My Secret Fantasies

by Joanne Rock

  Her nails dug lightly into his shoulders, her head thrown back, putting her breasts right at mouth level. He traced circles around one pink tip, making the bud tighten to pebbly hardness. He drew on her, lavishing one full breast with attention and then the other. Increasing the rhythm, he felt himself losing control. Her fingers raked through his hair. Her thighs clenched him tight. She met him thrust for thrust, as lost to the moment as he felt.

  When a ragged cry left her lips, he felt the first pulses of her sex around him. Her release set off his own, their shouts mingling above the drone of the hot tub. He fell into her, spent, even as the contractions kept milking a response from him. He came and came, powerless to the sensations that drained him dry. Hell, he probably would have collapsed on her if Miranda hadn’t held him tight, her slender arms steadying him with surprising strength.

  Holy. Crap.

  He couldn’t think. Couldn’t speak. Damn near couldn’t see straight. It took time for his breath to return, along with awareness of anything besides Miranda and the incredible way she made him feel.

  “I’m taking you upstairs,” he announced, rolling to one side. He reached for more towels—fresh, dry ones—to wrap her in.

  At her sweetly compliant nod, he couldn’t help but smile. If he asked her to move in with him or let him take care of her, would she agree as easily?

  He guessed not. But right now, he was just happy as hell to have her in his house and on her way to his bed.

  7

  I’D NEVER WOKEN UP in a man’s bed before.

  Sunlight streamed over my face and arms, my limbs tangled with white sheets from the time Damien had awoken me in the middle of the night and we... A smile stole over my face as I tried to remember all the incredible highlights from the night before. Being with him—every time—had been amazing. Instead of feeling like a failure, I felt like a seduction superhero. Call me the Orgasm Queen.

  Of course, I have no idea if I was any good in bed. But Damien had enough sexual smarts for both of us, apparently. Besides, it was impossible to question myself now, when I still felt so freaking amazing.

  “You look happy.” A voice came from behind me on the king-size mattress. A sexy, rough, he-man voice that had filled my dreams in the few stolen hours of sleep I’d had.

  “How can you tell?” I turned to peer far enough over my shoulder to see that he faced me. His eyes were open, his jaw shadowed with dark stubble that made him look even more like a sexy pirate.

  Immediately, I had another idea for a story. One that involved a lot of bodice ripping and a great deal of ravishing. This one would be better than anything I’d saved on that flash drive, but even so, I’d feel better if I found it.

  Damien lifted a hand to my face and smoothed his fingers along my jaw.

  “I’ve been watching you wake up. When I saw your cheekbone lift, right here—” he brushed it with his thumb “—I knew you were smiling.”

  “Hmm.” I turned into his arms, battling a small stab of insecurity about my body. I could be thin the rest of my life and never get over that flash of instinct to hide myself. “You were watching me without me knowing. I hope you enjoyed the view.”

  “Enjoy it? Lady, I can’t get enough.” A heavy hand spanned my waist on top of the sheet, and my body came to life right away. Awareness pricked along my bare arms and down to the tops of my breasts, barely covered by the sheet.

  I slipped my knee between his, marveling at the heated warmth of him.

  “Me, either,” I whispered as I pressed kisses to his chest. It was too soon to think about what last night had meant. Maybe if we stayed in bed all day, we wouldn’t have to think about it.

  Or talk about it.

  The doorbell rang, however, before I could kiss him as much as I wanted.

  We separated enough to exchange glances. I knew we were both thinking about the foal. He was new enough for us to still worry about his health.

  “You can stay here,” Damien assured me, when I hopped out of bed after him.

  “That’s okay.” I slid into his bathrobe, since my own clothes were nowhere near. “I’d just eavesdrop to make sure everything’s okay.”

  He chuckled softly while he pulled on a pair of jeans, commando. Now I’d be thinking about how naked he was under that denim.

  “Maybe it’s Violet Whiteman?” He moved toward a set of blinds covering the massive windows that wrapped one side of the master suite. “Did she ever catch up with you yesterday?”

