why did he want you to turn around?” That

was Wyatt, always focused on the puzzle, not the paranormal.

“Because of the baby. He wanted me to see the baby, but I wouldn’t.”

“Why not?”
She looked at him, struggling with turbulent feelings that would not settle down. “I

don’t know. I just wouldn’t. Then I woke up.”

He took a moment to process that. Then he released a slow breath. “Okay. So we’ll

table it for the moment. Anything else from this shadowy guy?”

She thought back, searching her memory for even the most minute details. “Nothing.

What about you? Any dreams when I was doing something else?”

“No,” he said, breaking the connection of their gazes. “It’s always been about you.”
Oh. Well. Good to know. She took a moment with that, then she ran to doing what she

did best. She organized things. “So, we’ve got train dream. Then blob-thing dream.”

“Then graveyard dream. When you went to the beach.” He sounded a little bit miffed

about that, and she straightened in reaction.

“You could have joined me.”
“I couldn’t move. And you didn’t wait.”
She waved a hand at him. “Please. You’re a caped superhero. No mud was going to

keep you from where you wanted to go.”

“Not true,” he said, though looking at his face she knew he was thinking about that.

Had he chosen not to join her on the beach? Or had he really been held solid in the mud,
and she’d just abandoned him? And how ridiculous that she was angsting about
something that happened in a dream.

She frowned and pulled out a pad of paper, writing down what they’d already

discussed. She used a one-word shorthand. No way was she going into detail about any
of it. Not in black and white.

“So after the first graveyard dream,” she said, writing down Graveyard 1, “there was

mine with the shadowy guy—”

“And your baby.”
“Not my baby,” she snapped much too vehemently. “Just a baby.”
He nodded. “Okay. A baby. But next time, turn around. We need more information, so

you need to look.”

She grimaced, not wanting to acknowledge that he could be right. Not wanting to

acknowledge any of this. “Fine. If there is a next time, I’ll look.” But she wouldn’t want to.
She already knew that from deep inside her soul. She really did not want to look.

“Then there’s last night’s,” said Wyatt. “You were screaming, and I went to rescue you.”
She snorted. “Easy trap.” She made a face at him, desperate to get to a more normal

teasing tone. “Sucker!”

He stiffened in mock insult. “You were screaming.”
“You were lying. Maybe if you’d shown up as yourself from the start we would have

figured this out earlier.”

He frowned. “Sure, I can see that happening. Hey Megan, I just dreamed I was a

superhero who hosed the Armus off of you. That’ll happen…like, never.”

He had a point there, but she wasn’t going to give it to him. Instead, she put on her

most prim face. “Well, it did happen. And because you didn’t talk about it—”

“Or you!”
“We ended up in bed.”
And there it was. The big fat elephant in the middle of the room. They’d woken up in

bed together. They’d maybe had sex last night—and damn hadn’t that given her a freak-
out in the bathroom. But she’d already been in the shower, and frankly, she’d woken up
all hot and bothered. She had no idea if they’d actually had sex last night or not.
Physically, she couldn’t tell, beyond this morning’s encounter.

And mentally… She sighed. Mentally, they’d been getting their freak on for a few days

at least. Masked crusader and all. Lord, he’d pulled off her costume with his teeth!

She bit her lip, trying to get her scattered thoughts in order. “So, um, I have to ask. In

case we did do it…well, how are you health wise? I mean, uh, anything I should know
about?”

He stared at her, completely uncomprehending. Geez, did he need her to spell out

STD? Then suddenly his eyes widened. “I’m clean,” he bit out. “And you—”

“Completely healthy.”
He nodded. “Well, that’s good to know. I wasn’t worried, but…that’s good.”
“So what now?” she asked. Then she mentally cursed herself. Had her voice really

sounded so lost?

“I can’t lose you in my business, Megan. I just…can’t.”
“I don’t want to be lost either. I just got a promotion.”
He looked haggard. She felt equally torn up. Then he abruptly straightened. “If we can’t

go backward, then we have to go forward. We were planning to go out on a date next
week, remember? Back in Chicago next Friday we’re going on a date like two normal
people.”

“As if none of this had ever happened?” she asked. It wasn’t possible. No way could she

think of him as just her boss. Not after she’d chained him up in her dreams.

“Yes,” he said, though his voice was strained. “We’re partnering with Bethany on this

B&B just like we planned. Then you’ll run it and make it a gold mine.” He stared at her a
long moment, his brilliant mind obviously churning over possibilities, problems, all sorts of
things she could only guess at.

“What about the ghost?” she asked. “What about our shared dreams?” She didn’t know

why she had to push him on the one thing guaranteed to freak him out, but here she was
doing it anyway.

“Megan—” he began.

She cut him off. “If you say it didn’t happen, that all of this is a product of a suggestible

imagination, then I’m going to lose it. The ghost is real, we shared dreams, and this place
is haunted!”

He swallowed and his skin looked pale, but she didn’t see any other reaction to her

irrational outrage. And it was irrational. She loved this sort of stuff, and even she was
struggling to accept it. He had to be reeling.

“I don’t know what to think,” he finally said. “I’m not like you. I don’t…embrace this

stuff so easily.”

“But do you think I’m insane for believing? Even after all the evidence—”
“Of course not!” he shot back. Well, that was reassuring. “I just… I’m not willing to

accept this yet.” Then he held up his hand before she started to argue. “But if you want
to go ghost hunting, I don’t have a problem with that. Everyone’s entitled to their own
thoughts.”

He might as well have said “delusions.” But since she still wanted to explore a

relationship with him—not to mention keep her job—she nodded as if everything was
okay. Still, some part of her couldn’t resist pushing. “I’m going to take a nap and confront
this ghost. I’ll tell him what we intend about the house, and… I don’t know. Have it out
with him.”

Wyatt’s eyebrows rose all the way up into his hairline. “Seriously? You think that’s

possible?”

“Of course it is,” she said firmly. It was a total lie. She had no idea what she was

talking about. “He wants to make me turn around, right? In my dream. I just won’t turn
unless we hash things out first.”

Wyatt snorted, but the sound was the most relaxed thing she’d heard from him all

morning. “You talk about this like it’s normal. Like it will all happen just like you say.”

“It’s not normal,” she said firmly. “It’s paranormal, and I’m an expert in that.” Another

lie. Sure she’d read everything she could on the subject—fiction and nonfiction alike—but
that was far from real experience.

His lips curved into a sweet smile as he dipped his head to hers. “Well, then I bow to

your superior wisdom.”

“Damn straight,” she said. Then she looked down at her page. Was she nuts? Sure,

everything had been fun so far. Well, creepy and fun. But ghost stories weren’t always
lighthearted. What if the Captain turned violent? What if her head started spinning
around? What if really scary things started happening and someone got hurt? Or died?
Did she really think she could have it out with a ghost in a dream?

Of course she was crazy. And of course she thought she could take care of things. She

had to. Otherwise, she and Wyatt were about to invest their last dime in a haunted B&B
that might destroy her financially and cripple his company for years.

Chapter Eleven

The ghost didn’t contact her that afternoon when she took a nap. But since she was
incredibly restless throughout the afternoon, she wasn’t really surprised. And then an
emergency happened with the very temperamental chef at Wyatt’s second B&B, which
required him to return to Chicago immediately. He flew out within the hour, leaving her
the car to drive back after she’d worked out more details with Bethany. And hopefully,
she and the ghost would have a chat.

The pirate didn’t show. Not that night. Not any night as she took over Bethany’s rooms.

But that was okay because Megan had a Plan B, which she implemented her last night
there. At midnight, she lit candles, meditated, and then spoke her mind out loud.

It was a very short talk.
“We’re buying this house. We’re going to make it into something special. Something

that gives attention to all of Miranda’s wonderful history and her folklore passion. Hope
you don’t mind.”

Then she paused a bit. No response as far as she could see, so she continued.
“If you do mind, you better talk to me now. Because as of tomorrow morning at eight

a.m., I’m putting things in motion. If you hurt anyone or screw up our renovations, then
I’ll burn this place to the ground. I’m not kidding. I’ll do it. I don’t know if it’ll affect you in
the least, but it won’t be that much fun haunting a big ol’ pile of ash.”

She waited, her breath suspended for some sort of response. Still nothing.
“Good,” she finally said. “Glad we had this little talk.”
Then she blew out the candles and went to bed. It took a bit for her to relax. She kept

expecting another dream of graveyards and a bawling child. But eventually she dropped
off into a long and dreamless night.

She took that as ghostly consent. Which meant, come eight a.m., she started talking to

lawyers, architects, and contractors. Wyatt had given her a budget and full control.
Finally, her dream was a reality. She was stepping up in the business world, had a project
she could really sink her teeth into, and the partnership agreement with Wyatt was
beyond generous. Everything was turning up roses. Too bad she was living in Angst Hell.

It was ridiculous. She was much too old to be doing the “does he like me, does he not”

dance. In truth, she already knew the answer: Wyatt liked her. A lot. And she liked him. A
lot.

Well, that was a whole bunch of lots without anything concrete to build on them. First

off, he wasn’t here with her figuring things out. She had all sorts of questions. Were they
going to date like dinner-and-a-movie? Or date like we-are-having-hot-monkey-sex? What
exactly had they done that night? In detail. Because if they’d had condom-less sex, that

might cause a bit of a problem. But she didn’t think they had. Or perhaps just didn’t want
to think she could have made love with a guy and slept through the whole thing. Either
way, she was determined to focus on work and not borrow trouble.

Second, when they spoke on the phone or in email—which was often—it was all

business, all the time. Most men didn’t handle emotions well, and Wyatt was even worse.
So that left her wondering all sorts of other things. Had he changed his mind? Was the
woo woo too weird? Had he turned tail and run? Was she going to get fired? Not right
away, but eventually would it get too difficult to work together? She didn’t know, and she
was driving herself nuts thinking about it.

After three years together, she’d seen Wyatt work tirelessly night and day. She’d

figured out the tortured pathways of how he thought and designed her own life to mesh
with his. She’d even managed to help him with a few personal items, usually having to do
with picking up dry cleaning or scheduling his time away for the holidays. That was it.
That was the extent of his personal life as it mixed professionally.

Which meant that as a boyfriend, he was a blank page. Or more accurately, a missing

page. She wanted that page. She wanted to read it, write on it, layer it in chocolate, and
kiss her way to ecstasy upon it. But she couldn’t do any of that with him off in Chicago
and her in Cherry Moon.

So she forced herself to work. And to talk to her mother. And to do all those things that

she needed to do but didn’t really want to. And she counted the seconds until she got
back to Chicago.

And when delay after delay kept her burning the midnight oil at Miranda’s Place, she

tried not to go nuts. But after two weeks—two hectic, aggravating, am I done yet? weeks
—she finally got to drive home. She’d never been so happy to see the Chicago skyline in
all her life.

She arrived late Wednesday night, driving well past the time when she should have

stopped. But two hours of chatting with her mother via her hands-free headset had left
her boiling over with resentment. She regretted saying something to her mother. She
knew to never share, but it had blurted out in an unguarded moment. Four words, but
she’d probably regret them for the rest of her life.

“I met a guy.”
Technically, she’d met Wyatt three years ago, but she wasn’t ready to give that

particular detail to her mother. No way was she going to say she’d fallen for her boss. So
she’d passed it off as a few extremely hot evenings with a handsome man in St. Louis.
Not a lie, but also not the truth. The result? A hundred and forty-three miles of her
mother’s advice, admonishments, and—most infuriating—unending questions about when
she was going to quit her job.

She did her best to explain where she could and deflect when she couldn’t. Mostly, she

endured because that’s what good daughters did. Which meant that by the time she hit
Chicago, she was fuming.

Her plan had been to go into work, just to see if Wyatt needed anything while she’d

been out of touch. Well, that was the excuse. Truthfully, she just wanted to see him.
After two weeks away, she missed him. Plus, she wanted the calm sanity that was her
job and not the seething emotional morass that was her mother.

But on second thought, she decided things were too precarious between them for her

to show up right then. No way should she be subjecting Wyatt to this mood. So she went
home. She kicked the furniture, watered her neglected plants, and watched stupid TV. A
regular pity party complete with wine, chocolate chip cookies, and ice cream—dinner of
the depressed female. Which meant that by the time she collapsed into bed that night,
she was achingly ready for a dream.

“Please, Wyatt, visit me tonight…” she whispered.
He didn’t disappoint.

…

She was sitting atop a throne of cookies with Ben & Jerry’s upholstery. It made no sense.
It was incredibly cold and uncomfortable, but apparently she was stuck here. Ass glued to
the sticky Rocky Road as it melted over chocolate chips.

Ew!
She looked down at herself, expecting to be a thousand pounds, her hips spilling over

the sides of her chair. Nope. She was leggy and blond. And yup… triple Ds. So, blond
bimbo time it was.

And she was in a cave. Part of her hoped it was made of chocolate, but no such luck.

Dark, dank, stupid cave. Dripping and ugly, it reeked of malevolence. Which meant one of
two things. Either she was trapped here, a victim of sticky ice cream. Or she was Queen
of the sad and disgusting world of the Female Sulks. She got the feeling she was both,
and how ridiculous was that? She needed to be rescued from her own nest of carbs and
goo.

“So is it okay to come in?” came a voice. Wyatt. From somewhere around the mouth of

a cave.

“Haven’t a clue, but I doubt it.”
“Ah. Well.”
“I hope you’re wearing a cape. And maybe a gas mask. This place is seriously gross.”
She caught a flash of movement at the mouth of the cave. It was too dark to see, but

she hoped it was him.

“So why don’t you leave?” he asked.
“Good question,” she said. She tried to stand up, but she couldn’t budge. And when she

looked down, there were chains of chocolate bars holding her in place. “Chained up.” But
just in case, she bent over to bite into the chocolate.

Rich, creamy goodness slid down her throat. Yum! She could escape this way! Stuff that

tasted this good would be a breeze to eat through.

And so she did. Except as fast as she ate, more chains appeared. Sadly, there seemed

to be no end of good chocolate, so she sat back with a grunt. At least she wouldn’t
starve. But at some point, she was sure she’d want to see the sun.

