Extra Innings and In His Wildest Dreams

by Debbi Rawlins

  Other than that, she knew little about him, which was terrific for the study because she’d approach his dreams with few preconceived notions. It would have been better that she knew nothing about his reputation as a charmer. But that wouldn’t be a problem…not professionally, and certainly not on a personal level. Those kinds of overconfident guys were a turnoff.

  “Ouch!”

  Another nail bit the dust as she shimmied out of the skin-tight uniform. She threw it aside, adjusted her thong panties, which she’d never in a million years have bought except she needed them to accommodate her uniform. Much to her surprise, she’d ended up liking the fit and bought several more.

  She glanced at her watch as she reached for her khaki pants, and groaned. He’d be here at any minute. Her bra…where was her bra? God, she hoped she’d remembered to bring one.

  NICK LET HIS PORSCHE IDLE a minute before he turned the ignition off. The temptation to peel out of the parking lot was so great he knew if he didn’t cut the engine now he just might head for McGillycuddy’s pub and forget all about this crazy dream-analysis stuff, and Aspen.

  But man, he didn’t want to disappoint Tiffany. Because when Tiffany was happy, she was amazing.

  He got all hot thinking about her and quickly stepped out into the cool North Carolina afternoon air. The single-story white stucco building he faced was old and not much to look at, but of course, this wasn’t the main campus…more like an annex for the science department where the labs were located.

  Pocketing his keys, he slid a glance around the small parking lot. A handful of white sedans, nondescript, unimaginative, were parked perfectly within the lines. He’d bet his bank account each and every one belonged to a professor.

  Nick exhaled sharply. Just being on campus, any campus, gave him the creeps. Academia had to be life’s greatest penance. He couldn’t believe his own sister actually wanted to be a teacher.

  He adjusted the collar of his black leather jacket, patted the pocket where he’d dropped his keys. Okay, he could do this. It was only for two weeks. Aspen was worth it. Tiffany would be very happy.

  It was a long walk to the door. Only about twenty yards, but with lead feet it was a tough trip. When the front door wouldn’t open, he almost turned back around. Maybe he should knock.

  He tried the knob again, and hell, this time it opened.

  He cleared his throat, and then stepped across the threshold. The room was clean but shabby. A metal desk was crowded into the corner, the top covered with stacks of files, yet managing to look uncluttered. Beside a black leather lounge chair was an intimidating and sophisticated piece of equipment. The wire tentacles were obviously some kind of probes and he quickly looked away. Better not to think about it.

  Other than three mismatched metal file cabinets, not much else was in the room. Including anything breathing. Maybe he’d luck out yet.

  There was another door that had to lead somewhere, and in good conscience he figured he ought to at least check for signs of life. He moved in that direction and saw her.

  At least the back of her.

  And she was naked.

  Nick froze.

  He tried to back up, get out of view, but his gaze stayed glued to the brown silky hair that hung nearly to her waist—a slim waist, that dipped in nicely above a curvy, firm-looking behind. And legs…man, she had some wheels.

  Nick swallowed, but his mouth was too dry. If he didn’t get the hell out of here, he’d probably start coughing.

  She angled to the side to pick up a piece of clothing and the last thing he realized before he bolted out the front door was that she’d been wearing a thong. A red silk one. Thongs did scary things to his heart.

  He managed to close the door softly behind him, and then stood in the cool air and broke into a sweat. She couldn’t be Emma Snow. Not from what Brenda had told him about the woman. Emma was a serious student, determined to complete her thesis, had no social life, no interest in dating or men in general and was totally off-limits to him—as if he’d be interested in someone like her.

  So who was this woman? Another student, or test subject? A friend of Emma’s maybe?

  After checking his watch, he decided to give her another five minutes before knocking. The extra time wouldn’t hurt him, either. His physical reaction needed to settle down.

  Another couple of minutes and he heard someone moving around inside. He adjusted his jeans, and then knocked this time.

