Midnight Fantasies

by Vicki Lewis Thompson, Stephanie Bond

  The way it would have been with this woman if he’d done everything he’d been aching to do to her. If he’d kissed her lips and licked a path down her neck. If he’d sucked those incredible nipples into his mouth, first one then the other. If he’d slid her delicate fingers into his mouth and tasted her essence.

  He punched in the security code and let himself into the dark, empty house. Christ, he was a jackass. She’d been right there. Ready and waiting and wet, for heaven’s sake! She’d wanted him, physically anyway. That should have been enough.

  Not this time. He wanted more.

  While he admitted that much to himself, he wasn’t yet prepared to think about why it mattered so much.

  Instead he did his damnedest to force the image of her, naked and trembling and bathed in bright light, from his head as he stretched out on the sofa and loosened the button on his jeans.

  His fingers grazed his throbbing length and want pulsed through him. He closed his eyes and tried to think of the Dixon House and the current tile color. Hopeless.

  He tried to concentrate on the announcer’s voice blaring from the TV. Instead he heard Laney. Her sexy voice. Her short, frantic breaths. Her shameless moan.

  He’d wanted to touch her so badly, to pull her hand away from between her legs and replace it with his own, to feel her dripping over his finger, sucking it inside.

  He’d wanted her to touch him, to slide open his fly and free his throbbing length, to stroke him from root to tip and back down again.

  He mimicked the motion and as he pictured her in his mind’s eye, he was no longer alone. Lonely. She was there with him, over him, her hands reaching for him.

  She touched him, slow and easy at first before she grew more insistent, working him into a frenzy. His heart pounded. His ears rang.

  His entire body ached for a release that wouldn’t come. Not now. Not like this.

  Not without her.

  He opened his eyes to the dimly lit living room and realized after a few frantic breaths that the ringing wasn’t just the blood pulsing to his brain. The doorbell sounded again, followed by a soft knock.

  He drew in a shaky breath and climbed to his feet. No doubt Eula had decided not to risk the alarm. A swift tug and he managed to fasten his jeans enough for modesty’s sake.

  “For the last time, I didn’t change the code—” His words stumbled to a halt as he pulled open the front door and found himself staring at Laney Merriweather.

  Her face was flushed, her clothes rumpled. Her hair spilled down around her shoulders, her makeup faded from the sweat dotting her forehead.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “Isn’t that obvious?”

  His heart jumped at her words because he knew by the look on her face exactly what she wanted. He knew, but he wanted more. “Say it.”

  “We should…” She swallowed. “That is, I think…” She swallowed again. “I want this.”

  “Say it.”

  She looked ready to turn and run before she seemed to gather her courage. She straightened her shoulders, looked him square in the eyes and said the words Dallas Jericho had been praying to hear for most of his life. “I want you.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “I WANT YOU,” LANEY SAID again, surprised at how easy the truth came despite a lifetime of denial.

  She’d been terrified a few moments ago, this close to changing her mind. But then he’d hauled open the door wearing nothing but jeans. He’d looked so sexy, so hot that her fear had faded in the sudden longing that filled her. “You’re sure you want this?”

  “Just so long as we’re both clear on what this actually is. I don’t want either of us having any unrealistic expectations. I’m not looking for a boyfriend or a husband or a happily ever after.” The only thing Laney expected from Dallas was a night of unforgettable passion. A night straight out of her most erotic fantasies. An ending to the story they’d started when she’d climbed into his Mustang that night and let him whisk her up to Cadillac Bluff for the most thrilling make-out session of her young life. “And I don’t suspect you’re looking for a wife, which is why this is perfect for both of us.”

  “This, as in?”

  “Sex.” She tried to sound as professional as possible, but her voice was breathless and husky and totally unprofessional, unless the profession in question involved five-inch stilettos, a black miniskirt and a street corner in the red-light district. “Sex,” she stated again, the word louder and clearer this time. She watched as his eyes narrowed, as if the possibility angered him almost as much as it fed the desire burning in his gaze. “Pure, uncomplicated sex.”