“Do you still have that superpowered water hose? Maybe we could spray me free.”
More movement from shadows near the opening. “The water has to go somewhere,

and I don’t see another exit. I’m more likely to drown you than free you.”

“Oh. Bummer.”
“Besides, I doubt water works well on chains.”
Well, not iron chains, but these were magical chocolate chains. Probably had the same

problem. And drowning sounded like no fun at all.

“If I drown here, do I die in real life?” she mused out loud.
“What?”
She shook her head. “Nothing.” She sighed. “Just leave me alone. Blond bimbos

deserve to die on thrones of their own making.”

There was a moment’s silence, and then his voice came from right beside her ear. “Now

what kind of superhero would I be to abandon even a blonde in distress?”

She leaped, jerking sideways as he appeared at her side. “Where did you come from?”

she gasped. Then she whipped around to peer at the shadows that guarded the door.
“And what’s that?”

He turned. “What?”
She tried to look harder, but nothing came into focus and nothing moved. “I don’t

know.” She slumped back in her chair and gazed up at him.

Damn, he was pretty. No mask or cape this time. And he wasn’t over a foot taller than

her. He was just Wyatt. Strong, handsome Wyatt. Without his shirt. That was nice.

“You don’t appreciate me,” she said coldly.
He blinked, obviously startled by her cold tone. “Megan?”
She would have clapped her hand over her mouth, but she was restrained tight.

Instead, she just shook her head. “I didn’t mean to say that. Honest—you promised we’d
work things out then you up and disappeared.”

Her words were loud and cutting. Not at all what she’d intended, especially as he

gasped and reeled backwards.

“Wyatt! I didn’t say that! I mean…”
He held up a hand to silence her. His other braced himself against the wall. “I get it.

You say mean things and I get a hit straight to my solar plexus.”

“You’re such a liar,” she sneered. Wyatt grunted and dropped to one knee.
“This is ridiculous!” she snapped. “I refuse to be this person. But you’re making me into

a shrew!” Oh hell, the words even tasted noxious as they flew out of her mouth. And
Wyatt gasped as if he were choking.

She clamped her mouth shut. She’d be damned if she said another spiteful thing.

Unfortunately, it seemed to be bubbling up inside of her. The pressure built and built. She
felt like her head was going to explode. She resorted to short, panting breaths through
her nose, but it was awful.

“It’s okay, Megan,” he said from near the floor to her right. “Just let it out.”
She shook her head. No way. She was killing him. And she sure as hell was not

destroying what little they’d built together in some stupid damp cave.

“Everything is so dark in here! You’ve made my life work, work, and more work. I want

children, but I’m your fucking slave!”

He moaned as he fell back. She heard his head crack on the edge of the cave. The

sound was horrible, and it seemed to echo in the room. Oh God, what had she done?

“Dark,” he said. “That’s it!”
“What? Speak up you—” She clamped her mouth shut and the words she held back

seemed to go up through her nose. It burned as it happened, but she didn’t hear Wyatt
grunt in pain. And in a moment, he’d pushed weakly to his feet.

“Comics are simple,” he said, his voice strained. “It’s dark in here.”
She bit her tongue rather than voice an acidic, “Yeah, so?” She thought she’d strangled

the words back, but he must have heard. He grimaced, but it didn’t stop him from making
a massive fist.

Was he going to knock her out? She didn’t dare open her mouth, but she prayed he

would do it. Just knock her unconscious.

Slam! His right fist landed hard against the side of the cave wall. He followed with his

left. Bam!

The cave walls shuddered, but they didn’t break.
“Just leave me!” she screamed. “Get out while you can!”
“I’m not leaving you, Megan,” he gasped. Then he hit the wall again.
Bam! Bam! His fists started flying. Faster and faster, his words echoing in the air

around them.

“Not leaving. Not leaving. Not leaving.”
The burn in her belly eased, but not soon enough. Another one was coming. She

clenched her jaws shut, but it wasn’t enough. It built and built and built.

“I hate you!” she screamed.
The blow was too big, and he went down. But he twisted as he fell. Instead of

crumpling sideways, he managed to fall forward into the part of wall he’d been beating

on. With one last thud, the wall started to splinter. Cracks appeared, expanding out from
his fist.

“Get out! Get out!”
Those words were really her. The walls were going to collapse, and he was going to

die. She’d hate herself forever if he died here. Even in a dream.

“Not leaving,” he gasped. Then she watched in slow motion as he raised his fist one

last time. His face contorted and his chest rippled as he gathered his strength. And then…

Wham!
The wall exploded. Golden light spilled into the cave. And not just light, but air. Sweet,

wonderful summer air. It was hot and dry, and just like that everything inside crackled
and withered.

“Oh sure. Like that does anything.”
It was a final bitter statement and one that she tried to twist into something funny.

Because, of course, the light made all the difference in the world. As the golden light fell
upon her, she closed her eyes and lifted her face to the sun.

“See if you can move,” he said. His voice was coming closer.
“Don’t chance it, Wyatt,” she murmured. “Don’t come close.”
“Too late. I’m already here.” And he was, right in front of her, all golden skin and

glorious chest. He leaned down and touched her hands. Her fingers entwined with his and
together they held each other tight.

“I’m back to myself,” she said as she looked down. Her body was her own again. But it

was still covered in chains. “I don’t know if I can move.”

“Work with me, Megan. One hard pull.”
She swallowed and nodded. “On the count of three?”
“Sure.” Then he waited a bit before he smiled. Dropping his forehead to hers, he

whispered the words. “We’ll do it together. One. Two. Three.”

She stood up, pushed with her feet, and slammed upwards with her hands. And she

found herself in his arms while his mouth slanted across hers.

She didn’t understand how it happened. Physics said that she should have busted his

nose as she surged up. But she didn’t. They didn’t. One second she was straining to stand
and the next she was wrapped in his arms and their mouths were fused together.

She didn’t even think to object. This was a dream, and they were finally doing what

she’d wanted in the first place. A kiss. A hug. A…

“Take me outside, Wyatt,” she whispered into his mouth.
He didn’t even need prompting. He swooped her into his huge arms and carried her

around boulders and over oozing marshmallow bits. There were even a few jagged nuts
thrust outward in razor sharp bits. Go figure, apparently the walls of her cave had been
constructed of hardened ice cream.

“Next time I’ll remember not to eat Rocky Road.”
“What?”
She laughed. “Nothing. Just— Ooh! Pretty!”
They were outside in a beautiful sunlit field. Green grass, a cherry orchard to her left

and beyond it, mountains. To her right was an expanse of waving sunflowers. It was
gorgeous. And in the center was a picnic laid out for two.

“Did you create this?” she asked.
He shrugged as he set her on her feet. “I don’t understand any of it. Except you, of

course.”

She arched a brow. “You think you understand me?”
“Not even remotely! I understand what I want to do with you.” Then he leaned down

and kissed her. Soft, slow, it made her knees melt. But even as her body pressed itself
tightly to his, she worked her hand up to his mouth and stopped their kiss. She didn’t
want to, but she was becoming more alert—more conscious—the longer she was outside
of that cave.

“This is a dream, right?” she asked.
He frowned for a moment and his eyes grew vague. Then he slowly nodded. His hold

on her loosened and she pulled back a bit. Reluctantly.

“I don’t want to do this in a dream, Wyatt. We should wake up.”
He blinked. “Wake up?”
“If we’re going to make love, why not do it for real?”
He took a deep breath, his chest expanding into an impossible size. Highly distracting.

And when he bent his head to nuzzle her neck, she shivered and was nearly lost.

“It’s a dream, Wyatt.”
“I know,” he said against her ear. “But do we have to stop?”
“No. Yes. Let’s do it awake.”
He sighed, his breath feathering across her skin and somehow heating her spine all the

way down to her toes.

“I don’t know where I am,” he said, his hands starting to rove over her back and down

to cup her bottom. His pelvis was moving, thrusting and rubbing against her delightfully.

“You’re in your man cave, aren’t you?”
It took a moment for her words to sink in, but then he paused. “Man cave?”
“Your studio apartment. You’re there, aren’t you?”
“How do you know about that?”
She chuckled. “I double-check your receipts, remember? You’ve had one as long as I’ve

known you. It’s a block away from your gym.”

He shook his head, but in here, the landscape darkened in reaction to his lie. “It’s

nothing,” he murmured.

She reached up and kissed his lips. “This is me, Wyatt. I know about your man cave. So

let’s wake up and I’ll come over.”

“No, let’s just stay here.”
She chuckled. “Not a chance. I’ve been wanting to see what’s in there for years.”
“But—”
Too late. She’d already left.
A moment later she was sitting up in bed, scrubbing the sleep out of her eyes. Then

she grabbed her phone and texted Wyatt.

I’ll be there in fifteen.

Chapter Twelve

Wyatt was startled awake in a full panic. The memory of the dream was bright and…and
hard in all the most uncomfortable ways. But the tendrils of the sunlit field were slipping
away fast. Another moment later, and he was halfway to convincing himself that it hadn’t
been real.

Then Megan’s text came through. She’d be there in fifteen minutes.
Oh hell. Rubbing his eyes, he looked around his miniscule studio apartment. It was a

very simple place: a couch, a beanbag chair, a lamp, and a heater. Plus wall-to-wall
boxes of comic books.

It was meant for his escape from reality. For ninety percent of his time, he lived at his

most recent B&B. Office and bed were all that he needed, and he usually set up on site so
he could supervise the repairs. This place had been the one location he’d come to
whenever he needed to escape everything and just read his comics in peace.

And it was absolutely not designed for a woman to visit. He glanced at the floor. Hell,

how many empty pizza boxes were stacked there?

He scrambled to his feet, adjusted his sweats, and started cleaning as fast as he could.

It was cold outside of his unit, but that could only help his particular pain at the moment.
Fifteen minutes later—on the dot—Megan caught him frantically slamming the couch
cushions against the hallway wall in an effort to dislodge the dust and pizza crumbs from
the old things.

He caught sight of her out of the corner of his eye. She was leaning, her arms folded

over her tie-dyed crop top while a look of wicked amusement danced on her face. He
immediately tossed the cushions back inside and then quickly finger combed his hair.

“Um, how long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough to see you beat the life out of those cushions.” She grinned. “Don’t stop

on my account. But take off your shirt first. I’m sure the view is—”

“God Megan, this isn’t a place for women.”
“—spectacular.” She paused, then frowned as she slowly straightened off the wall. “Am

I invading your space?”

“No! Well, yes, but that’s not it. I mean…” He sighed. She was here anyway. “Just look.

You’ll see what I mean.”

She stepped closer, her expression wary. Then she stood at the open doorway and just

stared. He sighed, his guts twisting as the seconds ticked on.

“Huh,” she finally said. “I didn’t know beanbag chairs came in leather.”
“What? Oh, yeah. Gift from my sister.” Then he stared at her, his body twisting as he

tried to understand her body language. He read nothing but clear interest. “Look, I know

this isn’t what you’re used to, but like I said, I never meant for anyone to see it.”

She stepped slowly inside, her gaze going to the floor-to-ceiling boxes of comics.

Moving to the nearest wall, she traced his handwriting on one of the labels. “Look at you.
This is the most organized I’ve ever seen…anything of yours.”

He blinked. “They’re comics. Some of them quite valuable. Of course they’re

organized.” He carefully stepped in front of the chaotic pile of issues he’d read in the last
month. He was a little behind on his cataloguing, but he’d been out of town. “Megan—”

“So who’s your favorite?”
He took a moment to replace the cushions on the couch while his mind scrambled to

catch up. But he was completely thrown by her lack of judgment. “They’re all my favorite.
At one time or another.”

She nodded as if that made sense. “But why? Talk to me, Wyatt. Tell me about them.”

She made a sweeping gesture with her arm to indicate the three full walls.

“But…” Lord, he couldn’t think. She was standing there in jeans and that damned tie-

dyed crop top. It was completely blowing his mind. “How long did it take to find that
shirt?” he asked by way of distracting himself.

“This old thing?” She looked down and tugged on the bottom edge of the shirt. Which

did very little to cover her belly and dropped the neckline low enough for him to get a
flash of cleavage. “About a minute. I suppose you organize comics, I keep good track of
my clothes.” She flashed him a wickedly coy look. “Does it still fit me?”

“Better than before,” he said, not daring to tell her it was tighter on her. Which, in his

book, was a very good thing. She’d been too thin in college.

He stepped forward, meaning to wrap his arms around her, but she held him off. “Come

on. Tell me about this.”

He paused a moment. Was she nervous? He certainly was, though he thought he was

doing an admirable job of hiding it. Maybe she wanted to talk as a way to break the ice.
If so, then he was fine with it, even if one part of his anatomy wasn’t. “They’re my
comics. I’ve been collecting since I was a kid, hiding them from my mother under my
socks.”

“You had to hide them?”
He shrugged. “Mom thought they were going to rot my brain.”
She snorted. “Well, I guess she was wrong on that score.”
He smiled. “Guess so.” Then he peered at her. “You really want to know?”
“Of course I do.” She touched his arm and turned him so that they took in the whole

space. “Do you see any pictures of your family here?”

He frowned. “No. Those are back in my office.”
“Yeah. Shoved into a corner behind the accounting books.” Then she stepped toward

his oldest collection. “I don’t see any sports memorabilia, and I keep your schedule so I’d

know if you were hanging out with old school friends. There isn’t even a TV in here.” She
turned back to him. “Wyatt, these are your friends here. This is how you spent your
childhood.”

“Not completely. There was school and I had friends. Played Mario Bros. like a champ.”
“My, you are old,” she drawled.
“I’m only three years older than you,” he practically growled. “And the Brothers were

around a long time.”

“Yes, they were. But again, that’s a single player game.”
“I had friends! I spent an entire summer flying model planes with Tommy Wilson.”
She nodded. “And where is he now?”
Wyatt sighed. “Moved to Texas, married, and now has a set of twins.”
She touched his face, and he closed his eyes to better feel the warmth of her hand, the

smoothness of her skin, and the sweet scent of her. “How lonely were you as a kid?” she
asked.

