Out of Her Dreams

by Fran Lee

  She opened the wire door of the small pet carrier to allow her fluffy white cat to step out and check out the locale. She unfolded one of the disposable litter boxes she had bought, fitting a plastic liner in and dumping in a container of deodorized litter. She felt in her bag for the can opener and opened dinner for the cat, which sank down on the floor beside the bed and gobbled hungrily, purring loudly. Pulling the small water bowl from her stuffed purse, she filled it at the bathroom sink, setting it beside the food. Finally, she unpacked her clothes and picked up the TV Guide. She planned to do nothing but veg out in front of a TV for a week or so and then she would figure out what she wanted to do. No commitments. No deadlines. No pressure. No listening to Phyllis harangue her about her writer’s block.

  Too bad she couldn’t escape her dreams. Maybe sleeping pills. She stroked the cat’s soft fur gently then flopped onto the bed, where she flipped through the TV Guide and sighed. So many cable stations, so little time.

  She watched a tennis match then some polo before fixing her own supper from the little store of junk food she had brought with her. Tomorrow she would go out and have a real meal but for now, she just wanted to kick back. Go barefoot. Enjoy being free of commitments for a few days. And avoid reading romance books.

  She was flipping through channels when she came across a UFC match on one of the less well-known cable channels and she watched for a while, wincing when one of the men bloodied the other or got the other guy in a nasty hold. Barbaric. She was about to switch channels when a commercial break came on and she heard an excited man saying, “And stay tuned for the FPW cage match coming up next on CBYN! The Wolfman is gonna take on FPW’s bad boy Chance Braza for the FPW heavyweight Championship! Nine thirty Eastern, eight thirty Central.”

  Her hand went numb. She couldn’t press the button. She stared at the face on her TV screen and swallowed hard. It was him. Dear God. Just her luck to land on this channel. She frowned and put her thumb over the red button and bit the corner of her lip.

  Come on, just push the frigging button. Okay. Don’t push it.

  Okay. So would it hurt just to watch a few minutes? Just a teensy amount of time to ogle that gorgeous body again from a safe distance? Like through a TV set? She glanced at her watch and saw that the UFC matches would end in about twenty minutes. Decisions, decisions.

  No. She wouldn’t watch. Pro wrestling was a complete farce. A lot of stunt work and choreographed fighting for the benefit of a screaming crowd who didn’t know the difference between real wrestling and phony wrestling. She’d heard all about it. She started to turn off the TV once more and found herself sitting there like a lost puppy, still unable to force her finger to press the damn red button.

  Wuss. She threw the remote on the floor and found a large pillow and wrapped herself around it to protect herself from the sudden need to cry. So it was silly. So what? Okay. This is what the man did for a living. She would force herself to watch, just this once. Then she would know what pro wrestling was like and she could forget about it. Forget about him. Forget about a night spent with a man who had rocked her world in a way that she had never dreamed possible.

  Oh, who the hell was she trying to kid? She just wanted to see him again, even if it was on a TV screen. Pathetic. Totally pathetic.

  She hid her face during the remainder of the UFC match, unable to stand the brutality, and she was glad that pro wrestling was just acting and pretending. No one really hurt anyone. It was supposed to be a choreographed act. She could handle that. Fake blood. No broken bones. No huge bruises. No eyes swollen shut and bloody. At least…that’s what she figured. She was pretty sure minor injuries did occur, but she hated to even think about that. She shuddered.

  She steadied her breathing as the FPW announcer came on and a few warm-up matches were played out by lesser celebrities in the wresting world. Men who yelled and pointed and played like tough guys and made total idiots of themselves with their antics. She drew a deep breath and nodded. Okay. She could handle the phony stuff. So far, so good. One blond man broke a flimsy chair over a brunet’s back and it bent in half like it was made of tinfoil. Fake prop chair. Okay. No problem.