  “This is talking, darlin’,” he said as he reached for her. Their bodies met and she felt the hard proof of his desire for a heart-stopping moment before he kissed her. “This,” he said when he finally came up for air, “is the pure, uncomplicated sex part.”

  “Oh,” was all she managed to get out before he kissed her again, slower and deeper this time, as if he’d spent his aggression from a few moments ago with the first kiss. This kiss was purely for arousal’s sake, and every nerve in her body sprang to awareness.

  He trailed her bottom lip with the tip of his tongue before sucking it into his mouth and nibbling. The sensation, both pleasure and pain, sent waves of heat spiraling from her head to her toes, bursting at every major pleasure point in between. Her pulse jumped. Her nipples tingled. Her belly quivered. Her thighs trembled. Her knees wobbled.

  Her mouth parted and his tongue plunged inside, stroking and teasing and making her gasp for air. He didn’t so much as pause, instead deepening the kiss, drugging her with his taste. His smell. His touch.

  His hands trailed down her back, cupping her bare buttocks through the thin fabric of her skirt. When he realized she wasn’t wearing any underclothes, he groaned. The sound, so raw and husky and male, vibrated into her mouth and made her heart pound even harder.

  His fingers caught the hem of her skirt, bunching the material until bare skin met bare skin and his hand slipped beneath.

  “You’re so soft,” he murmured against her lips when he finally came up for air. “So soft and wet,” he added when his fingertips slipped between her legs.

  In the distance, a car sounded. Lights skittered through the darkness.

  “Tell me what you want.”

  “You,” she breathed.

  “Now? Right here? Where anyone could see us?”

  “Yes.” She was beyond caring. She ached for him and suddenly nothing else mattered. “Please.”

  At her entreaty, he quickly obliged. He slipped a finger inside. A sweet pressure gripped her and chased away any lingering doubts. Her heart pounded faster, her vision blurred and she forgot all about the beam of headlights that drew closer, brighter.

  She hooked a leg over his hip, opening her legs wider, giving him deeper access. He plunged a second finger into her and she moved her bottom, increasing the sensation. The pressure heightened until she couldn’t bear it. Her lips parted and a strangled gasp broke from her lips as the world exploded.

  She arched, clutching at his shoulders, digging her nails into the hard muscle as wave upon wave of luscious ecstasy washed over her. She would have melted into a puddle if Dallas hadn’t been there in front of her, surrounding her, inside her.

  Her eyelids fluttered open and she found him staring down at her with an intense expression. Laney simply stood there, staring into his eyes, doing her best to understand what had just happened.

  An orgasm. But not just any orgasm. This had been different. More exciting. More intense. More consuming. Different.

  A zigzag of headlights cut through the dark night as another car turned onto the street. The sight jarred her from her crazy train of thought. She became acutely aware of her compromising position—her back pressed to the wall, her skirt up around her waist, his hard thigh bracing her legs apart—and the fact that Dallas’s hand was still wedged between her legs, one finger still deep, deep inside.
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  A wave of embarrassment swept over her, quickly subsiding when Dallas picked her up into his arms, turned and carried her inside the house. The door slammed shut and his long legs made quick work of the darkly paneled hallway.

  A few heartbeats later, Laney found herself in a large room dominated by a huge, four-poster bed. Oversize navy pillows and a matching goose-down comforter draped the mattress encased in blue-and-white pin-stripe sheets. Keys sat on the dresser along with a handful of change. A copy of Field and Stream magazine lay unopened on the nightstand. A pair of Wranglers was draped around one bedpost. It smelled of leather and sawdust and him and her nostrils flared, drinking in the scent the way her eyes drank in the sight.

  “This is a big room.”

  “I like my space.”

  “That, or you’re planning on a big family someday.”

  He shrugged. “Someday.”