He swallowed. It was on the tip of his tongue to play the dramatic note. Oh terribly

isolated, horribly alone. Come make it better. But this was Megan; he couldn’t lie to her.
And he wasn’t much of a playboy anyway. So he told her the bald truth.

“I liked it that way. I’m not much of people person, you know.”
“I know. So talk to me about them.” Again she brought him to the nearest box. “Talk

now or I’m going to start spilling these onto the floor.”

“Okay, okay!” he cried in mock horror. “No reason to get messy. What do you want to

know?”

“Start with who you loved first.”
“Um, I started collecting when I was twelve. I loved anything that had women with a

big chest.”

She turned to look at him, her eyes narrowed. “I don’t believe it.”
He pulled back. “What? No really, I did.”
“Oh, I’m sure that was a factor, but you’re the smartest guy I know. I doubt you were

mesmerized by boobs alone.”

“Legs are nice, too.” Then just for emphasis he ran his hand down her thigh. “I

especially love yours. They’re strong and flexible and—”

“And you’re not going to distract me.”
“I’m not?” He squeezed and leaned in to nuzzle her.
She groaned but stepped away. “I’m not. Talk. Then nuzzle.”
He heaved a very dramatic sigh, then started talking. She was right about his comic

book tastes. He needed plot and character too, not just beautiful women. So he talked
about his earliest superhero favorites. He gave her a brief summary—which took about
ten minutes—then he stopped. In truth, he’d been warming to the topic, so he knew from

experience it was about time to pull the plug on his mouth.

But the minute he clicked his teeth shut, she asked him a question. That got him going

again for another five, and then…another question.

“Are you really interested in all this?” he asked.
“I really am. And I’d like to read some of them, if you don’t mind. I never got into

comics much as a kid, but I love the movies.”

Which started them off on another topic. She really was interested. And he hadn’t

realized how wonderful it was to share.

An hour later, she stifled her first yawn.
“Oh hell, Megan. I’m sorry.”
“No! I’m interested. I really am.” She flashed him a mischievous look. “It’s just that it’s

late, and my boss is a real hard-ass. He’s going to expect a text at seven a.m. and I’m—”

“Funny,” he said with a frown. “I thought you said he gave you the day off tomorrow.”
She blinked, taking much too long to follow his train of thoughts. And wasn’t that a

measure of how really tired she was? “Um…he did?”

“Yup. I’m sure of it.” He stood up. “Come on. This couch folds out into a bed.”
She straightened off the floor, stretching her back and sides as she stood up. He

watched her, his body growing harder. He doubted he’d ever get tired of watching her do
that. She was a lovely woman, of course, but the vitality in her just made him worship
her. He spent so much of his time cooped up—in an office, in the gym making sure he
didn’t have a coronary like his father, or here reading comics—it made him appreciate the
people who kept themselves toned despite killer work schedules.“ You’re staring,” she
said.

“You’re beautiful.”
She smiled, her eyes taking on a hungry look. “Why don’t you open the couch with your

shirt off? I want to stare, too.”

“Megan—”
“Shut up. You’re a stud muffin, and you know it. Broad. Strong. I just get off on guys

built like a chiseled brick.”

“Can I take you to bed now?” he asked.
“Only after you open the bed.”
“Deal.”
He stripped away the cushions in two seconds flat. She laughed.
“All that time to bang them out, and you’re just throwing them on the dirty floor?”
“I’ll buy a new couch,” he said as he grabbed hold of the handle to the bed frame and

pulled. “Oooh,” she drawled behind him. “Pretty muscles.”

He straightened the bed and mattress, then grabbed a blanket but he winced at the

dirt on it.

“Let me shake this,” he said.
“You and shaking things. I like it.”
He shrugged. “My mother made me beat cushions regularly. She was rather fanatical

about dust.” He glanced back at her. “She would be appalled by this place. Are you sure
you don’t mind it?”

She smiled. “I grew up with two brothers and a mother who would never win a

housekeeping award. So relax.” She climbed up onto the bed, her breasts bobbing
enticingly. “It’s special because I’m with you.”

He shook his head, awed. “My mother was the exact opposite,” he said quietly.

“Everything had to be perfect.”

“So you hid in your comics?”
“I hid in my room, under the bed, with my comics.”
“Under the bed? Seriously?”
“Well, thanks to my mother, everything under there was spotless.”
She chuckled. “I’m not looking under this bed.”
“Good idea. Now can I take off your jeans?”
She grinned and widened her arms. “You can try. Both my brothers wrestled, so I know

a few tricks.”

He didn’t think it was possible, but his dick stiffened even more. “I love a challenge,” he

said.

Then he climbed onto the bed.

Chapter Thirteen

Megan couldn’t resist a thrill of anticipation. Finally, she was in Wyatt’s arms for real.
Would the reality match up to their dream lovemaking? She hoped so.

She looked into his eyes as he approached her on the bed. Was he as nervous as she

was? Was his heart beating as fast as hers? He didn’t look it. What she saw in his eyes
was awe. A kind of reverence she never thought she’d inspire in a man, much less a man
as amazing as Wyatt.

“I don’t want to screw this up,” he breathed as he touched her cheek.
“That makes two of us.”
“I… uh… I bought some condoms.”
She flushed. “Me, too.”
“Well, then we’ve got a lot to live up to.”
She giggled, the sound a high, nervous kind of whinny. Oops.
He smiled, then let his hand slide down from her face, slowly trailing across her

collarbone, and then… he stroked her breast.

Wow. Big hand, gentle fingers, and a thumb that roughed up her nipple enough to send

an electric current straight to her womb. Her eyes drifted shut as she felt him lift and
stroke her. She was on her knees, and her body started swaying.

“I’ve got a pillow,” he said. He left her only long enough to grab it and drop it on the

bed. Then his hands were back on her, stroking across her ribs and stomach, sliding
around to support her as he lay her down.

Then he paused, his brow furrowed. “I remember a sunlit field with a picnic blanket.”
“In our dream.”
He shuddered, still uncomfortable with the paranormal. Then he seemed to brush the

thought away. “All I remember is wanting to lay you out just like this. So I could do this.”

He cupped her breast with his large hand. He shaped it, caressed it, and then he set his

mouth to it. She cried out at the joy, the unimaginable wonder as he suckled her. What
he did with his tongue had her toes curling and her body arching off the bed.

She felt him smile against her breast, and she could have said something smart ass.

She wanted to, but what he was doing to her cut off all clever thought. Any thought. Then
he palmed her other breast, squeezing until he had her nipple between his thumb and
forefinger. He pulled and he twisted while she writhed beneath him.

Her breath was coming in short gasps, her hands were frantic, and suddenly she was

pushing at his sweatpants.

“Take them off, Wyatt. Take mine off. Right now!”
He didn’t listen. Or maybe he just decided to take his sweet time. He kept suckling at

her breast, the steady pulls making her moan. Meanwhile, his other hand went down to
her jeans. She was busy tugging at his sweatpants, pushing them off his lean hips. They
went easily, thank God. She only got them down past the curve of his bottom, and then
she shifted her hands.

He was there. Thick and hard and so hot, she felt like he’d branded himself into her

palm. She would always know the feel of his cock: broad and hard, almost flat in her
hand, with a velvety soft mushroom head.

“Megan!” he gasped, lifting off her nipple. “I’ll explode.” He grabbed her hand and

pulled it away. “Seriously. I want to take my time.”

She shook her head. “No more time, big boy. We’ve both been waiting much too long.”
The look he gave her thrilled her down to her toes, but then he grimaced. “Condom.”
She blanched. She’d completely forgotten. Not that she didn’t want children someday.

Potentially someday soon, but not at the moment. And she was grateful he remembered.

He looked up. “Damn it. Where did I put my briefcase?”
She laughed. “Don’t bother. Got one in my back pocket. Convenience store, first floor of

my apartment build—” Her words were cut off as he fished his hand into her jeans
pocket. Wow, the feel of his fingers wriggling right there was unexpectedly erotic. Then
as he pulled it out and ripped open the package, she busied herself with stripping out of
the rest of her clothes.

A moment later they were both naked except for the condom, and he was looking at

her with an intensity that was all Wyatt. Then he stalked forward, his eyes dark, his
nostrils flared. He settled both his hands on her hips and shifted her as easily as if she
were a featherweight. Then he kissed her. Hard and deep.

She’d fallen backwards on the bed and was now caged beneath him. Pinned by his

mouth on hers, his tongue thrusting deep. She was trapped here and she loved every
second of it. If only he’d hurry up and—

Oh!
A single, hard thrust, and he was inside. She cried out. He groaned. And it was better

than ever before. No dream could beat this reality.

But he didn’t move. He just froze there, so wonderfully deep.
“Megan…” Her name sounded half breath, half prayer, and she smiled. No man had

ever said her name like that.

She didn’t answer. She hadn’t the breath. Instead, she squeezed her internal muscles

and had the joy of hearing him groan again. Thank God for her Pilates class and her
instructor who was fanatical about Kegal exercises. Without that training, she doubted
she’d have the control to do this.

And then she waited, feeling full, feeling his weight, feeling him. It was so perfect, and

then Wyatt lifted his head. He’d been kissing her neck, nuzzling in a way that made her

shiver, but at this moment, fully seated, he slowly raised his eyes to look straight into
hers.

That’s when she saw it. More than hunger, more than pleasure, his eyes held a

promise. She’d seen it before, but never directed at her. It said as clear as day, I’m going
to make this work. Whatever it takes, whatever you need, we will make this work.

She swallowed, stunned by what she saw in his face. Her thoughts froze, but her heart

beat out its own answer. Yes, it said with every pulse. Yes, we will.And in this way, he
began to move. He never broke eye contact, and neither did she. The feelings were too
intense for her to even blink. She just looked at him, seeing the way his lips parted as his
breath began to shorten. His movements were measured and steady. Slow withdrawal,
faster thrust. Each impact was a little harder, then he added a grind against her clit. She
gasped, the pleasure becoming stars that danced at the edge of her vision.

This time she was the one who breathed a name. “Wyatt.” Half moan, half prayer.
Emotions welled up inside her. Joy, fear, love. So much love that it terrified her. And

yet there was no slowing in their connection. Without thinking it, she raised her knees,
giving him fuller freedom to move even as she gripped him tighter.

His thrusts became frenzied, his control shattered. Hers as well as she arched into him.

She cried out as every slam of sensation exploded across her consciousness.

Delight. Desire. Her body was overloading with pleasure.
But in his eyes was something deeper. Something quieter, but so rich with feeling that

she felt it beyond her body. She felt him touch her soul.

Orgasm ripped through her.
She cried out, as did he.
But their eyes never broke contact.
And in this way, she touched heaven.

…

Megan knew she was in a dream the moment she felt the cold wind whisper through the
trees. Really this was getting to be routine now. What was it about her subconscious that
liked cold and dark places?

She opened her dream eyes and saw she was at the lonely graveyard again. Dark

trees, the whoosh of the waves far off in the distance, and…damn…the cry of a baby. Soft
and pitiful, as if the child had all but given up hope. The whimpers tore at Megan’s heart,
but she was looking down at Lily’s gravestone. She would not turn around.

She managed to block the noise from her mind when a dark figure appeared. She

turned to it happily, wondering what sort of Wyatt superhero treatment she’d experience
tonight. But a moment later, she recognized the sea captain. She wanted to call him a
pirate, but he looked less like a wicked Jack Sparrow this time. More like Horatio

Hornblower, hero of the British navy.

She sighed. Where was Wyatt?
“He’s right here with you. Can’t you feel him?”
She frowned and tried to focus. Vaguely she felt the warmth of a body spooned up

behind her and the heavy weight of an arm across her belly. But he wasn’t in the
landscape with her. He was sleeping next to her. “So why isn’t he here? In dreamland?”

“You’re keeping him out.”
She snorted. “Why would I do that?”
He shrugged. “Why won’t you turn around and help tha’ poor babe?” His accent had

thickened until she almost couldn’t understand him. Neither Scottish nor Irish, it was just
a thickening interference in his words. A moment later she realized she was creating the
distortion as a way to block the baby’s cries. Sadly, it didn’t work.

“I want Wyatt here,” she said loudly. And bam, there he was looking all sleepy and

tousled right beside the gravestone. And—bonus—he wasn’t even wearing pants.

“Auck!” the Captain exclaimed, apparently becoming Australian in her brain. “Cover

yerself!”

Wyatt looked down and blushed a fierce red. She might have laughed if the screaming

child hadn’t gotten loud enough that it was giving her a headache.

A moment later, Wyatt was decently clad in spandex and cape. Apparently in her

dream, she wasn’t letting him wear anything else. And just to prove it, he gave her a
glare.

“How about sweatpants? Jeans? Even a loincloth would be more discreet.”
She chuckled, but the sound was pained. “I’ll let you have pants when you tell me who

Lily is,” she said gesturing at the gravestone.

“I haven’t a clue,” he answered without even looking at the stone. His gaze was on her,

and his frown was deepening. “So what’s wrong, Megan? Why do you need a superhero
tonight?”

She clapped her hands over her ears. The baby’s whimpering was getting weaker, but

perversely the sound was echoing like a bull horn in her head. “Don’t you hear it? Where
is the girl’s mother?”

She had no reason to think the child was a girl, but having said it, she knew it was true.

Meanwhile, Wyatt frowned as he looked around.

“I don’t hear it,” he said, his head tilted as he listened. “Apparently this is your thing.”
“It’s not my thing,” she snapped. “My child. Whatever. It’s not—”
Her words ground to a halt the minute he touched her. He took hold of her arms,

stroking her up and down. Then he gently pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Why won’t you
look?”

“That’s what he says,” she groused, gesturing to the Captain. But when she looked, the

ghost was gone. “Crap.”

Wyatt glanced behind him, but returned almost immediately to her. “We’re together,

Megan. There’s nothing we can’t handle.”

“Liar,” she said, clearly shifting over into sulk mode. “You can’t even hear her.”
“Come on. What kind of superhero would I be if I left a kid crying?”
Megan took a deep breath, feeling an ache deep inside her. “I’m afraid,” she whispered.

