The Girl of His Dreams

by Susan Mallery

  But touching Patrick was different. It was as if she’d never been with anyone before, yet she wasn’t afraid. Perhaps it was because, for the first time, the situation felt right.

  She traced the length of him, feeling him flex against her hand, even as his eyes half closed and the hand touching hers tensed.

  He leaned forward and kissed her. Her lips parted, and he slipped inside. His tongue circled hers, setting up a rhythm that called her with an ancient and irresistible beat. She could imagine them together, locked in each other’s arms, bodies slick and ready, joining, sharing, reaching, becoming one. The image was so clear, she had the oddest feeling they’d made love before, if not in this lifetime, then in another.

  He nudged her hand away and pulled her up against him. His hardness pressed into her belly. His hands touched her shoulders, her back, her hips, before dropping lower and cupping her rear. Her hips flexed, bringing her closer to him. She arched into the contact, released, then repeated the thrusting motion. He buried his face in the crook of her neck and groaned. She fought back a sigh of her own as that place between her legs grew damp, and need pumped through her like liquid fire.

  He straightened, then took a single step toward the hallway, and the bedrooms beyond. A single step, and he paused.

  “Do you want me to stop?” he asked, once again giving her complete control over what happened—or didn’t happen—between them.

  No, of course not. She wanted them to make love. She wanted to know what it was like to be in Patrick’s arms, to feel safe and cared for. She wanted him to be the first man to touch her in that unique way that would bond them as one.

  But a lie stood between them.

  She didn’t know what to say. He took her silence as affirmation. “I’ll walk you home.” Nothing in his body language or tone hinted that he was disappointed. His gra-ciousness only made her feel worse.

  “I don’t want to go home,” she said quickly, and turned away from him. “I just—” She shook her head. “It’s not what you think.”

  The carpet was amazingly interesting, she thought as she stared at it, unblinking. The color, the weave. If she concentrated very hard, maybe she could pretend she didn’t have to tell him the truth.

  “It’s exactly what I think, Kayla.”

  “No. I’ve been pretending.”

  “You don’t want me?”

  She spun toward him. “Of course I do. You’re—” Her hands fluttered in front of her waist as she searched for words. How could she tell him how much this night had meant to her? Even though he thought she was Elissa, his physical response had been to her. She was the one he’d talked to and laughed with. He’d kissed her lips, touched her body, been held captive by her hand on that most male part of him.

  “It’s just…” Her voice trailed off. Her brain cleared slowly, as if waking from a vivid dream. Words filtered through. Words he had said. Words—-a word—that just now made sense.

  She straightened her arms and stared at him. “What did you say?”

  One corner of his mouth turned up. “I said it’s exactly what I think.”

  “After that.”

  “I asked if you had been pretending about wanting me.”

  Her body tensed as the truth sank in. “In between those two statements.”

  “I said your name. Kayla.”

  She nearly sank to the floor. As it was, she had to consciously tighten her leg muscles to keep standing. “You knew?”

  “The moment you opened the door.” He had the audacity to smile. “We’ve been friends a long time, kid. Did you really think you could fool me?”

  “Me, fool you? If anyone’s been fooled, it’s me. You let me go on pretending? You let me talk, say those things?” Her face burned as she recalled admitting her crush and who knew what else. “You could have told me.”

  The humor fled his face. “I could say the same thing.”

  “But I—-” Her confusion disappeared, leaving behind embarrassment and shame. “Elissa couldn’t go through with the date. I can’t go into the reasons, because they’re personal, but they have nothing to do with you. She was afraid you would think she was blowing you off. Neither of us wanted to hurt your feelings. She suggested we trade places. I’m not sure why I agreed. I suppose I thought it was a good idea at the time.”

  She turned away from him and walked to the sofa. “I’m sorry, Patrick. That was a lousy thing to do to a friend.” She thought about the dancing together, the funny conversations, the way he’d kissed her as they stood on the dock. “I guess you got your own back, making me think you wanted her. I don’t blame you.”

  She didn’t. How could she? Switching places had been a stupid thing to do. She knew better. She reached for her purse. “I hope you can forgive me,” she whispered, knowing tears were merely seconds away.

  She’d had her chance, and she’d blown it.

  “I knew it was you, Kayla.”

  “You told me.” Fighting for control, she blinked several times.

  “I knew it was you,” he repeated. “From the beginning. You’re the one I touched in the restaurant. You’re the one I danced with. You’re the one I kissed.”

  You’re the one I want.

  He didn’t say the words, but she heard them. The purse fell from her suddenly slack fingers. It hit the ground, but she ignored it. “You wanted me?”

  His pupils dilated. “Want. There’s no past tense in that statement.” He motioned to the front of his trousers. “It’s hard for a guy to fake interest, or to hide it.”

  Hot color returned to her face, but this time it was because she was suddenly shy. She didn’t dare drop her gaze from his face.

  “You never said anything about this. Before, I mean,” she added.

  “Neither did you.”

  “But I wasn’t sure. We’ve always been friends. I don’t want to mess that up.”

  He shrugged. “Neither do I.”

  She cleared her throat. “This is an amazingly awkward moment. What happens now?”