  “Someday soon?” It wasn’t that she cared if he had a significant other. She just wanted to make sure she wasn’t about to do anything that would hurt someone else.

  As if he read the thoughts racing through her head, he shook his head. “There’s no one in my life right now.” A grin creased his handsome face. “Just you.” He pulled her to her feet slowly, sliding her down the hard length of his body, letting her feel every ripple of muscle, including the hard bulge stretching his jeans tight.

  He sank down to the edge of the bed and fingered her blouse. “Take this off.”

  She shook her head. “It’s my turn now.” She pulled him to his feet and touched the open edge of his jeans before seating herself on the bed. “I want to know what you’re feeling. Tell me.”

  He didn’t say anything for a long moment, but then his lips parted and he murmured the one word that fed her desire even more than the sight of him. “Hot.”

  “Show me.”

  “But this is your fantasy.”

  Something about the statement bothered her, but then he reached for the partially undone zipper and her heart all but stopped beating.

  The teeth parted with a slow, nerve-racking zzzzzzip. He watched her from beneath lowered lids as he shoved his jeans and briefs down and stood before her naked and beautiful and fully aroused.

  While Laney didn’t consider herself an expert when it came to naked men—she’d only slept with two and taken a quick peek at a Playgirl Eden had smuggled into the girls’ locker room back in high school—she knew without a doubt that Dallas was a perfect specimen. He was all male. Tall, powerful, masculine. Dark hair dusted his long, muscular legs. The same silky down surrounded his flat brown nipples and sprinkled his powerful chest. A fine line of hair funneled down his rippled abdomen. Wisps of dark silk surrounded a large, thick erection that jutted toward her as if begging for her touch.

  She had to oblige. He’d sent her over the top and she wanted to do the same for him. She wanted to touch him.

  Laney dropped to her knees in front of him. She cupped and caressed, stroked and stirred, with her hands, her mouth, her tongue.

  “Stop,” he groaned after several moments. He pulled her to her feet and crushed her against his chest.

  “I want inside you,” he murmured into her ear. “I need inside you. Now. Right now.”

  His rhythm on the porch had been slow and controlled and Laney gasped at the sudden frantic change.

  She liked it. She liked seeing the desperation in his hot, glittering eyes, hearing it in the raw huskiness of his voice, feeling it in his touch as he urged her down onto the bed. Reaching into the bedside table, he pulled out a condom, which he donned in record time before covering her with the length of his body. He was eager and out of control, as if he’d dreamed of this moment just the way she’d been fantasizing about him all these years.

  As if.

  Dallas was a passionate man because he’d had plenty of experience. He’d undoubtedly done this many times before with many different women. There was nothing special about this moment. She could have been any woman.

  Laney told herself that, she just couldn’t make herself believe it. Not when he stared deep into her eyes and she saw the fierce longing that glittered in the fiery green depths.

  With one swift thrust, he buried himself deep and she forgot everything save the intense pleasure that rolled over her and turned her inside out.

  She wrapped her legs around his waist and rose to meet him as he thrust into her again. Deeper. Harder. She moved with him, slowly at first. The pressure built and he plunged faster, harder, until she couldn’t stand it anymore. Her climax hit her like a giant wave, crashing over her, consuming her and sucking the oxygen from her body for a long, heart-stopping moment.

  Dallas quickly followed. He plunged into her one final time. His muscles tightened, his body went taut and a deep groan rumbled from his chest.

  Any woman, she told herself as he gathered her in his arms, their hearts hammering in perfect sync. Any woman.

  She almost believed it, too. But then he touched his lips to her forehead in a gentle, warm kiss and whispered, “You’re everything I’ve ever dreamed,” and she knew without a doubt that what had just happened between them had gone beyond unfinished business.

  The truth should have sent a burst of dread through her. Instead it filled her with pure, unadulterated happiness. Proof beyond a doubt that Laney Merriweather had just made the biggest mistake of her life.

  She’d not only slept with Dallas Jericho. She’d fallen in love with him.