“And I don’t even know why.”

He squeezed her arms. “That’s okay. If we face—”
“Face it together.” She said with him. “I know. I…” She blew out a heavy breath and

pressed her head to his chest. She listened for a long moment to the steady beat of his
heart. Then she nodded.

“Now?”
“Yeah. Sure.”
She turned around.
She saw a bedroom from the sixties complete with shag carpet and rainbow flowers

painted on the wall. Shoved against one side was a changing table and a mound of dirty
diapers. In the room’s center was the crib and a lonely, crying child of perhaps a year old.
She was sitting in the corner alternately sucking her thumb and sobbing.

And the bedroom door was shut.
“I know that room,” she whispered.
Beside her Wyatt was already moving for the baby, but there seemed to be an invisible

barrier. No matter how hard he pushed, he couldn’t get through it into the room. In the
end, he just punched the invisible force field in frustration.

“So we’re just supposed to watch? To not do anything?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered.
Meanwhile, he gestured to her. “You try.”
She swallowed. Yep, her turn now. She didn’t even know why, but that first step took

everything out of her. She had to actually want to go to the child. Really, really want it.
Her step was halting and slow, but she did it. And the next was easier. And the next even
easier.

But when she hit the barrier, it was too solid for her to push through. She even banged

on it twice, but it didn’t budge. With a glance at Wyatt, they timed their blows in sync.
The sound seemed to echo in the dream, but they couldn’t get through. Sadly, the baby
seemed to hear them. She sat up more alertly. She focused on them, and she began to
wail.

Big wail. Loud and piercing. Megan didn’t know if the child was scared or just begging

for attention. Either way, they didn’t stop banging.

Suddenly, the bedroom door burst open. In walked a woman. She wore a stained

sixties housecoat and cursed as she spilled some of the drink in her hand. Megan
recognized her immediately from old photos, though in those, the woman had been
dressed nicely. Here, she looked like a drunken wreck.

“Grandma?” Megan whispered, completely horrified. And that’s when she placed the

bedroom with that horrible shag carpet and the flowers on the wall. This was her
mother’s bedroom back in her grandmother’s home. “No wonder Mom never wanted to go
visit.”

“So that’s not you?” Wyatt asked, relief in his tone.
“No. The child is my mother. The woman is…”
“Grandma. Got it.”
As they watched, Megan’s grandmother started cursing. The language was vile, but at

least the woman was finally attending to her child. She picked up the baby, changed the
diaper, which was beyond disgusting, then dumped the kid back into the crib. With a
grunt, she turned and left the room.

“You’re kidding,” breathed Wyatt. “She’s just going to leave her there?”
“I don’t know,” Megan said as the child began to wail.
Wyatt cursed and started banging on the invisible barrier again. But it was just as solid

as before. Then, thankfully, Grandma appeared with a bottle in hand. She
unceremoniously shoved it at the child, who took it and began sucking with a vengeance.

“At least she got a bottle,” Megan murmured.
“There’s a lot more to raising a child than changing her diaper and giving her a bottle

every once in a while.”

“I know,” Megan said, pieces of her childhood falling into place. Poor Mom, she thought,

as she watched Grandma grunt in satisfaction now that the baby was quiet. Then the
woman grabbed her drink—empty now—and walked out. The door closed behind her with
a very loud click.

Megan reached out, her heart breaking. She wished she could just touch her mother.

She wanted to stroke the tiny girl’s cheek, give the woman some affection. Something.

But she couldn’t. This was a scene from the past and it was quite the eye-opener. Sure

she’d known her grandmother had been an alcoholic. She’d even guessed or been told
about the neglect somewhere along the way. But to see it happen right in front of her hit
hard. Her mom’s childhood had been horrendous. No wonder the woman was all about
husband and family. She always said, nothing was right in her life until Megan’s dad came
into the picture.

And then her father had died, and her mother was back to this. Well, not really.

Grandma was gone; Mom was certainly not a helpless baby. But the woman probably still
felt like an abandoned child left alone in a crib. “It’s okay,” Wyatt said to the girl as he
placed his hand over hers against the barrier. And somewhere on the other side, the child

looked up. She saw them both standing there and smiled.

Then everything faded away.
The dream was over. Megan was waking up. She hated leaving at that moment and yet

was perversely relieved. She felt Wyatt stirring beside her. His hand tightened on her
belly, his face nuzzled into her neck.

She stroked his fingers, her mind stirring with the memory of what she’d seen. It had

been a dream, she knew, but it was crystal clear in her memory. So she mulled over the
pieces, studying each little bit in her mind.

It was a few minutes before she realized Wyatt was awake. He looked at her seriously,

not moving, not speaking. In the end, he kissed her shoulder.

“Did you dream what I did?” he asked.
“My mom. Grandma. Not the way to—”
“To raise a child. No.”
She sighed, pushing up in bed. She shoved her hair out of her face and heard her

stomach rumble. Beside her, Wyatt swung his feet out from under the blanket.

“What time is it?” he asked. “I’m hungry.”
Megan smiled. In her experience, guys were always hungry. But in this case, she

couldn’t help but agree. She hadn’t had the most sustaining dinner.

“We could go out,” Wyatt said. “Assuming something’s open. Or…” he said as he picked

up an old pizza box. Then with a dramatic flair, he flipped the lid open. “There’s always
last night’s pepperoni.”

She smiled. She’d had her share of cold pizza, and though it wasn’t her first choice, it

would certainly do for the moment. She pushed to her feet and padded barefoot over to
his side. Then she got one look at the cold mass. Congealed oil lay thick over the
pepperoni. The bread was hard, the cheese greasy and…

Her stomach rebelled. She gasped, trying to hold back the tide, but there was no

stopping it.

One second: rumbling stomach.
Next second: she hurled.

Chapter Fourteen

“I got it,” Wyatt said, lurching to help. He’d never seen a woman go from fine to ill so
fast. At least she’d stopped throwing up. Truthfully, there hadn’t been that much in her
stomach. So she just stood there, swaying slightly.

“Wyatt—”
“Not a word. You just sit. I’ll clean.”
She nodded weakly, but still made to grab a paper towel. He took it from her hand and

firmly settled her on the beanbag chair. Fortunately, clean up wouldn’t be so bad. The
blanket caught the worst of it and that he threw in the washing machine. Not so easy was
the thought of why she might have thrown up. He glanced at her pale face. Her color was
coming back, though he saw panic in her gaze. He was sure it was mirrored in his own.
So he made quick work of grabbing a large garbage bag to toss the pizza and anything
that might smell. Within five minutes, everything was back to normal. Except for the fear
in Megan’s eyes.

“So,” she eventually murmured. “That happened.”
“Uh, yeah. Have you been feeling ill lately?”
“No,” she whispered. “Well, maybe a little queasy sometimes.”
He’d guess it was a lot queasy given her reaction to the day old pizza. “It’s probably

just the flu.” He said the words, but in his gut, he didn’t believe it.

“Yeah,” she echoed. “The flu.”
He looked again at her face. Clearly, she didn’t believe it either. They were both

thinking about the night they’d woken up in bed together. They didn’t know if they’d had
real sex or just dream sex. And if it had been real, they sure as hell hadn’t used any type
of protection. Which meant pregnancy was a very real option.

“Look…”
She held up her hand. “Let’s not speculate, okay? I’ve been in denial land about this,

but I think I’m out now. I’ll stop at a pharmacy on the way home. I’ll pick up a…” She
closed her eyes. Apparently the word “pregnancy” was too hard to say at the moment. “A
test. Then I’ll take it, and we’ll just see.”

“Okay. Um…do you mind if…” He paused, then shrugged. If she were pregnant, he

wanted to be there every step of the way. From the purchase of the test, to the results,
through the decisions afterwards. No way was he bailing on her now. “I’d like to go with
you. I… um… I’d just really like to be there.”

She looked at him, and he was pleased to see some of the panic recede from her eyes.

“I’d like that, too.”

So it was decided.

Ever efficient, she found a drug store near his loft. Everything was accomplished within

a few moments, though they did have a minor tussle over who would pay for the test. He
won. There wasn’t a lot he could do for her. After all, it was her body that was…changing.
Potentially. The least he could do was take care of the money.

Then she was showing him into her apartment on the fifth floor of a complex in a

relatively safe neighborhood. Not bad, but too far from where he was currently living. If
she did decide to keep the baby—assuming there was one—then he’d want one of them
to relocate.

Would a child of theirs like comics? Would it have her lush curls? Be athletic like her? Or

a nerd child like him?

“Have a seat,” she said, gesturing to the couch. “I’m just going to change clothes

and…” She looked at the package in her hand.

“Do you want me to… I don’t know, read the directions or something?”
She shook her head. “I got it.”
“I… Okay.” He sat down and folded his hands. His thoughts were going a mile a minute,

but he kept them to himself. He knew she needed space right now. She’d stiffened every
time he’d tried to touch her. She hadn’t flinched away, thank God, but she’d gone rigid. So
he’d kept a step apart, always willing to lend a hand but not actually connecting.

Meanwhile, she paused right at the door to her bedroom. “I… Wyatt, I just need to take

a minute, okay?”

“I know. Whatever you need.”
She flashed him a grateful smile. “You’re being very supportive, and I realize that. I’m

not trying to shut you out. I just—”

He was standing in front of her in two seconds. Her eyes huge, and her body trembled.

He knew that because he was cupping her chin and he could feel the nervous shakes she
was holding back by sheer will power alone.

“It’ll be okay,” he said. Then he slowly lowered his lips to hers. He pressed a kiss to her

mouth, making sure it was slow but no less thorough. And when he straightened, he was
pleased to see a slightly dazed cast to her expression. “We’ll do it together.”

“—Together.” She spoke at the same moment he did. Then they both smiled.
Then her expression slid back to serious. “I know you’re thinking things. I can see the

look.”

He frowned. “The look?”
“Yeah. You get this intense look and your hand twitches.”
He jerked his hands back. “It does not.”
“It does. It’s usually my signal to pull out a pad and paper and start taking notes. I’ve

got about ninety seconds before you start to blow.”

“Not true!”

She smiled. “It is true, but you’re holding it back for my sake.” She stretched up on her

toes and pressed another kiss to his lips. “I just wanted you to know that I’m grateful.”

“I don’t want you to be grateful, Megan. I want…” His words choked off. He wasn’t sure

what he wanted just yet. And even if he was, now wasn’t the time to share it. So he
forced himself to take a step back. “I want you to do what you need to do. I’ll wait here
for whenever you’re ready.”

She nodded, then a moment later, she disappeared into her bedroom. She closed the

door quietly but the click sounded very loud to Wyatt. And then he was alone with his
thoughts.

Not a good thing. Worries started whirling around his brain. What if she insisted on

aborting? It would kill him. He didn’t want to get rid of a child. Certainly not her child, to
say nothing of his own. He started marshaling arguments in his mind. Genetically
speaking, aborting would be a crime. With two intelligent, capable parents, the baby
could very well be brilliant. What if it cured cancer? Or solved the Internet piracy issue?

He started pacing, needing to work off some of his extra energy. He took the time

looking at her apartment. It was small but neat as a pin. And it was decorated with a
zillion pictures. Snapshots mostly, collages done in big and little frames.

Looking closer, he saw her entire life done in family and friends. Parents and two

brothers in a variety of different vacation or holiday shots. He saw her swim teams, her
high school proms, and a thousand different weekend parties. He saw her laughing, he
saw her dancing, he saw her winning. He studied her friends as they tickled her, her
brothers as they mock strangled her, and her parents as they looked on beaming. Or they
did up until a few years ago when her father disappeared from the photos and her mother
took on a lost and bitter cast.

Wyatt inspected every picture, and then he did it again. Such a happy childhood filled

with people. And such a stark contrast to his own. Oh certainly, he’d been fed and
clothed. But whereas Megan had clearly been surrounded by friends, Wyatt had been
closeted in his room reading comics. He’d preferred it that way and no one in his family
had pushed him to be any different.

Which left his man cave filled with comics and not a single photo. Compared to the

smiles that surrounded him on every side here, his childhood seemed bereft. And he
hadn’t even realized the lack until now.

He wanted this life for his child. The laughter, the people, the mosaic of happy times.

He couldn’t remake his own childhood, but he could share in a life like this one. A happy
life. A—

“It’s done. Now we’ve got to wait a moment.”
He spun around, seeing her drawn expression. She’d cleaned up. Was now wearing

sweats and had her hair back in a ponytail. But what he saw most was the way she

looked to him for support. Her skin was pale, but her eyes met his and held.

He crossed to her and wrapped his arms around her. She sighed—a pleased sound—

and dropped her head on his chest.

“I love that you’re so big,” she said. “And you’re gentle, too. I feel like nothing can hurt

me when we’re like this.”

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “If I could be a superhero, I’d spend every

second protecting you.” And our child.

She pressed a kiss to his chest, and he closed his eyes to enjoy the moment. He was

holding her. She loved the way he felt around her. And in this moment before the news
everything was perfect.

“We probably have the results now,” she murmured against his skin.
He swallowed. “Want to look together?”
She pushed back, her gaze going to his. “Yeah. Together.”
So he took her hand—the one holding the stick—and as she twisted in his arms, they

both lifted it up to the light.

Positive.
Megan was pregnant.

Chapter Fifteen

Megan’s hand began to shake, but thanks to Wyatt’s supporting grip, she didn’t drop the
stick. Not that it mattered, but somehow adding mess to terror was just not something
she wanted right now.

She was pregnant.
He wasn’t saying anything. Not surprising as she had no words either. She would

almost form a thought, and then she’d see the little plus sign again and panic would
make everything flee. Her thoughts, her hopes, even her feelings for Wyatt… They just
ran away.

His presence strengthened her. The way he surrounded her body seemed to grow

larger and tighter. More reassuring. She was grateful for that, and yet a second later, it
became too much.

A baby. She was going to have a baby.
She felt nausea close down her throat.
“It’ll be okay, Megan. We’ll work it out.”
She didn’t answer. Instead, she quietly set down the strip on the counter and turned to

flee. All her thoughts were gone, why not her body? “I’m going to take a shower. We can
talk afterwards, okay?”