  The door opened immediately. A brunette wearing oversize black-rimmed glasses smiled at him. “Nick?”

  “Yeah.” He tried to look past her. The other woman was obviously still in the back.

  “Come on in. I’m Emma.” She waited until he got inside and then offered her hand. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you filling in like this.”

  Her hand was small, fragile, but her handshake was firm. He gave her another look. Hazel eyes, clear skin, no makeup. The only outstanding feature was her lips. Naturally pink and full enough they looked cosmetically altered. But indulging in vanity didn’t fit the profile Brenda had given him.

  Her general appearance did. The outdated glasses and tight bun at her nape made her look older than she was. In grade school they would have called her a bookworm, and a few other less flattering names.

  “If you’ll take a seat at the desk I have some paperwork for you to fill out,” she said, gesturing to a battered gray fabric chair. The back was high and the numerous pills looked as though a cat had used it as a scratching post.

  “What kind of paperwork?” He moved closer to the back-room door and tried to get a glimpse of the other woman. No luck. “This is all confidential, right?”

  “Of course. Any information you give me is strictly for the purpose of the study.” She smiled, and his gaze riveted to her mouth. Her lips and her friend’s legs. Now there was a combination to be reckoned with. “But I don’t think you’ll find I’ll be asking anything too personal. This basically asks statistical information.”

  “And then what?”

  “I’ll explain what we’ll be doing for the next two weeks.”

  He took the seat at the desk and stared down at the questionnaire. Innocuous enough questions, but this part he’d expected. It was her poking around his psyche, trying to figure out what his dreams meant that he dreaded.

  It wasn’t anyone’s business. Not even his, as far as he was concerned. Dreams were dreams. They didn’t mean a damn thing. Merely something to do while you slept so you wouldn’t get bored.

  “I’ll be in the back getting set up. Let me know when you finish filling that out.”

  “Hey.” He waited until she turned around. “You said this is all confidential, right?” She nodded. “Nobody else will be here.”

  “Not a soul.”

  “What about now? Anyone back there?” He gestured with his chin toward the back room.

  “Nope. It’s just us.”

  He frowned. So where was the mystery woman? Maybe there was a back door. Or maybe…

  He gave Emma another once-over. Baggy khaki pants, a white lab coat over a navy blue cotton shirt. Hard to tell what she really looked like under all that stuff. He doubted she’d be wearing a red silk thong, though. Not this woman. And the hair…it couldn’t be that long and fit in that small, tight bun.

  “Any other questions?”

  “Let me get this straight.” He took another furtive glance toward the back. From what he could see, the room looked really small. “This is just going to be you and me. No one else is involved.”

  Her gaze narrowed with concern. “Look, I really appreciate you doing this, but if you have any reservations that might prompt you to drop out midstudy, I need to know now. I can’t afford the time to look for someone else.”

  Man, he’d give just about anything to take the opportunity to bolt. But anything didn’t include the Aspen house. Hell. “Nah, I’m okay, Doc, just a little nervous about you finding out all my deepest, darkest secrets.” He gave her h
is most winning smile.

  She frowned. “We’ll talk more after you’ve filled that out.”

  Emma hurried to the back room. She hoped he took a while to complete the questionnaire because she needed time to regroup. Her sudden imbalance had little to do with him, of course, or that he was supposed to be some kind of lady-killer. Frankly, she didn’t see it. Running late always made her a little nuts. That was her problem.

  Granted, there was something appealing about him. Nothing blatant, nothing even easily identifiable. Sure, his thick dark hair was attractive in a messy, touchable sort of way, and he had a disarming smile that could probably melt many a resolve. But so did a lot of other guys she knew.

  Except his face had character, from the crinkly lines fanning out from the corners of his dark eyes, to the small moon-shaped scar over the left side of his upper lip. A small chip marred otherwise perfect teeth. Clearly he wasn’t vain or driven by perfection, or he would’ve had these minor flaws fixed.