  Nerves tightened my gut while I tied the sash on the heavy, Turkish terry cloth robe. I didn’t want to think about my old life intruding here on my new happiness.

  “I dropped off some tea and bread for them while they were touring a local winery. I guess Violet writes some kind of blog about wine.” I peered over Damien’s broad shoulder as he held aside the blinds. “I’ll admit I timed my stop at their suite when I was certain I’d miss them.”

  He pointed to a large white vehicle almost directly below where we were standing. “You know anyone with a white Cadillac?”

  “Joelle!” I squealed, and squeezed his arm.

  “The tea shop owner?” He let go of the blinds as the bell chimed again.

  “Yes.” I hurried toward the door. “Do you mind if I go answer it?”

  “Of course not.” He didn’t follow me. “I’ll probably hit the shower and check on Stretch. Let you two visit.”

  “Okay. Thanks.” I hit the hallway and took the stairs two at a time, shouting, “Coming!”

  Skidding to a halt in front of the huge double doors at the front of the house, I grabbed a wrought-iron ring and pulled open one of the oak behemoths that made me feel like Alice in Wonderland during her small phase.

  “Joelle!” My girlfriend and former boss stood on the welcome mat with arms folded and toe tapping.

  She quit tapping when she saw it was me. With her shoulder-length brown hair worn in a flip, she looked like an artsy Stepford wife, or maybe a cross between Martha Stewart and Zooey Deschanel. At the tearoom she normally wore floral aprons over an all-black uniform of a pencil skirt and silk blouse. Today, she’d ditched her normal clothes for a T-shirt and jeans covered by a knee-length gray cardigan sweater. Her white Cadillac had been pulled up to the front step, parked squarely in front of the doors as if she’d planned to stay for only a second.

  “Miranda?” Her amber eyes landed on my hair, her freckles visible in the morning sunlight, since she wore no makeup except for long, fake eyelashes. A diamond stud winked just below one eyebrow. “What on earth did you do to your hair?”

  Before I could answer, she reached for my sleeve and gripped a handful of white Turkish terry cloth.

  “And what are you wearing?” she asked, staring at me as if I’d dropped out of the sky from another planet.

  “What does it look like?” I teased, and crossed the threshold to hug her. “Is that any way to greet a friend?”

  She hugged me hard until I tugged her inside and shut the door.

  “Sorry. I’ve been worried about you.” As she stood back, she peered past the foyer into the heart of the house. “But you look like you’ve made yourself at home here.” She gave me a sly grin and a wink.

  “How did you find me?” Joelle hadn’t said anything about checking up on me so soon. I’d left only on Friday, and here she was, late Monday morning.

  “You told me you were visiting the farm stand on the Fraser Farm property when you texted me Thursday night, don’t you remember?” She wrapped the sweater tighter around herself and then ran a hand over a heavy Mexican-style armoire in the hall. “You sounded like it was a sure thing.”

  “I vaguely remember.” I motioned her toward the kitchen. “You’ll notice this isn’t the farm stand.”

  “No kidding. But you’ve been ignoring my messages all
weekend. I visited my aunt in San Francisco yesterday and thought I’d check things out for myself, so I could see if you needed a hand getting settled.”

  “To help or to spy on me?” I pulled a pub stool out from under a table in the dining area and waved for her to take a seat.

  She didn’t. She roamed around the breakfast bar as I found mugs, spoons and tea bags in a sideboard covered with coffee paraphernalia.

  “A little of both,” she confessed, her platform heels tapping softly along the marble tiles. “I drove around that empty old farm stand building and some young guy mending fences along the road told me you might be at the ‘big house.’ So I kept going until I found a big house.”

  “Sorry, I haven’t been checking my phone.” Lighting the flame under a heavy stainless-steel kettle, I started heating the water.