Wyatt nodded. “Whatever you need.”
She paused a moment, struggling for the words. But only one bounced around her

brain: baby. And she wasn’t going to say that aloud.

Wyatt stroked her cheek. “It’s okay. Take your shower.”
She closed her eyes, existing with the heat of his body, the caress of his fingers. But

that word “baby” kept bothering her, keeping her from remaining here. So she said a
different word.

“Shower.”
“Yes.”
She fled to the bathroom. Hot water. Shampoo. The normal routine of morning. It was

soothing in its way, but not enough. And by the time the water had run ice cold, she was
no nearer to a solution.

Pregnant.
She wasn’t ready for a baby, but then again, was anyone? She thought about her

career. They’d just bought Miranda’s Place. Would she be able to manage the renovations
pregnant? With an infant? Sure, lots of people were single mothers, but it was so hard.
And she didn’t know anyone in St. Louis. She’d be all alone down there.

They hadn’t ever talked about kids. Their romantic relationship was so new, they’d

barely talked about anything. She knew he was a solid, dependable guy. He certainly had
enough money to support a family. But did he want to? He’d said they’d figure it out
together, but what if he asked her to abort? She couldn’t imagine getting rid of someone
created in love.

And it was love between her and Wyatt. Well, at least on her end. Truthfully, she’d

been in love with the man within a month of working for him. He was everything she
wanted in a guy: good looking, brilliant, and had the ability to follow-through. And last
night’s love-making had taken her feelings to a whole new level. But what if the feelings
were one sided? She flinched at the idea of him breaking it off. Cutting off their romance
would be hard enough, but what if he didn’t want a pregnant woman working at
Miranda’s Place? He wouldn’t fire her, would he? Of course not. She was being ridiculous.

She touched her belly, fighting the urge to grip it tight. Already, she was fighting for her

child. She’d only just realized she was pregnant, but suddenly she was willing to fight to
the death to give it a good life. And if that meant defying Wyatt and striking out on her
own, then so be it.

Except, she realized, no one was throwing her out. No one was firing her. And truth be

told, he kept saying “together.” So that meant she was creating fears out of nothing.
Which meant…

It was time to get out of the bathroom.
Suddenly determined, she pulled on her clothes and went into her living room. He was

standing there holding one of her photos. Honestly, you couldn’t stand anywhere in her
apartment without looking at photos, but he seemed especially intent on this one.

She stepped closer, trying to see what he was looking at. Then she smiled,

remembering the day that picture was taken. They’d been at the Ripley’s Believe It Or
Not museum in Orlando, Florida.

“That was the most awful vacation,” she said. “It rained the whole time. Sure, there

was plenty to do inside, but my brothers wanted the amusement parks. Instead, we went
to that museum.”

He held up the picture. It had been done with a special process such that two photos

were superimposed, one on top of the other. Hold the picture in one light and you saw
the five of them looking all serious. Shift your wrist a little, and you saw everyone
macking on everyone else. Well, at least the three kids. Her parents had just looked at
each other and kissed.

One way: family portrait. The other way: real life family.
She touched it, shifting so she could look at her parents kissing. “I’d forgotten how

happy they were together.”

“They were in love?”
“Very. But then there was that damned car accident…” Her voice trailed away. That’s

when everything changed. Her father was dead. All three kids had thrown themselves
into sports, finding surrogate fathers in their coaches. Then they were off to college while
their mother grieved alone.

She saw that now. Odd how that had nothing to do with the crisis at hand, but right

now, she was thinking of her mother. The woman had created a happy home for herself.
That was a miracle all its own given the horror of the woman’s childhood. But then she’d
lost everything in one fatal car crash. And now she was alone and bitterly manipulative as
a way to hold on to her youngest child. Or perhaps she simply wanted her daughter to
find the happiness the same way she had: with a good husband and children. Megan
closed her eyes, pressing her palms to her eyelids. It was too much to think about, too
much to process. Her mother on top of all of this? She couldn’t do it.

“Hey, I’m hungry,” Wyatt said. “Want to go out for pancakes? We can talk then. With

coffee.”

“A Mai Tai would be better,” she joked. Then she bit her lip. She wouldn’t be drinking

any alcohol for the next nine months. Longer if she nursed the baby. Megan swallowed.
“Yeah. Omelet. Muffin. Coffee. Not necessarily in that order.”

He smiled and held out his hand. She took it and was reassured as her smaller hand

disappeared into his much larger one. He was big and solid, and it would be all right.

“I’m going to keep the child,” she blurted. Then she clapped a hand over her mouth.
He froze, his gaze locking onto hers.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to just say it like that. But… I’m not sorry I said it.

You need to understand how I feel.”

“You’re sure?”
“Positive.”
He let out a slow breath, and as he released it, his shoulders dropped about two

inches. “Thank God. I didn’t know what I’d do if you insisted on aborting. I… I want this
child, Megan. I want to be a father. I want to give your baby a home like you had.”

She tilted her head in confusion. “Like I had? Five people in a tiny house constantly

worried about money?”

“No,” he said. “Happy. A happy home filled with people.” He picked up the dual photo

again and tilted it to show her the goofy one. “You were happy here. All of you were.”

“Until my dad died,” she said softly.
“We can’t control that stuff. But the rest…” He slowly reached forward, his motion

gentle as he set his fingers on her belly. “I want this child to be happy. I want to help
make it happen for her and for you.”

“And if he’s a boy?”
“Well, I can geek out with the best of ‘em.” He abruptly grinned. “I’ll take him to his

first comic book store.”

She grinned, the weight of the world slipping from her shoulders. He wanted the child.

And he wanted to be part of the baby’s life. All the rest could be worked out.

“You’re not going to fire me, are you? You’re going to let me work at Miranda’s Place

just like we planned, right?”

He reared back. “Fire you? Hell, no. I’m going to need money. Which means I need you

to turn that place around pronto.” Then his expression shifted into a frown. “But, I’m not
sure about you being all alone in Missouri.”

“I’ll make friends,” she said by way of reassuring herself. “I can always find help if I

need it.”

His fingers tightened around hers. “I want to be there. I want to help and… If you’ll let

me, I want to be with you every step of the way.”

She blinked. “Every step?”
“You just threw up on top of me and my pizza. How much worse could it get?” He was

joking, but there was steel underneath his words. And if she had any doubt, his next ones
underlined his true meaning. “I’m going to be part of this child’s life from beginning to
end. So I guess that means you’re going to have to get used to me hanging around.”

She nodded, waiting to feel claustrophobic by those words. She didn’t. In truth, she felt

relief. And joy.

She tugged him toward the door. “Come on. Let’s eat before I get too annoyed with

you and kick you out of my life.”

It was a joke, but she could see her words hit him. He truly was afraid that she’d cut

ties with him. So she slowed and pressed a kiss to his lips. “Even if I hated your guts—
which I don’t—I’d still keep you in my life for our child. He or she is half your fault, too.
You’re going to take equal responsibility.”

“I don’t think it’s anyone’s fault. Except maybe that damn ghost.”
She snorted. “I doubt I can get him to pay child support.”
“That’s okay. Because we don’t need no stinking doubloons.”
She laughed at that. In fact, he kept her laughing all the way through their meal. Then

he held her quiet in his arms all night long. No dreams that time, which was welcome. As
was the morning wake up.

And the whole time, he kept her smiling. Not laughing, but at least stable. Not nearly

as freaked out. And just like he promised, they got through.

After three days—and three lovely nights with Wyatt—she was beginning to feel like

she had a handle on things. She’d gotten the A-OK from her doctor, was on pregnancy
vitamins, and was beginning to get a handle on her nausea and mood swings. All in all,
things were looking up.

Then her mother called.

Chapter Sixteen

“How would you feel about dinner tonight?”

Wyatt looked up from his desk on the top floor of his second B&B. It was in a northern

suburb of Chicago and one of his best properties, but it was adding a new honeymoon
cottage in the back garden. So a month before, he’d moved his offices here to oversee
the construction. Which meant that right now, he was buried behind stacks of papers and
half hidden by his open laptop. Except he wasn’t looking at it. Right then he was
searching the internet on his phone, but one glance at Megan and he snapped it closed.
He wasn’t sure what tipped him off, but his mood abruptly swung to wary.

She was standing in front of his desk looking perfect. As in her hair was neat, her

clothing lay in pristine lines, and her expression was completely composed. Everything
was in its place and totally neutral. But her eyes said something different. They were
pinched and her gaze wouldn’t quite settle. Which told him that something bad had
happened. Given that the business was running just fine, it probably had something to do
with her private life. Their private life.

“Uh,” he said stalling for time. “I enjoy dinner. I mean, I would love to have dinner with

you.”

“What about me, my mother, and my brother?” She winced. “My older brother is

deployed, so he couldn’t make it. And I’ve already emailed Josh. He said he’d be happy to
come assuming I bring cheesecake. And Mom will be thrilled, though her thrilled means
she’ll be raring to go and not necessarily in a good way. I haven’t told anyone that you’re
coming. You don’t have to say yes, I just… I mean, we’re going to have a baby and I
thought… Well, Mom called complaining about a dripping faucet and…” She frowned and
tucked her tablet tight to her belly. “I’m babbling.”

“I like hearing you babble. I learn all sorts of things.” He was striving for a lighter tone

and it worked. She flashed him a quick smile.

“So do you want to meet my mother and brother? She, um, knows that there’s a new

guy in my life. She just doesn’t know who. You can say no. We can wait on this. In fact—”

“I’d love to come,” he said. He had hoped to keep it just the two of them for a little bit

longer, but he really wanted to meet her family. In fact, he was eager for it.

“I have to go anyway. In all the…um…new things happening this week, I’d forgotten

that I’d promised to join her for dinner tonight.” She winced. “Crap, I’ve got to put in an
order downstairs for the cheesecake. It was the stupidest thing ever to bring Josh here
last month. He can’t stop raving about the dessert.”

“It was a great idea. Take out cheesecake orders have tripled thanks to your brother

and his friends.”

She blinked. “Really?”
He nodded, his mind churning on the possibilities for tonight’s dinner even as he

continued the conversation. “That was, incidentally, why we had to renegotiate Frank’s
pay. Mr. Temperamental Chef thought he could go into business on his own.”

She blinked. Clearly she’d forgotten why he had to leave St. Louis so abruptly. “Because

of Josh?”

“Because Josh loves cheesecake. I had to give Frank twenty percent of every

cheesecake order.”

She frowned, pulling out her tablet. “We’ll have to adjust the accounting software.”
“Already done.”
She looked up, her expression dark. “But that’s my job.”
He smiled. “I do know how to handle the accounting software, you know. And I thought

—”

“You thought I was too delicate to handle my job and a pregnancy? You thought—”
He straightened, quickly coming around the desk before she built into a first class

temper. He knew she was just blowing off steam. Knew that it was her mother who was
really making her crazy. But that didn’t stop him from soothing her as quickly as possible.
For both their sakes.

“What I thought was that you were busy setting up things for Miranda’s Place. I made

the changes while you were still down south. Long before—”

She swallowed. “Long before things got interesting.”
He smiled and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Oh no, things were interesting between

us from the very first second.”

She looked up and pressed a kiss to his jaw. “Took you long enough to act on it.”
Truer words had never been spoken. “I’m just glad I finally got around to it.”
She grunted, something that was half laugh, half reluctant acceptance. Then she

dropped her tablet on the desk before wrapping her arms around him and burying her
face in his chest. He loved it when she did that. Made him feel like a hero. Like
everything was perfect.

She sighed in his arms. “You must think me a first class idiot.”
“No, I think your mother stresses you out. And I don’t like that.” She stiffened slightly.

“I’ve never liked it. Pregnant or not, you’re still my assistant—”

“Partner. Profit-sharing, remember?”
“Uh, right. Partner. And when you’re upset, I get all mucked up.”
“Mucked up?” she teased.
“It’s a technical term,” he said as pompously as he could manage. “It means I’ll do

whatever it takes to un-muck things.”

“Like go to dinner with my family tonight?”

“Like go to dinner, make nice with your mother, and then reward you with a private

massage later.” He squeezed her bottom just because he could.

She pulled back to look at him, her eyes sparkling. “Your massages always end up one

way.” In the past three days, he’d given her a back massage and two foot massages. And
she was right. They did always end up in one wonderful way.

He arched a brow at her. “Is that a problem?”
She winked. “That’s the best part.”
“Then it’s settled? We go to your mother’s tonight, then your place afterwards.” He

didn’t suggest his place. They were currently at his place. His bed was a cot in the corner
of his office. It wasn’t comfortable for one, much less two. Or two and a half if he counted
the baby. Ditto the man cave with its not-so-comfortable pull-out couch.

“Yeah. It’s settled, but…” She straightened to look him in the eye. “My mother’s

difficult.”

“Um, I don’t know if you remember the dream. It’s not all clear in my mind but—”
“Baby. Crib. Grandma being awful. Yeah, I remember.”
He leaned back against his desk, giving her room to move if she wanted to. Then he

was extremely pleased when she didn’t. “Well, given that she’s raised three amazing
children, I’d say your mother has done a remarkable job.”

Megan’s expression eased. “Yes, she has. But after my dad died, it all changed.”
“It was bound to.” He couldn’t imagine how angry and bitter he’d become if Megan left

him. If she died in a random car accident, he’d be homicidal. Or suicidal. He wasn’t sure
which. “I understand her resentment, Megan, but I won’t allow her to hurt you. I mean it.
It was hard enough when you were just my assistant. Now as a partner…”

She flashed him a smile at his use of her new title.
“Look, one month ago how you handled your personal life was not my business. But it

is now. I can’t stand by and just watch her tear into you.”

She tilted her head, her eyes narrowed. “You’ve known? About her, I mean. I thought I

kept it so quiet.”

He touched her cheek. “I told you. When you get upset—even if you don’t mention it—I

get mucked up.”

She blinked and then released a low chuckle. “That may be the most romantic thing

you’ve ever said to me.”