  About thirty minutes into the program and after six commercials, the announcer put on his excited voice again to introduce the main event. She wondered if she should go get some popcorn. But she didn’t, sticking to her perch on the bed, her pillow clutched to her chest protectively.

  Then the crowd was on its feet, shrieking and yelling, and she watched an incredible pyrotechnic lead-in as one huge, utterly scary-looking man jogged down the ramp into the arena, his face contorted with what appeared to be maniacal rage as he approached the ring and hopped up the metal stairs at one corner. The monster had to weigh over three hundred pounds. He was about seven feet tall and he shouted obscenities at people in the crowd who booed him.

  He was announced as the Wolfman and Sam’s heart dropped to her feet as she realized this was the brute David was going to have to fight. But in the next breath, the crowd was roaring even louder and she saw the tall, massively powerful figure of her dream lover stepping out of the entrance and coming down the ramp at a jog as another light show and explosions roared through the arena.

  Oh. My. God.

  He was as gorgeous as she remembered and she ached at the sight of him.

  She couldn’t take her eyes from him. He was dressed in snug-fitting black and silver spandex that left absolutely nothing to the viewer’s imagination, and matching ring boots. His body was gleaming in the light, as if he’d oiled those rippling muscles for effect. As if he needed oil smoothed over that body to make women hot and shivery. Hah!

  Her mouth went dry as she recalled how she had enjoyed that marvelous body so thoroughly just a couple of weeks ago. His bronzed, delicious body had been damp with a sheen of sweat. His muscles had rolled like velvet steel against her body as they lost themselves in the sheer pleasure of a night of nonstop lovemaking. Seeing him half-naked was enough to bring that night back with a clarity she certainly didn’t want or need at this moment.

  He also wore the same heavy gold chain around his neck that she had felt pressed into her breasts when he had driven her mindless with pleasure. The ornate cross that hung from it rode over his breastbone and the memories flooded back, making her close her eyes in reaction. Oh Lord. She shivered with each memory that assailed her. And when she found herself touching her own body intimately, she blushed hotly and clutched the damn pillow in a death grip.

  She opened her eyes as the announcer told the audience that they were about to lower the cage. A massive metal cage descended on chains from the ceiling, blocking any possible escape from the ring, and she swallowed as she watched David Chance leap onto the corner ropes, raise one fist and shout to the crowd, “Who’s the best?”

  They shouted and chanted his stage name and as he turned to face his opponent, the wild look on his handsome face was as scary as that on the face of the hulking brute who was charging him in an attempt to surprise him. She gasped and covered her mouth with her hands as she watched the behemoth slam into him and then pick him up and slam him onto the mat onto his back. David’s handsome face contorted with pain and as the giant sought to win the match by grabbing him behind his knees and rolling him up onto his shoulders, he suddenly slammed his leg into the man’s face and rolled away and onto his feet as quickly as a cat.

  She shook her head. This wasn’t the same. Those other men had seemed to be play-fighting. But that huge monster was going all out to kill his opponent. The fake fighting seemed to have vanished. She cringed as David floored the behemoth and strained to hold him immobile while the ref clapped a hand on the floor. The giant with the vicious sneer elbowed him in the face-hard. She covered her eyes and gave a strangled moan, then looked to see if he was still alive.

  The crowd was roaring and screaming as the bigger man once again attempted the move that had landed David on his back. But this time, David made a flying leap and his legs were som
ehow around the giant’s neck. Both men slammed to the mat, with David rolling clear and wheeling around to fling himself onto the bigger man’s chest with a crunching downward elbow that caught the giant across the throat as the crowd came to its feet and raised the roof. Cool move. Okay, this was much better.

  A split second later, David was climbing the ropes onto the corner post and she gasped as he launched his body at the other man in a flying leap that was obviously intended to crush the other man into the mat. But the bigger man rolled away and David hit the mat hard, with a sound that made her stomach roll. She put her hands over her eyes and moaned, then peeped between her fingers to see David being held aloft and slammed to the mat once again, his face a grimace of agony as the man wheeled and dragged him up a third time. She caught sight of the blood on the side of his head and she gave a little cry of shock.

