by MJ Rodgers
Table of Contents
Cover Page
Excerpt
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Books by M.J. Rodgers
Title Page
Dedication
Acknowledgment
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Copyright
“You’ve remembered something?”
Whatever it was, Michael knew it had obviously shaken her.
Briana took a steadying breath. “I can’t locate my partner, my firm doesn’t exist…and no one seems to be able to find my grandmother….”
The sudden, devastatingly lost look in her eyes made his heart lurch. “It’s all right. You’re just confused—”
“That’s not all, Michael. I—” She stopped, as if unable to go on. “I’m afraid to tell you. It’s so absurd.”
“Briana, you never have to be afraid to tell me anything. I’m here for you. Besides, believe me, we psychiatrists live on the very edge of absurdity.”
Her eyes met his and steadied. “This isn’t my face.” She swallowed. “The first time I saw this face was when I woke up this morning and looked into the mirror. Michael, I’m not just missing three weeks. I’m missing my face.”
She paused to laugh with no mirth at all.
“You said you lived on the edge of absurdity?” she asked. “Well, it looks like I’ve just dropped off it.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
The Dream Wedding is the sequel to The Dream Doc, a short story featured in Harlequin’s September anthology, Fortune Cookie.
M.J. Rodgers is the winner of Romantic Times Career Achievement Award for Romantic Mysteries, two-time winner of their Best Intrigue Award and is also winner of B. Dalton Bookseller’s top-selling Intrigue Award. She loves to hear from readers and will autograph a sticker for placement inside your copy of The Dream Wedding if you send an SASE to her at P.O. Box 284, Seabeck, WA 98380-0284.
Books by M.J. Rodgers
HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE
102—FOR LOVE OR MONEY
128—A TASTE OF DEATH
140-BLOODSTONE
157—DEAD RINGER
176—BONES OF CONTENTION
185—RISKY BUSINESS
202—ALL THE EVIDENCE
214—TO DIE FOR
254—SANTA CLAUS IS COMING
271—ON THE SCENT
290—WHO IS JANE WILLIAMS?
335—BEAUTY VS. THE BEAST*
342—BABY VS. THE BAR*
350—HEART VS. HUMBUG*
375—LOVE VS. ILLUSION*
392—TO HAVE VS. TO HOLD*
423—ONE TOUGH TEXAN
*Justice Inc. minisenes
HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE
492—FIRE MAGIC
520—THE ADVENTURESS
563—THE GIFT-WRAPPED GROOM
Don’t miss any of our special offers. Write to us at the following address for information on our newest releases.
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U.S.’ 3010 Walden Ave., P.O Box 1325. Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian: P.O Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3
The Dream Weding
M.J. Rodgers
“The future belongs to those
who believe in the beauty of
their dreams.”
—Eleanor Roosevelt
ACKNOWLEDGMENT
With special thanks to
“NetSleuths, An Information Brokerage
{email:[email protected]}
for finding what everyone else sand
wasn’t there.
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Briana Berry—She awakened to a world where the only reality she could find was in a dream.
Michael Sands—He’s fascinated by Briana’s dream and even more by Briana.
Sergeant Elena Vierra—She’d thought she’d heard it all. And then Briana walked into her precinct.
Carlie Taureau—She has a lot of answers for Briana. But can any of them be believed?
Sheldon Ayton—He claims Briana belongs with him. What is he willing to do to convince her?
Rory Taureau—He insists that Briana needs protection. But from whom and why?
Everett Thaw—He definitely knows something. But he’s not talking.
Gytha Ayton—She might know what’s going on. Trouble is, she’s in a coma.
Chapter One
Michael Sands knew something was amiss the instant he walked into the spacious rotunda of the Institute of Dreams.
He halted immediately, listening carefully, his muscles tensing in readiness for whatever he would face. Only a deep, empty quiet beat against his ears.
Michael’s eyes quickly swept over the gleaming white marble floors and walls to the unmanned guard desk in the middle. Nothing stirred, save the twinkling Christmas lights on the twenty-foot Scotch pine standing in the corner.
His gaze rose to the glass-domed ceiling bulging high into the heavens. The night’s black velvet drape was a jeweler’s case, the stars within it a thousand sparkling diamonds.
All was serene at the Institute of Dreams.
And yet that odd sense of disquiet remained with Michael, as though a sense apart from his normal five had been breached.
Michael enjoyed pursuing these rare nudges originating from beyond his normal awareness. Following them had often led to the unusual and unexpected.
Unfortunately, this nudge had not appeared at an opportune time. He had three parties he had promised to swing by tonight, two sponsored by prominent patrons of the institute. He was already late to them all.
Michael took one last quick look around before continuing toward the front doors and the parking lot.
The second he rounded the guard’s desk, he saw her. And she stopped him dead in his tracks.
Michael’s whole life revolved around dreams—those wonderful wisps of other worlds that the unconscious cavorted in at night, when the conscious was fast asleep. He knew that dreams could be absurd, astonishing, outlandish, outstanding.
He also knew they could contain important questions, and provide even more important answers to the concerns of waking life. For years he had probed their meanings, their power, their magic.
But he had never met one in the waking world before.
She was lying beneath the institute’s giant Christmas tree. And she was definitely too lovely to be anything but a dream.
He stood absolutely still and stared.
She was long of limb and slim, the gentle swells of her breasts and hips beneath the white satin of her gown taking his active male imagination on a quick, exciting trip. The thick waves of her hair were pure flame and flowed past her shoulders, fanning the white marble floor.