“Uh, I’m not sure that’s a compliment.”
“Oh it is,” she said as she pressed a slow kiss to his lips. “Trust me, it is.”
He tried to deepen the kiss. Hell, he’d been thinking of clearing his desk in one full

sweep of his arm before laying her out on it. He was tensing to do just that when she
pulled away.

“I’ve got to call in the cheesecake order.”

“In a minute.”
“And I’m late on last month’s accounting—”
“Don’t care.”
“And I suddenly have all these lustful thoughts clogging up my works.”
He paused a moment to replay her words. Yup, he’d heard that right. “Well, what can I

do to unclog you?”

She grinned. “Don’t move.”
He blinked. “Uh…” She pressed his hands down to either side of him so he could grip

the desk.

“I said: don’t move.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He curled his fingers around the desk’s edge. He didn’t move, not even

when she started undoing his belt buckle. His abs tightened, his legs tensed, but he didn’t
move even though the rasp of the zipper going down had his toes clenching inside his
shoes.

“Okay, I’ve changed my mind,” she said.
Thank God.
“You need to stand up.”
He pushed to his feet. His trousers slid down to the floor.
“Now freeze.”
“You’re killing me here,” he grumbled. But he didn’t move.
“And no talking either!”
Goodness, she’d gotten bossy all of a sudden. Perversely, it turned him on even more.

So he buttoned his lip and tried not to gasp as she pulled down his boxers over his
straining erection.

“In case you’re wondering, I already locked the door.”
His gaze flew to his shut door. He hadn’t spared one thought for that. He’d been

completely consumed by her.

His boxers dropped to his ankles. He was now standing naked from the waist down

though thankfully his shirt covered most everything. Course that didn’t prevent her hands
from doing wickedly wonderful things to him. Warm fingers stroked around his hips and
squeezed his bottom.

He gulped at that. No one had ever done that to him. She chuckled at his reaction and

did it again. He growled at her, low in his throat.

“I said quiet.” She laughed.
“Involuntary reaction,” he shot back. “Doesn’t count.”
“Hmmm,” she said as she abruptly grabbed his cock, squeezing the tip enough to make

his body jerk. “I’ll decide what counts and what doesn’t.”

He swallowed and nodded, completely obedient.

“Good answer. And now,” she said, making sure he saw the twinkle in her eyes, “I get

to live out one of my fantasies.”

Seriously? This was one of her fantasies? It ranked number 2 on his all time favorite

daydreams. Megan. Him. His office. Number 1 was the desk thing, but this was almost as
good.

She’d softened her grip, stroking and touching him enough to make his breath come in

short, strangled huffs.

“I love that you’re so big everywhere. But you know what I love even more than that?”
He shook his head, a slight jerky movement.
“How you taste.”
Then she dropped to her knees and started sucking him. No tender licks, just full blown

heaven. And if that weren’t enough, she worked a hand between his legs to fondle his
sac.

It took about two seconds for him to build to blow, but he didn’t want to do it that way.

Lots of girls didn’t like—

Too late.
Biology took over. His hips jerked, his body convulsed, and he spent himself utterly

right inside her wonderful mouth. And miracle that she was, she didn’t seem to mind one
bit.

He gasped, his knees weak, his body still pulsing. He touched her hair—so soft and

glorious. He caressed her neck and her shoulders. Whatever he could reach. And slowly,
eventually, he felt the strength return to his body.

She straightened up with a grin. “I always wanted to do that.”
He grinned. “Anytime you want, you just tell me.”
“Deal.”
“Good,” he said as he abruptly picked her up. “Because now it’s my turn.”
She squeaked in alarm, but was no match for his strength. He held her with one arm

while the other did just what he’d seen in all those stupid romantic comedies his sister
was always watching. He swept his desk clear with one dramatic movement.

“Wyatt!” she cried. “Someone’s going to have to clean that all up. And it’s probably

going to be me!”

“I’ll get it later,” he said.
“Ha.”
“Promise.”
She stilled. “Really?”
“Really. But only if you lie back right now and stay very still.” He flashed her a grin.

“Well, except for any involuntary movements and the occasional scream.”

She blinked. “You intend to make me scream?”

“Oh yes.”
“Then it’s a good thing the workmen are busy outside.”
“Yup.” He set her on the desk and slowly rolled her backward until she was lying down

longwise on the desk. He had a suit jacket nearby that he folded up for her pillow. And
then he positioned himself between her legs.

“Wyatt—” she began, but he squeezed her calves until she let out a moan of pleasure.

Good thing to remember, he decided. Her calves ached, probably from all those high
heels.

“No talking, remember. Only screams,” he said.
She grinned, and then he got busy. She was in another one of those pencil skirts. Not

for long, he thought as he looked for a bulge in her belly. He didn’t see one, but that was
normal. He’d looked it up on-line. In fact, he’d spent many hours recently on the internet
learning all about pregnancy. And this particular activity was deemed very safe.
Beneficial, even.

So he rolled her skirt up and her panties down. He went slowly, massaging every inch

of the way. Outside of her legs, inside of her thighs. He even spent a couple moments on
her feet, especially the arches, while he pulled her panties away. She was releasing a
throaty purr by the time he gently lifted her knees.

He stroked up the inside of her thighs, liking the way her bottom was already

convulsing. He looked up, pleased that her nipples were tight beneath her very
professional white blouse. On impulse, he reached and stroked across the hard buds.

She gasped, her thighs tightening around him. But he was a large man and she couldn’t

squeeze him hard enough to close up. All it did was rev him more, so he quickly undid her
blouse buttons and unclasped her bra. Thank God for front hooks.

And once she was exposed to the air, he leaned forward, kissing, sucking, and nipping

while her legs tightened rhythmically around him.

Did he have the room? he wondered. He worked his fingers between them to stroke

her, to push into her opening, and then to slowly press up and over her clit.

She gasped, her body arching off the desk. He pulled back immediately. He didn’t want

her finishing too soon.

“Wyatt!” she cried. “Don’t stop!”
“That was talking. I said you could only scream.”
She flashed him a look of annoyance, but it was quickly replaced by a start of surprise

as he pushed her thighs wider. And then he dropped to his knees.

“You know how you’ve been dreaming of that other thing? Well I’ve wanted to do this

to you.”

And so he did. He settled between her legs, inhaling the musky aroma before starting

to lick. Deep long strokes, penetrating thrusts, and sweet swirls around her nub. Those

last ones were the best. She cried out every time he went there.

He played with her a long time, savoring her taste and her reactions. How he loved to

hear her sounds. And the sweetest sound of all came next.

He flattened his lips around her clit, stroked her twice, and then sucked once. Hard.
She screamed. If he could hear that every day for the next sixty years, he would die a

very happy man. It was the best noise ever.

At least he thought it was. Until, a moment later, she grabbed his ears and pulled him

up enough to look at her.

“In me,” she ordered. “Now!”
He blinked. That was what he’d really wanted to hear. A second later, he was

embedded deep. She started convulsing around him the moment he thrust inside. And
then she screamed.

“Wyatt!”
Now that was the best sound ever.

Chapter Seventeen

Megan’s stomach clenched tight as they got out of the car outside her mother’s house. It
always clenched at this moment, usually because she feared her mother’s mood. Some
days the woman was charm itself, almost like her old happy mom. But those days were
rare. So her stomach tightened in fear, and in her current state of pregnancy-induced
nausea that was a very bad thing.

“You okay?” Wyatt asked, his hand lightly touching her shoulder.
She nodded. “Mom should be in a good mood,” she said, hoping it was true. “After all,

we’re coming for dinner. She likes that.”

“Good mood, bad mood, it doesn’t matter. Everything’s going to be fine.”
She looked into his smiling face, measured the width of his broad shoulders, and felt his

warmth surround her. At moments like this, she felt like she could take on the world. How
much worse could one mother be?

“I just hope she doesn’t scare you off.”
He grinned as he grabbed the cheesecake box out of the back. “Not a chance. I’m not

going anywhere, Megan. You’re stuck with me.”

She smiled, her thoughts and her gaze turning to her house. Her father had said that

too, once upon a time. No one could control life. But when she put her hand in his, she
could almost believe.

“Come on,” she said to herself. “Let’s do this.”
So they walked, hand in hand, to the house. The front door swung open to reveal her

mother dressed in her Sunday clothes with a pristine apron around her waist. Her hair
was done up in a neat bun, and she looked lovely. And when she looked at Megan, her
eyes lit up with happiness. Sadly, the expression was short lived as she shot a sour
expression at Wyatt.

“He’s so attached to you, he won’t even let you out of his sight for one night to visit

your mother?”

Oh great. The woman was in fine form tonight. “Hello, Mom. This is Wyatt. He’s my

boss and, well, he’s given me a promotion of sorts.”

“No ‘of sorts’,” Wyatt interjected. “You’re my partner now.”
“Partner?” Mom said with obvious surprise and pleasure. “Congratulations, but…” She

grimaced at him. “Does he have to come to dinner?”

“Actually, Mom, he does. Please try to be nice.”
“I’m always nice,” she said as she enfolded Megan in a warm hug. Then she took the

cake box from Wyatt. “I’ll put this in the kitchen.”

Wyatt smiled, though the expression looked a little strained. Fortunately, another car

roared around the corner at just that moment. A bright red Mustang. Joshua, just in time.

“Huh,” grunted her mother as she narrowed her eyes. “He’s on time. Wonder what the

problem is.”

No problem. Megan had just threatened to rip out his teeth one by one if he didn’t show

up right at six. And then she said she’d smash the cheesecake if he was late. It was that
last threat that did it. And here he was pulling into the driveway.

Meanwhile, Megan smiled at her mother. “Maybe he’s just anxious to see us.”
Her mother cast her a suspicious look. “You and your boss. Joshua on time. What’s

going on?” She paused and looked back and forth between her and Wyatt. Then her eyes
abruptly widened. “Your new man. The one in St. Louis. Is it him?”

Well, Megan couldn’t fault her mother for being stupid. “Let’s just get inside, okay?”
Her mother’s eyes narrowed, but Megan thought she caught a spark of excitement. If

nothing else, Mom loved the drama.

Meanwhile, Joshua had leaped out of his car, all puppy dog enthusiasm and casual

good looks. The boy had been a distance runner in high school and college, and now had
the tall, lean look of a veteran marathoner. He grabbed a bottle of wine from the back of
his car, then ran up to them. In a blink of an eye, he kissed his sister and his mother
while simultaneously grabbing the cheesecake box. Then, with both hands full, he turned
to look at Wyatt.

“So this is the mysterious bossman. Good to meet you,” he said, though he didn’t have

a hand to extend.

Wyatt smiled. “Bossman no longer. She’s been promoted to partner.”
“Partner! Her? Man, you are in trouble. She’ll bleed you dry in a second!”
Megan boxed her brother hard on the shoulder. It probably hurt her as much as it did

him, but he had his hands full. He couldn’t punch back, so she judged it a worthy
sacrifice. “I’m an amazing partner. And I’m going to make us both a ton of money.”

Josh grunted at the impact but flashed his sister a mischievous look. “You still hit like a

girl.”

“You still spend all your money.” She jerked her head to his car. “New one?”
“Three months old. Like it?”
“It definitely makes an impact.”
He laughed. “Why else would you have a car but to make an impression?”
“I don’t know. To get from place to place?”
“To come visit your mother every once in a while?” inserted their mother, though her

face was flushed with pleasure. She really did love it when her family visited.

Josh winked. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
Then all together, they went inside. The smell of pot roast filled the air and Megan

caught sight of Wyatt sniffing appreciatively.

“Wow,” he said. “That smells heavenly.”
“I’ve tried to get the recipe out of her,” Megan said, “but she says I won’t have any

reason to come see her if she gives it up.”

Wyatt’s brows raised. “I’m sensing a theme here.”
Mom snorted. “It’s because she’ll give it to that fancy French chef of yours. It’s a family

recipe. Not a restaurant special.”

“Fancy French chef?” Wyatt asked.
“She means Fred. The guy from Brooklyn who can cook French if he wants to.”
Josh chuckled. “We forever fear that the fierce Frenchman Fred will… uh…”
Wyatt picked up the alliteration. “Follow family recipes?”
“Fondle fickle French maids and fu—”
“That’s enough of that!” snapped their mom. “Shut the door. You’re making the house

cold.” She disappeared for a moment into the kitchen with Joshua. Probably to put the
wine and cheesecake into the refrigerator. Whatever the reason, it gave Megan a chance
to catch her breath.

“I’m sorry, Wyatt,” she whispered. “This isn’t going to be pleasant.”
“Relax,” he said. “She just needs some buttering up. And the promise that this won’t be

the last time you visit her.”

Megan nodded. He’d suggested that on the drive over, but every time she thought

about it, she just couldn’t promise. These visits were hard and were only going to get
worse as her pregnancy advanced. She didn’t want to stress herself out on a weekly
basis.

“So, Mom,” she heard Josh say from the kitchen. The door was open so they could hear

everything clearly. “Where are these light bulbs that need to be replaced? Your ladder
man has arrived.”

“Oh don’t do that now,” Mom said. “It’s dinner time. Or will be soon. Besides we have a

guest. Here, give him a beer.”

“You mean give me and Megan a beer and offer him one.”
Wyatt looked up. “I’d love one.”
“None for me, thank you,” Megan added.
That brought on silence as her brother abruptly stuck his head in from the kitchen. “No

beer? You pregnant or something?”

It was meant as a joke. She knew it. But as it was the truth, Megan had no ready

response to her brother’s laughing face. And that pause before answering was all it took.
Josh’s eyebrows narrowed, then suddenly his jaw dropped open.

“Holy sh—” He swallowed the rest of his word, and then Mom came bursting through.
“What? What!” She stared at Megan, her gaze dropping to her daughter’s belly. And

when Wyatt settled a comforting arm around her shoulders, Mom’s steely glare shot to

him. “Is it your boss’s?” she demanded.

Megan managed a half-hearted smile. “Can we all just sit down for a moment?” She

made her way to the couch, Wyatt in tow. But no one else moved. Although Joshua did
take a healthy swig of his beer.