  “That’s up to you. Do you want me to walk you home?”

  That would be the safest course, she told herself. She and Patrick could put this moment behind them and pick up their old relationship where they’d left it. That made the most sense.

  Except she’d already imagined them making love. Her body sensed what it would feel like with Patrick touching her, holding her, being inside her. She wanted him to be the one to teach her what really happened between a man and a woman. Because she trusted him, and because she loved him.

  As a friend, of course. A good friend.

  She looked at him, then at the front door, and finally at the dark hallway that led to his room. She’d been in there before, helping him put away laundry, or picking out a tie for him to wear when he spoke at a symposium. She’d sat on the king-size bed, even stretched out on it, giving him her fashion advice, along with a reminder that he not forget his ticket.

  Safety or seduction?

  She closed her eyes and tried to imagine what she would feel like forty years from now. Would she regret leaving or staying? She thought of Sarah and her boxes of memories. Precious, timeworn photos, bits of lace, a frayed teddy bear once loved by her children. Would she, Kayla, want to open her own memory box and know that she could have had this chance with Patrick, but instead had walked away?

  The answer was simple.

  She stepped out of her pumps and left them in the living room. Without saying a word, she moved past him, down the hall toward his bedroom. Before she got there, she felt his hand on her shoulder.

  “Thank you,” he whispered, and kissed her bare skin.

  She turned to him and held out her arms. He slid close, pulling her toward him, covering her mouth with his. Paradise found. She’d chosen wisely.

  Chapter Ten

  Kayla stood by his bed, a trembling, sensual creature, nearly otherworldly in her beauty. Patrick cupped her face. He traced her high cheekbones, the shape of her mouth, her j
aw, before stroking her elegant neck.

  She watched him steadily, her gaze never leaving his. Her green eyes had softened to the color of emerald mist.

  They stood in semidarkness. A lamp in the corner cast a pale glow toward the ceiling. The bathroom light was on, the door partially closed. There was enough light to see by, but not enough to be obtrusive.

  He smiled.

  “What’s that for?” she asked.

  “I’m waiting to find out this is just a dream.”

  She tilted her head to one side. Blond curls drifted over her bare shoulders. “Do you dream about me often?”

  They were about to make love; there was no reason for him not to tell the truth. “In the past few weeks, yes.”

  She returned his smile. “Since the, ah…”

  “Kiss?”

  “Yeah.”

  He nodded. “Since the kiss. Everything changed. I’m not sure why. It just got different.”

  “I agree.” She ducked her head, as if she were feeling shy. “I meant what I said, Patrick. No matter what, I want us to always be friends.”

  Friends and lovers? He’d never experienced that before. Was it possible? “I want that, too. You mean a lot to me. I need you in my life.”

  She stepped toward him and rested her forehead against his chest. “I need you, too. I know everything is changing between us, but I need to know you’ll always be the same.”

  “I promise. I’m not going anywhere.”

  He meant the words in an emotional sense, as in, he had no plans to stop caring about her, but as soon as he said them, they took on a different meaning. I’m not going anywhere, but you are.

  A sharp pain took up residence in his chest. Apparently Kayla felt it, too, because she whimpered softly and wrapped her arms around his waist.

  “Patrick.”

  She spoke his name as a plea. He wasn’t sure what she wanted or needed, but the feel of her so close to him forced him to respond with a kiss.

  She arched her head back and met him more than halfway. Yielding flesh, warm and sweet, opened to him. He tasted her, felt the tender inner smoothness of her lips, the slickness of her teeth, then began to stroke her tongue.

  Once again passion threatened to spiral out of control. She clung to him, her fingers kneading into his back. He touched her everywhere. Hands on her hair, her back, her hips, her rear. He rubbed the cool fabric of her dress, his groin swelling painfully when he found the zipper tab nestled against her spine.

  He pulled it down slowly. The dress parted, gossamer silk revealing the warm cream of her skin. His fingers traced a line from her shoulders down her spine, pausing to discover the lacy band of her bra.

  Never breaking their kiss, she lowered her hands to her sides. The dress slipped down, pausing at her hips. She wiggled slightly, and the garment was gone.

  He rested his hands on her bare waist. His thumbs pressed into her hipbones. Not able to stop himself, he continued the voyage of discovery. Silk panties gave way to smooth thighs. A couple of inches later, he felt the band of her stockings.

  He stepped back and straightened. He’d touched her bareness, but the tactile exploration hadn’t prepared him for the visual impact of seeing her. A black strapless bra supported generous breasts. Small panties teased him by revealing more than they covered. But it was the stockings that captured his attention.

  “I’ve never seen that before,” he admitted, running a finger over the skin just above the band.

  She ducked her head. “I don’t wear dresses much so I never got used to panty hose. I hate them. These are a lot easier.”

  The heat inside him grew. He’d wanted her from the moment she opened her apartment door and smiled at him. He’d spent the evening hard. He knew what they were about to do. He anticipated the passionate release he would feel when their bodies joined. Yet, in some odd way, being with her, wanting her, was nearly as satisfying. He didn’t want to rush this moment. He wanted to talk and touch and tease, driving them both to the brink of madness, then pulling back. He didn’t want their lovemaking to ever end.