  Sunlight poured in the windows along the back of the house, bathing us in warmth even though the sheen of dew on the trees outside told me it was cool today. The kitchen had high ceilings with exposed beams that looked as if they came from ancient redwoods, they were so large. Stainless-steel appliances and a six-burner cooktop had made it a fun kitchen to bake in the day before. Everything in here seemed brand-new, as if a decorator had outfitted it but no one ever used it.

  “Here.” Joelle pulled a small square tin from her pocket. “Try this.”

  I smiled, recognizing the containers she used to sell her tearoom’s special blends.

  “I don’t know if there’s a tea ball.” Still, I opened the tin and inhaled, recognizing the spicy mix of cinnamon, vanilla and about ten other herbs, a tea she marketed as “Holiday Escape.”

  “You’re kidding. What is this? The Stone Age?” She tsked and opened a few cabinets and drawers. Finally, she handed me a small strainer. “Use this and start talking, sister. What are you doing, sleeping in the big house and wearing a man’s bathrobe four sizes too big for you?”

  “Er...” I hoped the teakettle would boil and save me from the third degree. “I plead the Fifth?”

  Joelle shrugged out of her sweater and perched on one of the stools at the breakfast bar.

  “Not an option.” She positioned her cell phone nearby on the granite, and double-checked that her ringer was silent, a habit she’d had as long as I’d known her. She was too ladylike to let a sound disturb her tea, and too business savvy to ignore important calls.

  I’d learned a lot about being an entrepreneur from her. I hoped it was enough to help me run my own tearoom.

  “Okay.” I wondered how much to say. I trusted Joelle, but the relationship—could I call it that?—with Damien was so new I didn’t know how to describe it, let alone how I felt about it. “I’m staying here a few days while the owner of the property considers whether or not to sell me the farm stand.”

  “He invited you to stay with him while he thinks about it?” Her arched eyebrow let me know exactly what she thought of my half answers. “And opened his wardrobe to you in the process?”

  “He’s a very nice man.” I couldn’t hide a smile as the teakettle whistled and I poured the water through the herbs in the strainer.

  “I’ll bet.” Snorting, she drummed her fingernails on the countertop. “I’ve tried to set you up on dates. Hot guys have propositioned you at the tearoom. And not once since I’ve known you have you given a man the time of day. Yet you’re here for a weekend and...”

  She gave my bathrobe a meaningful glare.

  “I’m trying to get past some old issues, right?” I’d told Joelle about Rick. About writing the erotic novel as a way to move past the hang-ups he’d left me with. She and I had been friends ever since she’d hired me. “And this guy who owns the place—Damien—walks straight out of the pages of my book.”

  Frowning, she took her cup from me and removed the strainer basket so I could use it for mine.

  “Are you telling me he swept you off your feet?”

  “Not exactly.” Although everything had happened so fast, maybe there had been some sweeping involved. “But he definitely was a white knight to my damsel in distress when the Highlander gave out on Highway 1.”

  “Didn’t I tell you to get a tune-up before you left?”

  I wish I’d at least had the lock fixed before I made the trip. Bad enough I’d broken down. I hated the thought that I’d left all my stuff vulnerable on the side of the road in an unlocked vehicle, while I walked to get help. What if someone had taken my flash drive then? I was missing that Gutsy Girl shirt, too. I’d been too busy to really look through all my stuff to see if anything else was unaccounted for.

  I poured a fresh spoonful of the dried herbs into the strainer for my tea, enjoying the repetition of an old ritual in my new surroundings. Joelle had brought a little piece of home for me, right down to the familiar scent of the Holiday Escape blend.

  “You told me I should get the tune-up, yes. But I didn’t. Thankfully, Damien picked me up, plus he towed the Highlander.” Maybe it was the Midwest farmer’s daughter in me talking, but I could dig a guy with a big truck.

  “So he brought you here and sold you the farm stand?” Joelle’s bangle bracelets clanged on the counter as she leaned forward. “I didn’t see any signs of life down there, but I can help you get set up. I even brought you a few cases of tea so you’d have some starter inventory.”

  “Really?” Touched, I knew enough about the high end brands she carried to recognize this as a very generous gift. “Wow. Thank you so much. But, actually, I haven’t bought the property yet.”