Meanwhile, one look at her mother’s face and Megan could tell the woman was gearing

up into Mama Bear mode. Back when they were young, her mother had been happy and
easy going. Generally. But threaten one of her kids, and wham, she turned mean in a hot
second. And right now, she was drawing breath to lambast Wyatt.

So Megan cut in as quickly as she could. “It’s not what you think, Mom.”
“Really?” the woman said, her glare never wavering from Wyatt’s face. “I think you’re

pregnant and unwed. Now is he the father or not?”

“I am,” Wyatt said calmly. “And I have every intention of seeing to my responsibilities

to both Megan and the baby.”

Megan winced. Wow. She hadn’t realized how much it hurt to be labeled “a

responsibility.” Part of her had started thinking marriage. Part of her knew it was much
too soon. But the largest part of her just wanted to believe that Wyatt was with her and
wasn’t just hanging around for the baby. So in reaction to the pain of his words, she put
in her own two cents. “I’m a grown woman. I can take care of myself.”

“Apparently not!” shot back her mother.
Megan ground her teeth. “I want this baby. I choose this baby. And you can choose to

be part of its life or not. But I won’t have you angry and bitter about him. Or her.”

Her mother reared back as if struck. And well she should because suddenly Megan had

her own Mama Bear going. Her mother could spit venom all she wanted, but Megan
would be damned before she let one drop of rancor touch her child.

“I’d never hurt your baby,” her mother gasped.
“Then you can start now,” said Megan, “by being happy for me.”
“Happy that you’re going to be a single mother? I don’t—”
“I don’t think her marital status is up for debate right now,” interposed Wyatt smoothly.

“We’re talking about a child. Your grandchild. Do you really want to start out by
screeching about it?”

“I am not screeching,” Mom hissed. “I’m furious with you.”
“My choice, Mother,” Megan said coldly. “My baby.”
Wyatt’s hand wrapped around hers, big, warm, and most of all, strong. “Our baby,” he

said softly.

She looked at him, squeezing his fingers back. “Our baby.” There. She’d said it aloud

and in front of her family. That made it real. That made it…right. With him beside her,
she could face whatever came, even if it wasn’t marriage.

Oblivious to her thoughts, he smiled back at her. Their gazes locked, and in that

moment, her brother chose to throw his own little bombshell.

“Um, how does this affect your move to St. Louis?”
“What?” bellowed their mother.
In his defense, her brother looked horrified. “Uh, I thought she already knew.”
Megan sighed. “No, she didn’t. And besides, I’m not moving to St. Louis. We just bought

a B&B there.”

“Definitely not moving,” said Wyatt. “She’s just… going to visit there a couple weeks a

month. Until Miranda’s Place is set up. But don’t worry, I’ll go with her.”

Far from helping the situation, it made her mother all the more furious. “You are not

moving anywhere! Not with a baby on the way. How can I help you if you’re down there?
And you certainly can’t work. It’s too exhausting, too dangerous for the baby.”

Megan pushed to her feet. “Mom, I know you were happiest when we were kids, and

the idea of a career woman is foreign to you—”

“It’s just too hard, Megan,” her mother said with a huff. “You can’t be all things to all

people. You have a child to think of now.”

“I am thinking of my baby who will need financial security—”
Wyatt stood as well, dropping his arm lightly on her shoulder. “That’s not a problem.”
“—and I like my job,” she continued. “I like working. A happy, fulfilled parent is

important, too.” She finished in a rush, her eyes going to her mother. “I don’t want to
fight about this, Mom. You’ve never understood how much I love my job, so you’ll just
have to accept it. I’m not quitting.”

Her mother dropped her hands on her hips, her eyes narrowing. “You have no idea

what it takes to raise a baby. My God, when I think of all the times one of you would
have come to grief it hadn’t been for your father, it completely terrifies me. Every single
one of you was a mischief maker. Always running this way or that. I couldn’t keep track of
you. Megan, I thought you were the level-headed one!”

“Hey!” cried Josh. “I resent that!” In truth, he didn’t really resent it. He was smiling,

after all, doing his best to derail his mother’s tirade. But it was no good. Mom just ignored
him completely as she took a few steps forward, her anger taking over.

“I couldn’t hold things together. It was your father who did that. To try and raise a child

on your own is just foolhardy. And dangerous! And—”

“That’s enough!”
Everyone jolted, Megan included. She’d never heard Wyatt use that tone before. Not

even when he’d had three contractors yelling in his face. But this time, his words echoed
through the house as he stepped forward to confront her mother.

“Mrs. Bradford, I’d like a word with you, please. In the kitchen.”
Megan’s eyebrows rose to her forehead. “Uh, Wyatt—”
“Don’t worry. I won’t hurt her.”

Megan blinked. “I, uh, wasn’t worried about her. The kitchen’s Mom’s territory. That’s

kinda like bearding the lioness in her den.”

Meanwhile, her mother had drawn herself up to her full 5’ 5” height. She tugged her

apron to straighten it, then spoke with clear disdain. “I think that’s an excellent idea, Mr.
Monroe.” She said his name with icy tones. “I’d like to have a few words with you myself.”

“Uh-oh,” murmured Josh as he pushed to his feet. “I think I’ll, uh, join—”
“No!” That came from Wyatt and Mom both.
Then Wyatt gave the man a warm smile. “I intend to be in my child’s life for the

duration. So it’s best if Grandma and I get things squared away now.”

Josh held up his hands in a surrender gesture. “Uh, look man, I’m all for the big stand-

up-for-your-woman thing, but maybe this isn’t the best time.”

Wyatt shrugged. “Maybe not. But we’re going to do it now. I hate having things

unresolved.” Then he gestured with his very large arm toward the kitchen. Their mother
sniffed, then preceded the way as if she were the Queen of England going into a war
room.

Megan started moving forward too, but then Wyatt turned around and looked straight

at her.

“Let me be your hero just this once. Let me take care of this for you. Please.”
She blinked, her eyes unexpectedly weepy. It was the pregnancy hormones, she was

sure. But he looked so manly there, asking to defend her from the ugliest dragon she
knew: her own mother. Sure there were more dangerous, more horrible people out there,
but her mother could push her buttons like no one else.

“I don’t think this is a problem you can solve,” she said to Wyatt. The dynamics

between herself and her mother were just too complicated.

“Just let me try. You can help me pick up the pieces afterwards if I screw up.”
She nodded, her heart warming. It was one of the most romantic things he’d ever done

for her. And frankly, she was happy to let him face the lioness. It was all so tiring.

Wyatt flashed her a grateful smile, then disappeared. The click of the door shutting was

rather loud. She wanted to go listen at the door, just like she had as a kid. But something
kept her rooted right where she was.

Meanwhile, her brother gave the door an anxious glance, then turned his gaze to her. A

moment later, he was leading her back to the couch. “Just tell me one thing, little sis. Is
this what you want? Really want?”

She nodded. “It really is. I mean, it’s earlier than I’d planned, but I’ve always wanted

kids.”

“And what about him? Are you going to marry him?”
She bit her lip, her anxieties pushing to the fore. After all, Wyatt hadn’t said a word

about marriage, and she’d been too much of a coward to bring it up herself. It was

enough that he wanted to be there for the baby. At least that’s what she kept telling
herself. “It’s complicated, Josh. It’s all happened so fast.”

“You’ve known each other for years.”
She sighed. “Not romantically, we haven’t.”
“Well, you got pregnant. You’ve got to know something.”
She snorted. “I do. Trust me, I have no complaints in that department. But marriage?

It’s too soon.”

He nodded, absorbing that comment. Then his eyes narrowed. “Maybe it’s too soon for

him to ask, but what about you? I’ve never seen you indecisive before. Do you want
him?”

“God, yes,” she breathed. “I love him.” Then she gasped and pressed her hands to her

mouth. She’d never said it aloud before. She loved Wyatt. Over the years, lots of words
had come up when she thought of Wyatt. Crazy. Amazing. Brilliant. And yes, even love.
But saying the word out loud left her too exposed. What if he didn’t love her back? She
felt too fragile now to face that possibility.

“So this is it?” her brother asked. “The real deal?”
She nodded, the tears starting to flow.
“Um, that’s not supposed to be a crying thing.”
She laughed, a short burst of watery misery. “What if he doesn’t feel the same way?

He’s the stick-around type. He means to stick around his child, and I want him to.”

Her brother put his arm around her and squeezed. “That’s a good thing.”
She elbowed him. Lightly. “Of course it’s a good thing! But what if he’s right here my

whole life—for my child. I’d have to look at him, talk to him, do things with him for the
sake of the baby. But if he doesn’t love me back…” She shuddered, the tears
overwhelming her.

“Whoa! Hold on. Geez Sis,” he said as he grabbed some tissues out of the box and

pressed it into her hand. “I’ve never seen you like this.”

“I’ve never been pregnant and in love before!” she snapped, right before she blew her

nose. “Josh, if he doesn’t love me—”

“Stop. Just stop.” He wrapped his arm around her head and pressed her close enough

that he spoke right into her ear. “First off, he’s right now having it out with Mom. If that’s
not love, I don’t know what is. But say you’re right. Say he doesn’t want to marry you,
I’ll… well, I’ll grab Scott and some of his military buddies and we’ll beat him to a pulp.
How’s that?”

She snorted. It wasn’t a pretty sound. “Great. You’d beat up my baby’s father. You’re all

heart.”

He pressed a sloppy kiss to her cheek. “Anything for you.” Then he touched her under

the chin, forcing her to look him in the eye. “I mean that. Anything. I’ll be there for you.”

And there it was. Her big brother—the one who was charming and feckless and never

did anything seriously—was giving her a grown-up promise to never abandon her.

“Thanks, Josh. You don’t know what that means to me.”
“If it means you’ll stop blubbering all over my new shirt, it’ll be worth it.”
She snorted. Then she had to blow her nose again. And then…
Then they both looked at kitchen door as Mom and Wyatt emerged.
Megan pushed to her feet, but she wasn’t fast enough. Wyatt was there looking at her

face. “You okay?” he asked.

She laughed. “I was going to ask you the same thing. All parts still attached? She didn’t

carve you up like a turkey, did she?”

“Of all the ridiculous ideas!” her mother said with a sniff. “I did no such thing. We just

had a little talk. I told him what I expected of my grandchild’s father—”

“And I told her that I wouldn’t let anything hurt you. Ever.”
Josh snorted. “Tall order, guy.”
Megan hugged her man. “He’s up to the task.”
“Enough of that,” Mom said, a strange twinkle in her eye as she shooed them all toward

the dining room. “The roast is going to get cold.”

Megan frowned at her mother, then turned to Wyatt and Josh. Neither man gave her an

answer to her mother’s strange expression. In fact, Josh just shrugged and headed for the
table. “Don’t ask me,” he said. “I’m starved.”

“What about you?” Wyatt asked as he held out his hand. “Hungry?”
Fair question. Her stomach felt queasy after all the emotions, but she thought she could

manage a little food. In truth, it was better if she always had something in her belly. “I
guess so.” She looked at her mother. “Really, is everything okay?”

“Of course it is,” Mom said, her tone gentle now. Just like it had been when Megan was

a child. “Now you go sit down. Start with the dinner rolls. It’ll help settle your stomach.”
The woman must have seen the surprise on Megan’s face because she grimaced and
looked down at her hands. “Look, honey, I know I haven’t been the nicest person lately.”

Josh snorted at that and got a glare from both women. So he abruptly sat down and

buttoned his lips.

“Mom—”
“Hear me out. I might not agree with exactly how you’ve chosen to run your life, but as

someone just pointed out…” She tossed a glance at Wyatt. “A mother’s job is to love her
children no matter what. And I do. I really do. I just…”

Megan filled in the silence, her new understanding of her mother making everything so

much easier to handle. “You’re afraid that we’re all leaving you. Like Dad did. Or that
we’ll ignore you like Grandma did.”

Her mother’s head snapped up. So did Josh’s as he muttered, “What?”

Their mother’s shoulders tightened defensively. “Your grandmother loved me in her

own way.”

“Well her own way wasn’t good enough,” said Megan firmly.
“And what do you know about that?” Mom asked tartly. She didn’t seem angry, just

curious. And a little worried.

“You’ve let things slip, every now and then,” she said. Which was true. But it hadn’t

really coalesced in her mind until she saw it in the dream. “Am I right? Did she neglect
you?”

Mom threw up her hands. “Well, of course she did. She was an alcoholic. But I got

through it. I grew up, met your father, and had a happy life. He taught me that. What is
past is past, and she was gone by then. Drank herself into an early grave.” All of that was
said in a rush, as if she couldn’t get the words out fast enough. Or perhaps it was what
she’d said to herself over and over. What’s past is past. I met your father, and had a
happy life. A mantra. Except that past wasn’t always past, was it? Especially as Grandma
had been a single mother. And that must have touched off a nerve in her mom.

Which meant… Megan blinked. She was suddenly more aware of all the problems her

mother had faced and overcome. So she walked around the table and gave her a big hug.

“I’ve been thinking. Can we make this a weekly thing? Dinner at your house?”
“With pot roast?” inserted Josh.
“What?” her mother asked, but the word was more a prayer than a question.
Megan continued. “There will be a few times I won’t be able to make it, but with

planning, we could rearrange things. Maybe have it on a different day?”

Her mother nodded, then twisted to give her a big hug back. “I’d like that. I’d like that

a lot.”

“Plus I’ll need you a ton after the baby’s born. Still think you know how to change a

diaper?”

Her mother’s eyes rolled in a dramatic grimace. “Some things can’t be forgotten no

matter how much you try. Scott had the stinkiest diapers. We thought we’d need a gas
mask.”

They all laughed at that. It was a small moment, but suddenly harmony was restored.

And if the peace might not last beyond the night, Megan didn’t care. For right now, she
had her old mother back. The one who was happy and generous with her smiles.

She glanced at Wyatt. She didn’t say the words aloud, but she mouthed them. And he

understood. She said, My hero. And when she came back around the table, he lifted her
hand and pressed a kiss onto it.

She meant to sit down, but his gaze caught her. It was a long, adoring look that settled

her heart and her mind. Whatever happened, his eyes promised, they were in this
together. It would be okay.