  That beast was going to kill him!

  But this time, when he was poised over the man’s head, he suddenly swung his body outward and the bigger man went crashing down sideways like a fallen log. She watched in shock as David returned to his feet by flipping himself up and then leaped into the air to slam a knee down onto his opponent’s massive chest.

  The crowd was absolutely rabid as they screamed and yelled and then the match climaxed with David hoisting the massive body of his opponent over his own head with a Herculean effort and falling backward to drop the huge man with a resounding crash to the mat. Then it was over as David rolled him up instantly and pinned his huge shoulders to the mat for a three count. The steel cage was raised from the ring.

  She fell back against the pillows and calmed her ragged breathing as the man she had spent the most amazingly romantic night of her life with leaped onto the ropes and raised his fists as the crowd went wild.

  “Who’s the best?” he roared. His body was gleaming with real perspiration and she saw the bulging blood vessels on his neck and arms as he bared his teeth like a savage beast and his eyes widened to look like he was berserk.

  “You are,” she breathed softly, staring at the not-so-fake blood that was freely running down his face onto his perspiring chest. He ran the back on his hand across the blood on his cheek and held the bloody fist up again as he crossed the ring to jump onto the other ropes.

  She didn’t want to see any more. She had seen all she could bear. She closed her eyes and buried her face in the pillow and wept softly. She had seen him do what he did and she had seen the very real blood. She realized that he must be amazingly athletic to do it, but even a man as powerful and vicious in the ring as her dream lover appeared to be at risk of injury. And she couldn’t watch as someone hurt him. Not for all the money in the world.

  Then she heard his voice.

  “This is for you, Samantha Hastings!”

  She jerked the pillow off her head and sat up with a jolt. He was hoisting a very heavy-looking, ornate belt with a huge oval metal center. His eyes were directly on her face, or so it seemed as he looked straight into the camera.

  She swallowed hard as he lowered his voice and said almost in a purr, “You can run but you can’t hide from me forever. I’ll find you again and next time it won’t be so easy for you to walk away.”

  The crowd roared as her photo suddenly appeared on the screen.

  The photo from the back of the dust cover on her novels? She stared in shock as his scowl was superimposed over the empty space next to her smiling face and his eyes seemed to burn into the camera, into her.

  “You won’t get away next time. You just met your match.”

  She swallowed hard and shut off the TV with an unladylike groan of frustration. Great. Now the whole world would think her books were based on him. He had said he didn’t want that. What the hell had changed his mind? She pulled the pillow over her head and sank down into the mattress with a moan.

  She had no idea how long she lay on the bed, her thoughts muddled and her pulse racing as she recalled every shocking, terribly frightening moment of that wrestling match but it was the plaintive mewing of her cat that brought her back to the real world, as he rubbed his head under the drooping palm of her hand. She sniffed and smiled shakily at the animal and scratched his head, listening to his motorboat purr as she felt the tension drain from her body.

  “Thanks, Snowball, sweetie. You always bring me back to earth. What would I do without you?” She hugged the cat to her chest and rolled up from the bed, padding over to pour a dollop of milk into the now empty cat food can from a small container she had bought at a fast food place. She rested her chin in her hands, elbows propped on the bed as she watched the cat drink happily.

  “What am I gonna do, sweetie? I have the worst case of writer’s block in the whole world, I’m mad for a violent guy who makes his living smashing the faces of other violent guys and all I can manage to do is moon over losing him like some stupid jerk.” She sighed and rested her chin on her forearms, staring at the cat for a long time.

  But had she lost him? Tonight, on cable TV, he had virtually let the whole world know he was on the hunt to find her. Of course, that might well have been just a publicity push to give his popularity an even greater boost. She drew a shaking breath. No. He really wanted to see her again.