  DALLAS STARED DOWN at Laney and watched the soft flare of her nostrils, the steady rise and fall of her beautiful breasts. Finally, after all these years, he knew. He’d spent so many sleepless nights wondering what it would have felt like to go all the way with her that night, to plunge inside her and fill her up. To possess her.

  But he was the one possessed. He’d had her, yet he wanted more. He didn’t just want inside her body. He wanted inside her head. Inside her heart.

  And she wanted one night, or so he thought until she scrambled across the bed and threw her legs over the side.

  “Where are you going?”

  “It’s late. I—I really have to go.”

  “It’s early, hot stuff, and the only thing that you have to do is crawl back over here—”

  The loud blare of an alarm system cut off the rest of his words. Laney snatched up her clothes and started jerking them on while Dallas let out a heated curse and reached for his jeans.

  “It’s just me.” A woman’s voice carried down the hall, along with the steady tap of shoes.

  “Hold on,” Dallas called out. “I’ll be right there.”

  “I’m really sorry.” The voice moved closer. “I swear, you need to stop changing that code on me. How in the world is an old woman supposed to keep track of such things if you’re always fiddling with—oh, my.”

  Laney clutched the edges of her blouse together just as Eula Christian appeared in the doorway.

  The woman took one look at Laney and her face flushed a bright scarlet.

  “I’m sorry…I didn’t…That is…I had no idea you were entertaining. I mean, Dallas never…I’ll just close this door behind me.”

  “I don’t usually have women over,” he said as he turned back to her. “You’re the first. That’s why Eula’s so freaked out.”

  The first.

  And the last. The thought rushed through her head and she forced it back out. She wasn’t the last. She didn’t want to be the last. She simply wanted out before she gave in to the urge to crawl back under the covers and stay there forever.

  “I really have to go.”

  “Just wait.” The loud ring of his cell phone punctuated his words. “We have to talk.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about. This is over.”

  “It’s just starting—” The cell phone rang again and he cursed as he snatched it up. “Just wait,” he told her again. “Jericho,” he barked as he punched the talk button.”

  “I can’t.” She started for the door, but he caug
ht her arm, his fingers tight but not painful.

  “We’re going to talk.” He shook his head as he shifted his attention to the phone call. “Not us,” he said into the phone. “We’ve already talked and I can tell you that the citrus tile is this close to being installed. One more room and—” His words ground to a halt. His expression hardened and she knew who was on the phone even before he said the name. “Black cherry jubilee? But we’re nearly finished, Mr. Dixon. My men are laying the last of it as we speak.” He listened, his expression growing blacker by the moment. “No, I’m not saying that I won’t do it. I’m just saying that it’s not practical.” Another heart-pounding moment of silence. “I’m not saying that you’re being impractical,” he ground out. “It’s just a little late and we’ve changed colors four times already.” Another moment of tense silence and he nodded. “Fine. I’ll stop the citrus and we’ll order the black cherry. Give me the catalog number?” He fished in his pocket and extracted a tattered square of paper. He unfolded the sheet, rummaged in the nightstand drawer for a pen and started to scribble. “Got it. No, no,” he growled, looking anything but pleased. “It’s no trouble. You’re the customer.”

  He punched the off button and tossed the paper onto the bed with a heated curse. Then he turned his full attention on her. “We’re going to talk. I want to know…”

  His words faded as Laney’s attention hooked on the paper. A familiar sheet of paper. She recognized the color, the monogram, the handwriting. Her own handwriting.

  Her gaze shifted to his as she reached for the sheet of stationery. “Where did you get this?”

  “At Eden’s bar. I needed something to write on and it was lying in an ashtray.” He stared at her for a long moment. “You’re mad, aren’t you?”

  But that was the kicker. She wasn’t mad. She was in love. Love.

  She tossed the paper to the bed. “I have to get out of here.” Away from him, from his scent, his touch and the penetrating light of his eyes.