  Her uniform lay in a heap where she’d left it in her haste to get into her street clothes. She gathered them up, stuck them in a bag to add to her laundry and then checked her hair. It was a mess. She’d misplaced a couple of bobby pins and her usual bun was a little wobbly, but it would do.

  After waiting a couple more minutes, she went out to check on Nick’s progress. To her surprise, he’d already finished and was talking on her phone.

  “Let’s have Chinese tonight,” he said just as she walked in. Although he hadn’t seen her yet, his voice lowered. “I’ll leave dessert up to you.” His laugh was husky, sexy, and then he looked up and saw her. “I have to go. I’ll see you at eight.”

  Emma sighed, pitying the poor sap on the other end who fell for his sad lack of originality. “Did you have any questions about the paperwork?” she asked as soon as he’d hung up.

  “Nope.”

  She paused a moment, waiting for him to get out of her chair. He didn’t. If anything, he leaned back and got more comfortable, so she took the visitor’s chair facing the desk and turned the questionnaire around to face her.

  After a quick perusal she looked up to find him staring at her. She cleared her throat. “I’ll give you an overview of what we’ll be doing in the next two weeks.”

  He grimaced slightly.

  Her stomach tightened. “If you have a problem committing to two weeks—”

  “No.” He shook his head, his expression agitated. “I just— Go on.”

  God, she had a bad feeling about this. But Brenda had told her not to worry. Nick had his faults, but backing out of an agreement wasn’t one of them. She sure hoped Brenda was right.

  “I don’t know how much you care to know about the theories upon which I’ll be basing my interpretations—” There was that wince again. “What?”

  “Nothing.” His expression was sheer innocence. “I’m listening.”

  She hesitated a moment, tempted to call him on his obvious negative reaction to their conversation. But on the other hand, did she really want to hear what he thought? Did she want to give him an opening to withdraw from the study?

  She took a deep breath and began again. “There are many misconceptions about dream interpretation and I thought it might be helpful if I cleared some of them up before we got started.”

  He didn’t look happy, but at least he hadn’t bolted. He glanced toward the back room, and then gestured with his hand for her to continue.

  She leaned back in her chair and wondered what he found so fascinating in the back room. Had he seen the mess her associates left? “There’s significant research indicating that dreams reflect our real-life concerns and are helpful in coping with conflict or solving problems. I operate on this theory.”

  He stood suddenly. “You’re not psychoanalyzing me, Doc. No way. No how.”

  “First of all, I’m not a doctor. Yet. Secondly, I have no intention of trying to psychoanalyze you or anyone else.” She exhaled sharply. “Could you sit down? You’re making me nervous.”

  He muttered a mild oath, shrugged out of his leather jacket and then tugged at the neck band of his T-shirt as if it were too tight. “Yeah, right.”

  “Would you let me finish?”

  Eyeing her with distrust, he lowered himself back to the chair as he tossed his jacket to the side. “Brenda told me there wouldn’t be any psychobabble involved.”

  Emma bristled, but she kept her cool. “This is a science. Not psychobabble. And like I’ve already assured you, anything discussed here is confidential.”

  “That’s the thing, Doc.” He ruffled his hair in a gesture of frustration. “Every time you remind me this is confidential, I get a rash.”

  Her gaze flew to his arms, his neck, any exposed skin.

  “Figuratively speaking, of course,” he added. “Exactly what kind of questions are you gonna ask me?”

  It took her several seconds to realize he’d spoken to her. His plain white T-shirt stretched snugly across his chest. Every muscle group was nicely represented. His arms weren’t too shabby, either. Firm, rounded biceps strained against the hem of his sleeves.

  “Doc?”

  “Stop calling me that.” She quickly met his gaze. He seemed bewildered. Thank God he didn’t know she’d been ogling him like a silly teenage girl.

  “Why not? You’re going after your doctorate, right?”

  “Ultimately.”

  “So, start acting the part.”

  “That’s called fraud.”