  “I thought it looked perfect.” She took a slow sip of her tea. “Did you have another place in mind?”

  “No. I want it.” I inhaled the fragrant steam, breathing in some confidence along with it. I could still make the dream happen. I knew it. “Damien is concerned that my reality television fame will bring an unwanted element to the farm.”

  She pursed her lips. “I’d like to say that sounds snobby of him, but since I couldn’t handle all the extra attention the show brought to the tearoom, I guess that would be hypocritical, wouldn’t it?”

  I laughed. “But it’s only natural you’d get more stargazers with a business on Melrose Avenue. How many people are going to make the trek to Northern California wine country for the sake of a reality show winner?” The more I thought about it, the more frustrated it made me. Why wouldn’t he give me a chance? “By the time I’m ready to open for business, Gutsy Girl will probably be airing with a whole new slate of contestants and I’ll be long forgotten.”

  “I hope so.” My friend stared at me, her eyebrows knitting together in a way that made the diamond stud shift.

  “You sound worried. If things don’t work out here, I’m sure I’ll find a good space for the business somewhere.” I knew Damien was having the guy who drove the horse trailers take a look at my SUV today to see if he could fix it, so I’d be mobile again soon. Not that I was in any great hurry to leave, given the incredible night Damien and I had spent together.

  My breath hitched just thinking about it.

  “It’s not the business I’m worried about.” She pulled out a wrinkled piece of pink paper from the pocket of the sweater hanging over the chair next to her. “Look.”

  Curious, I unfolded the sheet and saw it was from an old-fashioned message pad printed with “While you were away...” across the top. The kind of pad Joelle stocked beside an equally old-fashioned phone near the kitchen at Melrose Tearoom.

  “‘Miranda’s sister, Nina, called.’” I read the message aloud and waited for it to make sense. “As in my sister?”

  Nina wouldn’t have known where I worked, unless she’d asked our parents. My mother had phoned me at the tearoom a few times over the years, mostly when she wanted to remind me of a family birthday that she thought required me to send presents.

  “It’s got to be.” Joelle bent her head besi
de mine to read the writing again. “She left her name and everything. One of the guys busing tables wrote this down during the Friday afternoon tea service.”

  Which meant midafternoon, right when I’d been walking along the highway getting sunburned by the winter rays.

  “I haven’t heard from Nina in six years.” I couldn’t imagine why she’d call me now. “Unless...”

  “What?”

  “She could be calling to stir up trouble. Ask for money from the Gutsy Girl winnings.”

  I remembered one time at the county fair when I’d saved my chore money to do the bungee jump because a cute senior boy I was crushing on, Pete Rangel, volunteered at the booth, which raised money for MS. But when I finally worked up the nerve to ask Pete for the bungee jump ticket, I realized that Nina was already at the booth and flirting with him. Amazed that she’d saved up enough money to do the expensive jump, I also discovered my own money was missing. Nina must have taken it. Worse, she’d probably snitched it when she’d fake-hugged me in front of her friends to pretend she wasn’t evil.

  “The interviews with her Nebraska friends that made it on TV did say both Nina and Rick had spent a lot of money in that divorce,” Joelle reminded me.

  “My money is going in my sock drawer,” I muttered darkly, still irritated about that long-ago incident. “She knows better than to ask me for anything.”

  “O-kay.” Joelle rolled her eyes, unimpressed with my bluster. “What if she’s grown up since she was so awful to you back then? What if she actually had news for you—like her creep of an ex-husband was on his way to L.A.?”

  * * *

  DAMIEN DIDN’T MEAN to eavesdrop.

  But the words still hung in the kitchen as he entered to introduce himself.

  “Do you have reason to believe Rick is actively looking for Miranda?” He strode over to the breakfast bar, where Miranda sat beside a slender Latina with dark bangs and a sixties-style hairdo. The woman’s manicured red nails wrapped around a stoneware mug, and there was a big diamond rock on her left hand.