“Oh,” her mother said, wiping away a tear. “Do it now, Wyatt. Just… I can’t wait. Do it

now.”

He turned and shot her mother a helpless look. “You know this isn’t how it’s normally

done.”

Josh snorted. “Haven’t you figured out that we’re not a normal family?”
“Actually,” Wyatt said with a kind of wistful look, “I think you’re very normal. Which is

perfect. It’s so perfect, you can’t even imagine.”

Megan squeezed his hand. “What are you talking about?”
He sighed and patted her hand. “You know about my family. They’re fine, but I can’t

imagine my mother getting so angry that I got a girl pregnant. I can’t imagine my brother
or sister rushing to my side.”

She glanced at her brother. “You overheard what Josh said? About helping?”
Wyatt shook his head. “Didn’t have to. I can see it in his eyes. Megan, you have the

most amazing family and I want to be a part of that.”

“You are a part,” she said as she looked down at her belly. “I get the feeling they’re

going to hound you if you’re not.”

“True that,” muttered her brother.
Wyatt smiled, then he stood up to face her directly. “But you know, they’re completely

immaterial for this next part.”

“Hey!” Josh said, but their mother rapidly shushed him.
“I was going to wait for a better time for this, but your mother convinced me that

family’s a big part of your life. So maybe they could be a part of this moment too.”

“Wyatt, what are you talking abo— Oh!”
They’d been face to face, but then Wyatt had dropped down to one knee. Right there

beside the dining room table and her mother’s pot roast, he settled his big body into that
very traditional position in front of her. And he pulled a jeweler’s box out of his jacket.
Inside it was a huge diamond ring.

“Megan, I love you. I have for years now. I can’t live without you—either professionally

or personally. I need you in my life. You keep me sane when I think my head is going to
explode. You fill my heart and help me accept things like ghosts and…and craziness. Plus,
I think you can teach me about having the wild, riotous, happy family that you grew up
with. “

Her brother snorted. “Be careful what you wish for.”
Megan ignored him. Her whole attention was centered on Wyatt. And the way he was

holding out a ring for her.

“I know this is fast,” he said. “You don’t have to answer right away. But I need to ask.

Megan Bradford, will you make me the happiest man alive and marry me? Will you let me
love you and our child, and build—”

“Yes!” She threw herself forward. He caught her. Of course he did. The ring dropped to

the side, but she didn’t care. He loved her. He wanted her. He… “Yes!”

Then she was kissing him. As fast and as deep as she possibly could. He held her. And

when nothing else could be more perfect, she heard cheering behind her. Josh and her
mother, both clapping and laughing.

She pulled back, her cheeks heated in embarrassment. Then she waved them to silence

before turning back to Wyatt.

“I love you, too,” she said. “I have from the very beginning. And yes, I would love to be

your wife.”

That set him to kissing her again. And more clapping from the others. It was some time

before everything settled down. Then there was pot roast and cheesecake, and laughter
all around.

They talked about everything, most especially wedding plans and baby plans. It was

too much, or it would have been had Wyatt not been with her the whole way. And when
the evening was done and they were finally, finally going home, he held her close.

“I love you,” he whispered as she settled deep into his arms.
“I love you too,” she whispered. “How could I not? You’re the most amazing superhero

ever.”

He glanced down. “I’m not a superhero.”
“You are to me. And you will be to our child.”
It was true. She knew it in her heart and she could see it in his eyes. “It’s because of

you,” he said. “You make me—”

“Perfect,” she finished for him. “Absolutely perfect.”

Epilogue

“You’re kidding,” Megan groaned as she looked around the dream graveyard. “What am I
doing here again?”

At least it wasn’t quite the dark, spooky place it had been before. Still dark, but

moonlight gilded Lily’s grave in a pretty silver. She still wondered who the woman was
and why Wyatt mourned her, but she supposed some mysteries had to remain
unresolved. Meanwhile, she noticed that the season seemed to have shifted. A warm
breeze blew across her skin and there were buds on the tree branches. Off in the distance
the waves still crashed, but the sound was soothing, not grating.

And best of all, when she turned around there wasn’t a baby crying. Just a mansion in

the distance and the sound of children laughing.

“So where are you, Wyatt?” she called.
“Right here,” he said, stepping out of the shadows and stretching. Unlike every other

dream, he appeared just as himself. Jeans, tee, and a happy smile. He came right to her
side and kissed her. Hard and deep, just as if they were awake.

“Felicitations on your wedding,” said a deep voice from behind them.
They both jumped and spun around, Wyatt shifting to stand protectively in front of her.

There, standing next to Lily’s gravestone, was the pirate captain. Megan took a moment
to allow her heart to calm down to a normal rhythm, then smiled at their ghostly
interloper.

“We’re not quite married yet. Tomorrow morning. Then honeymoon in Australia.”

Somehow Wyatt had remembered her Personal Goals list had included a trip to Australia.
He’d surprised her with the plans last week and she couldn’t be more thrilled. Which
reminded her that this was the night before her wedding. “And you’re not supposed to
see the bride beforehand,” she said to Wyatt.

“I’m not seeing her,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “My eyes are completely closed.”
His eyes were definitely open. His dream eyes. But yeah, his real ones were probably

very closed as he snored away on his cot back at the B&B. Megan, on the other hand,
was in her bedroom at her childhood home. For this last night as a single woman, she
was staying with her mom.

Meanwhile, the Captain sauntered forward. “I thought I’d give you both a gift on your

special day,” he said, his expression open. “But I want a boon from you first.”

Wyatt tensed. Always the hero. “That doesn’t sound like a gift.”
“Oh, you’ll get the present regardless,” the ghost said. “But I do have a request.”
Megan studied the man, trying not so much to see his face as to feel his intentions.

That seemed very possible somehow in this place. What she sensed from him was not

malice. More like fear. For himself.

“Let him speak,” she said to Wyatt. “It doesn’t hurt to listen.”
Wyatt nodded, and they both waited expectantly as the Captain gave her a rather

courtly bow.

“A beautiful lady with a beautiful heart. Thank you. If you recall, you offered me a

bargain some nights ago.”

“You what?” Wyatt asked. “When?”
“Over a month ago,” she answered. “It wasn’t so much a deal as a threat. I said I’d let

him hang around, but if he interfered with renovations or hurt anyone, I’d burn the place
to the ground.”

“Uh…” Wyatt said, obviously scrambling to process what she’d threatened. “Burn it…”

He thought hard. “Yeah. Okay. I’m okay with that.” He looked back up to the captain. “I
won’t have you hurting anyone.”

“I have no intention of hurting anyone,” he responded. “And I have no wish to haunt a

pile of ash either,” he said, looking at Megan.

“Good,” she said. “Then we’re agreed.”
“Of course we are. I have never wanted to cause anyone pain. Well,” he amended, “not

since I died. I simply ask you to leave the two beds alone. The ones that you both slept
on when you came to the house the first time.”

“The brothel beds?” Megan gasped, remembering the ornate wood designs on the

headboard. She hadn’t realized Wyatt’s bed had been identical to hers.

“They are a pair, but they were never in a brothel,” the Captain continued. “And they

are the reason that I can create these dreams for you.”

“So it was you,” Wyatt said.
The ghost nodded. “With the help of these beds, yes. And the effect lasts a month, no

longer.”

Wyatt frowned. “Look, these dreams have worked out for us, but there are a lot of

people who wouldn’t appreciate them. I don’t think—”

“There has to be a connection to begin with,” said the Captain. “Some desire that I can

build on.”

Wyatt look unconvinced, whereas Megan was more interested in something else. “Why?

Why would you do this?”

The ghost shrugged. “Why not?” Then he pressed a hand to his heart. “I swear on my,

er, afterlife, that no one will come to any harm by way of it.”

To Megan’s surprise it was Wyatt who spoke, his voice ringing true in this landscape.

“Agreed,” Wyatt said. “We won’t touch those beds.”

Megan studied his face. He looked sincere, but she could hardly believe he was making

a deal with a ghost. “Are you sure?”

He smiled at her, his eyes becoming more intense. “Sometimes people need a little

push. I did. And I’ll be grateful for the rest of my life.”

The pirate clapped his hands. “Excellent! And now for your wedding gift.” He grinned

and then waved behind them. “Turn around.”

“I have the weirdest dreams,” Wyatt groused. But he took her hand and together they

turned.

Behind them was the scene taken from their memories. It was the backyard of his first

B&B, made up for a wedding. Wyatt was putting up chairs, his forehead damp with sweat
as he worked. All around him were huge arrangements of flowers. Massive things with all
sorts of blooms everywhere.

And there, stepping out to see the decorations were a young Megan and the other maid

Paulita. Megan wore her tie-dyed crop top and her favorite tempt-him jeans, but her gaze
wasn’t on Wyatt. It was on the huge bouquets of flowers.

“I remember this,” Megan said. “It was a beautiful wedding.”
Wyatt cleared his throat anxiously. “Uh, yeah,” he said. “A beautiful wedding.”
Megan was about to ask him about his strange tone, and then she saw the answer

played out right in front of her. Wyatt had stopped setting up chairs to look at her. The
young Megan didn’t notice; she was too busy admiring the flowers. But watching now she
could see the naked hunger on Wyatt’s face. He really had wanted her all the way back
then.

Meanwhile, young Megan was reaching out to stroke a single lily petal on the nearest

decoration. “I just love lilies,” she said to her friend. “They’re my favorite flower ever.”

“Lily!” Megan gasped as she spun around to look at the gravestone. “That’s where the

name comes from?”

Wyatt turned back, his expression confused. “I… I guess. I don’t know anyone named

Lily.”

“If I could explain,” inserted the captain. “I believe this grave was your way of

mourning Megan. You believed you could never have the woman you love. But if you put
her name on the gravestone, then she would want to know why. So you substituted
another name. Lily.”

“Because she loves those flowers.”
The Captain smiled. “Yes. It was your way of expressing your love without giving

yourself away.”

Megan tucked her arm tight around Wyatt’s waist. “Well, you did give yourself away,

Mr. Monroe. And tomorrow, my brother is going to give me away. To you.”

“I can’t wait,” he said as he turned to kiss her. He played along her lips, the kiss light

but with the promise of so much more.

Meanwhile, the pirate drawled a comment from behind them. “I can see that I am

decidedly de trop here.”

Megan smiled, using the movement to tease Wyatt’s lips. Yes, the Captain definitely

wasn’t needed anymore. But he did deserve something.

“Thank you, Captain,” she said, turned to look at the ghost. “It was a lovely gift. Not

just this moment, but everything.”

The ghost bowed to them, sweeping off his captain’s hat with a flourish. “It was my

pleasure.” And then he started to fade.

“Wait!” Megan quickly stepped forward. She had a million questions for the man. He

was a ghost and he’d done something amazing and…he was gone. She spent a few
moments calling for him, but in the end it was useless. The Captain wasn’t coming back.
And besides, they had better things to do.

Wyatt tugged on her hand. “You know, we never made it down to the beach.” He

looked at his bare feet. “I’m not stuck in the mud anymore.”

She smiled. “Definitely no mud. But…” Her gaze shifted the other direction, back to the

house where she could hear kids playing. “I’d rather see what’s over there. The house,
the family…”

“The kids,” Wyatt said. “Yeah. I want to see that too.” He swung her up in his arms

before heading to the house. “Best dream ever,” he said.

“Are you sure? I can think of a few others that were pretty good.”
He shook his head. “This is definitely the best, but…” His eyes shone as he leaned

down to nuzzle her neck.

She gasped at the sensation. “But?”
“But it doesn’t hold a candle to real life.”
“You’re right,” she said as she pressed her mouth to his. “Real life is so much better.”

About the Author

Kathy Lyons is the fun, contemporary side of USA Today Bestselling author Jade Lee. She
loves sassy romance with lots of laughter and sex. Spice is the variety of life, right? Okay,
so maybe two kids, two cats, two pennames, and writing over 30 books has messed with
her mind, but she still keeps having fun. And in her new Dream Nights series couples
share erotic dreams that lead to a sizzling reality. Check her out at

www.KathyLyons.com

Or hang out with her sexy historical half, Jade Lee. Titled heroes with dark secrets are

Jade’s passion. Especially when they fall for women who add more than just spice to their
lives.

Find

her

www.JadeLeeAuthor.com

Facebook:

JadeLeeBooks

Twitter:

JadeLeeAuthor

Unleash your inner vixen with these sexy bestselling

Brazen releases…

Skin in the Game

Jackie Barbosa

When injured NFL quarterback Cade Reynolds returns home to coach his old high school
team, he’s not expecting the blond bombshell he brings back to his hotel to be the geeky
girl who once gave him football pointers—or that she’s not about to let the hometown
hero take her team away from her.

Under the Covers

Rebecca Zanetti

Juliet Montgomery fled to Montana to escape her not-so-law-abiding family, but when
someone back home finds her in the small town near the Kooskia reserve, sexy sheriff
Quinn Lodge must push aside his own demons—and try to contain his explosive attraction
to Juliet—to keep her safe.

One Night with a Hero

by Laura Kaye

After growing up with an abusive, alcoholic father, Army Special Forces Sgt. Brady Scott
vowed never to have a family of his own. But when a one-night stand with new neighbor
Joss Daniels leads to an unexpected pregnancy, can he let go of his past and create a
new future with Joss?

Chasing Mrs. Right

Katee Robert

Adjusting to civilian life proves harder than Ian Walser expects…until he runs into a
gorgeous stranger who soothes his demons and gives him a glimpse of the life he wants.
He has no idea she’s his little sister’s best friend—or that she’ll refuse to give him more
than one night. Good thing this soldier likes a challenge…

No Flowers Required

Cari Quinn

A night of passion is all down-on-her-luck flower shop owner Alexa Conroy wants, but
when she propositions a sexy stranger, she gets more than she bargained for. Dillon
James isn’t who he says he is. Will saving her company be enough to protect their love
from Dillon’s lies?

Document Outline

Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Epilogue
About the Author
- Unleash your inner vixen with these sexy bestselling Brazen releases…

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