  He drew his head back, clearly surprised. “No, it’s not. You have a vision of who you want to be. Fake it till you make it. You’ll get there faster.”

  She frowned, not quite grasping his point, but both fascinated and irritated with his new authoritative demeanor. “May we get back to the study?”

  “I’m serious.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on her desk. “What I’m talking about is a perfectly legitimate way to attain a goal. It’s the same principle as when job counselors tell you to dress for the job you want, and not the one you have.”

  It was easy to understand why he’d achieved success early. His solemn tone of voice and the intensity in his eyes gave her a glimpse of the man who’d been driven to succeed. What an intriguing side to him.

  She tapped her pencil on the edge of the desk. “The study?”

  “Sure.” He grinned suddenly, and leaned back, looking totally relaxed. “Doc.”

  There it was.

  That subtle indefinable quality that drew women to him like ants to a picnic. Was it his slightly mischievous grin?

  Or was it the way his gaze held her captive, as if telling her he wasn’t going anywhere, and neither was she? Amazing really, how the attraction crept up before you knew what hit you.

  Luckily she was able to respond in a strictly professional, scientific manner. She cleared her throat, checked her bun. “Okay, where was I?” she mumbled, her voice still sounding a bit creaky, so she cleared her throat again. “Oh, yes, my method and theories.” She was back in control, unmoved, untouched by the darn devil in his eyes.

  “I won’t lie to you, I believe that dreams reveal important facets about ourselves in metaphorical forms. They show us how we feel about others, about our relationships and about ourselves, for that matter. They help illustrate our hopes and fears and weaknesses, and as an interviewer and interpreter, I will be pointing out—” She stopped, frowned. “What are you doing?”

  “Huh?” He raised his gaze to hers. “Go ahead. I’m listening.”

  “No, you weren’t. You were—” She brought a hand to her mouth and futilely felt around for anything foreign. God, there was probably something stuck in her teeth.

  “Okay, so you caught me.” That devilish grin again. “Did you know you have perfect lips?”

  She squinted at him, certain she’d heard incorrectly.

  “Perfectly shaped. Perfect fullness. Perfect shade of pink. You should be doing lipstick commercials.”

  “Mr. Ryder, I don’t think—
This isn’t the time or— Just knock it off.”

  “What?” His eyes widened in genuine surprise, and then he nodded with annoying understanding. “I embarrassed you. I apologize. However, I only meant it as a compliment.” His lips curved in that smile. “Besides, you caught me staring.”

  “You didn’t embarrass me.” Right. Heat singed her cheeks and she knew they were redder than an August tomato. “But I would like to stick to the business of the study.”

  He threw her a questioning look, and then shrugged. “Of course. I didn’t mean to distract you.”

  The hell he hadn’t. She stared down at her notebook so she wouldn’t glare at her subject, piss him off and then have to go beg and barter for a new one again.

  “As I was saying,” she said, slowly, each word deliberate, “I believe dreams do tell us a lot about ourselves, and I will, of course, interpret the information you give me, but ultimately only you will know what each dream means to you.”

  He snorted.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You always make rude noises for nothing?”

  Amusement lit his dark eyes, and his mouth started to curve in a slow smile. “Sorry, Doc, I didn’t mean to rile you.”

  “Right,” she muttered, and stared down at her notes. They weren’t really notes. Just something to look at while she collected herself.

  How could this guy be so charming and annoying at the same time? The laughter that seemed to spring to his eyes was the irritating part. As for the rest of him…

  Well, he did have a great chest and shoulders, broad, muscled without being in-your-face. And though Emma couldn’t honestly remember being impressed by a man’s hands before, she found herself periodically studying the way his long, lean fingers restlessly, silently tapped the desk. That in itself wasn’t remarkable, but they inspired a sudden erotic image of him caressing her breasts that about knocked her over.

  She took a deep breath. What was wrong with her? Having lustful thoughts about a virtual stranger was not her style. Especially not one who could make or break her thesis.