  She folded her hands over her chest, then dropped her arms to her sides. Her obvious nervousness reminded him that she was nearly naked, while he was fully dressed and staring at her.

  Moron, he muttered silently to himself as he took her hand and led her to the bed.

  As she settled onto the mattress, he sat next to her. He quickly removed his shoes and socks, then pulled his shirt free of his trousers and unbuttoned it. Then he smoothed her curly hair off her face.

  “You okay with this?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” He smiled. “Let’s deal with the logistical stuff first.” He pointed at the nightstand. “I have protection with me, and I plan to use it.”

  She bit her lower lip, then nodded. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  “No problem.” He bent close and licked her shoulder. “Anything you hate doing?”

  “Uh, not really.” A tremor rippled through her.

  “Do you need me to spank you or call you a bad little girl?”

  She pulled away and stared at him. Shock widened her eyes. Bright spots of color blossomed on her cheeks.

  He chuckled. “I’ll take that as a no.”

  “You spank women?” She sounded stunned.

  “By hand or with a paddle?”

  Her mouth dropped open.

  He put his finger under her chin and pressed. “I’m kidding, Kay la. I’ve never spanked anyone. We’re both a little nervous. I was trying to distract you.”

  She exhaled sharply. “You did a great job. I can’t believe you asked that. In fact, I—”

  He reached behind her and unfastened her bra. It fell to her lap. She stopped speaking with the suddenness of a television going out during a blackout. The next sound she made wasn’t actually a word. It was more of a sigh as he pressed her onto the mattress and touched his mouth to her right breast.

  She tasted of promise and sin. Sweet and intoxicating. He circled her taut nipple, discovering the pebbly texture, the heat, the smoothness of her curves.

  He shifted his weight so that he was kneeling over her, then moved to her other breast. She arched into his caress. With his hands, he began to discover her—the strong yet delicate collarbone, the shape of her upper arms, the tiny mole on the left side of her chest. He counted her ribs, felt the faint lines of scars from her accident years ago, circled her belly button, rubbed her hipbones, then brushed across her panties.

  Her body stirred restlessly. She grabbed and released the comforter beneath her. Her eyes closed, her mouth parted.

  Over and over he lavished attention on her breasts. He licked the sensitive undersides, blew air across her nipples. He learned every millimeter of the valley between, gently nibbled at the place where the curves began.

  When he couldn’t stand it anymore, he stretched out beside her and kissed her mouth. Apparently he wasn’t the only one aroused by what he was doing. She cupped his face and parted her lips. When he entered her, she suckled him. Fire flared inside. Had she touched his arousal at that second, he would have exploded without warning. Every muscle tensed; control slipped. He had to consciously force himself back from the edge.

  He broke the kiss and stared into her eyes. “You’re amazing.”

  “I’m okay,” she said.

  “Perfect.”

  She closed her eyes. “Never perfect.”

  He started to ask why, then remembered the scars. Did she really think they mattered?

  “Perfect,” he repeated forcefully, and placed his hand on her belly.

  He outlined the pattern left by the barely visible marks. She flinched at his touch, so he gently kissed her. As he circled her mouth with his tongue, his fingers danced over the marks that shamed her. He concentrated on touching her with all the caring and passion he contained. He wanted his body to speak to hers, silently saying the right thing so she would believe.

  One scar dipped belo
w her panty line. He slipped the scrap of silk down her legs and tossed it on the floor. The white line disappeared into the dark curls at the apex of her thighs.

  Returning his mouth to hers, he parted his lips and waited for her to enter. When she did, he sucked her tongue and felt sudden tension stiffening her. Intent on following the scar, he didn’t realize how far he’d strayed until his fingers encountered unexpected heat and warmth.

  He’d wanted to take longer, but the temptation was too great. He circled through the curls until he found the center of her being. Slowly, gently, taking his cues from her subtle reactions, he touched her there. Over and over. Her legs parted, her mouth pressed hard against his, her hands clung to him.

  He listened to the increase in her breathing, felt the climbing temperature of her skin. Muscles tensed and contracted, time had no meaning. She drew nearer; he went faster, not pushing, but assisting.

  Gasping for air, she broke the kiss. Her gaze met his.

  “Perfect,” he murmured.

  “Yes, you are,” she answered, then closed her eyes and arched her back.

  He stopped moving his fingers. For a heartbeat, she hung suspended.

  “Patrick!”

  Her cry filled him with an intense pleasure he’d never known. He touched her lightly, quickly, circling her as her body shuddered in release.

  He took her in his arms and held her as she recovered. When she slipped a leg between his and began kissing his chest, he knew he wouldn’t be able to bold back much longer.

  “I want you,” she said, finding and licking his nipples.

  Her hair brushed against his skin. The combination made control impossible.

  He sat up and jerked off his shirt. His pants and briefs followed. When she reached for his arousal, he grabbed her wrist and kept her from touching him.

  “You can’t,” he said, feeling like a sixteen-year-old. At her quizzical gaze, he added, “I’m really close.”