  If she had made the same impression on David Chance that he had made on her, she knew that he would want a repeat of that amazing night. Of course he would look for her, because he had certainly enjoyed their night together too. But if she let herself be found, what would happen next?

  Her insecurities kicked into high gear again. He would probably get tired of her after a few days or weeks or months. He would realize that she wasn’t the amazing sex partner he had found that one night in his hotel room. She would become passé. And Sam didn’t think she could handle becoming passé. She wasn’t sure enough of her appeal to believe that a man like David Chance would find her interesting for more than just a short fling. It must be the fact that she had left him, instead of the other way around. Some guys had a problem with that.

  Men like David Chance didn’t settle for one woman and give up the smörgåsbord. She had managed to capture his interest. She blushed to recall how she had done so. He must have been utterly captivated by her insatiable need to have sex in every possible position for an entire night. He had been amazingly willing to let her have her way with him. Who wouldn’t have enjoyed something like that? She blushed hotly at the memory of her wanton behavior. But then, she had known that there wouldn’t likely be a repeat, so why not take full advantage?

  What if he found her? It might not be so bad. It might even last a few months. But she had no illusions. She had watched her own father walk away from her mother and find himself a younger and prettier woman. Phyllis’ ex had left her for his secretary. Good-looking men just never seemed capable of being monogamous. There was always another beautiful face and body that would distract them. And Sam had no illusions about her own face and body. She was not exactly a femme fatale in that department. Nice eyes but her mouth was too big. And her hair was a complete fright. It was wild and untamable. Her breasts were too small for most men’s taste and her body was built more on the lines of a gazelle, when most men preferred nice curves and something to hang onto. She would never be the dream woman men drooled over.

  And then there were the scars. She swallowed hard and closed her eyes.

  She bit her lower lip. That was why she had turned to writing. She could create a fantasy man who met all her needs. She could create him, name him and dream him to her heart’s content, with absolutely no ill consequences. Except that her dream lover was actually a very real man. One who had stepped out of her dreams and into her arms. One who had just announced to the wrestling world that he was on her trail with a vengeance. She didn’t know whether to feel flattered or frightened.

  She got up and undressed and pulled on her pajamas. Tomorrow she would call Phyllis. If he was really looking for her, Phyllis would know it. All she had to do now was get through the night.

  He
slid his palms down her bare arms slowly, gently leading her trembling hands to his naked flesh. His mouth held her captive as he swept his tongue against hers with a growl of possessive enjoyment. She slid her hands over his hard, satin-smooth cock and listened to the deep groan of need that rumbled against her mouth. “I want to taste every inch of your body, to feel your mouth on me…”

  The sound of her cell phone brought Sam up out of a near-orgasmic dream, gasping for air and trembling. She rolled up to sit in the middle of the bed in a rumpled pool of tangled sheets, her thoughts as hot as her body. Morning sunlight poured into her hotel room, bathing her in its warmth as she shoved her tumbled hair from her eyes and fumbled for her phone on the bedside table.

  “What!” Her uncharacteristic bark made her flush with regret.

  “Well, you sure as hell left me in the middle of a mess, girl. You’ve had your damn phone shut off. I’ve been trying to get you for the past day. Where the hell are you?” Phyllis’ voice sounded agitated.

  “What mess?” Sam asked warily.

  “I just got another call from Chance Braza’s business manager. His client wants to find you in the worst possible way. It appears that Mr. Braza has put a price on your head.” Her voice sounded dry.

  “What?” Sam’s throat went tight. “You’re joking, I hope.”

  “Do I sound like I’m joking? But stop panicking. It isn’t ‘dead or alive’. He definitely wants you alive.” Phyllis growled irritably. “What the hell happened between the two of you that night, girl? That man is positively not taking no for an answer.”

  Sam swallowed hard. “Well, he’s gonna have to. I have no intention of letting him find me.” She swung her legs out of bed and padded over to pull the drapes closed so she could stop squinting.