He couldn’t see her face. It was hidden behind the diaphanous white lace veil of her spectacular wedding outfit.
Michael approached-in a disbelieving daze. He went down on one knee beside her. Only when he took her hand in his and felt its warm smoothness did he begin to trust what his senses were telling him.
She was real.
He felt for her pulse. It throbbed beneath his finger in a relaxed but steady pace.
Slowly, he drew back her veil.
Her face glowed beneath the twinkling Christmas-tree lights, a perfect oval sculptured by full cheekbones and chin. Her skin had the translucent shine of fine white linen. Her eyebrows rose into gentle auburn arches above the lush sweep of her long eyelashes. At the end
of her small, straight nose were lips as full and delicately stained as a coral sunset. He couldn’t tell what color her eyes were, for they were closed. Her chest rose with a gentle, rhythmic swell.
It seemed it was she who was fast asleep, not he.
Michael leaned back on his heels, his forehead furrowing into a frown. Dream or no, she was still too ravishing to be real. What was this beautiful bride doing asleep beneath his tree?
And then it hit him.
Of course! This dream bride had to be one of his friends’ not-so-subtle fix-ups. A “gift” to him on this Christmas Eve.
Michael chuckled. It was an incredible prank, but then, his friends would know it would have to be something incredible to capture his attention.
Which one of them had this much imagination and flair for the dramatic? And who was this perfectly lovely lady they had recruited to play pretend bride?
Michael couldn’t wait to find out.
He was about to shake her shoulder to do just that when the cell phone in his tuxedo pocket pealed away. He answered it.
“Michael, it’s past ten, and the party is way into its swing,” Dr. Nathaniel Quinn’s irritated voice said in his ear. “Where in the hell are you?”
“I had some last-minute things to finish up at the institute, Nate. Are you the one who left the unusual Christmas present for me here under the tree?”
“What unusual Christmas present?”
Michael smiled down at the sleeping bride. “The one wrapped all in white.”
“Our ‘present’ is wearing black, in both her dress and her expression. You were supposed to have been here an hour ago.
“Don’t tell me she’s another one of Laura’s friends,” Michael said, shaking his head.
Nate’s exhale sounded slightly exasperated. “It’s one of those women things. Laura likes you. She hates to see you alone during the holidays.”
“Nate, I am never alone during the holidays unless I choose to be, as you very well know.”
“Yeah, I know. But you said yourself you hadn’t met anyone interesting this year. And besides, the ladies you generally choose to spend holidays with aren’t exactly the lasting type. Why not spend some time with one of Laura’s friends for a change?”
“Because they are the lasting type.”
“Come again?”
“Nate, they’re perfectly nice women. Attractive, even bright. But they’re either single and looking for a husband and father, or divorced with a couple of kids and looking for a husband and father.”
“Marriage isn’t that bad, Michael. After two months, I highly recommend it. You’d be surprised how great it is to have someone to come home to and share dreams with.”
“For ten years women have been sharing their dreams with me,” Michael said. “Believe me, no woman could surprise me.”
As Michael said those words, he looked again at the beautiful sleeping bride and saw her eyes moving beneath her closed lids. She was dreaming?
“Look, Nate, I have to hang up now. There’s something urgent I have to attend to here.”
“But you’re going to make it to the party?”
“Sorry. Looks like I’ll be too busy with the present that was left for me here.”
Nate exhaled in exasperation. “What do I tell Laura’s friend?”
“The truth. I’m not into the family thing. I would have just disappointed her.”
Michael flipped his cell phone closed.
“So you’re not a gift from Nate,” he said to the sleeping bride. “Not Fay, surely? No, our Fay’s far too subtle for such a splashy gesture. Which just leaves Jaron. Yes. This has the feel of the outlandish and unorthodox—and that describes Jaron to a T.”
Michael smiled as he replaced the cell phone in his pocket. “And if you’re a gift from Jaron, the bridal gown is definitely a prank. Jaron is far too footloose and fancy-free himself to seriously suggest marriage to another bachelor. Right?”
The sleeping bride did not respond. If this incomparable creature wanted to warm his arm tonight at the celebrations, and perhaps later his bed, who was he to play Scrooge?
He rested his hand on her shoulder and gave it a gentle shake.
“Time to wake up,” he said softly.
She stirred not an eyelash.
Michael put a little more emphasis in his shake and the volume of his voice. “The parties are already in full swing. You don’t want to miss them, do you?”
She continued to lie as still as a statue.
A disturbing thought occurred to Michael. He leaned closer, until he was almost nose-to-nose with her. The subtle, winsome fragrance of sweet herbs and amber mixed with woman rose up to greet him. He could detect not even a trace of alcohol. At least she had not passed out from too much holiday cheer.
He leaned back on his heel. A quick glance out to the welllit parking lot of the institute revealed that the only car there was his own.
Michael rose to check the glass doors. They were unlocked. Still, whoever had dropped her off had to have had a key to the front doors in order for her to have been carried inside. Unless the guard had forgotten to lock the doors when he left?
Michael discarded the possibility. She had to have been brought here by his friend. This had to be a prank. Nothing else made any sense. He returned to the sleeping bride.
“Do you realize if you’re faking this sleep, your heartbeat will give you away?” he warned.
The lovely vision before him still did not stir. Michael gave her a moment more to reconsider before leaning down to rest his ear between the gentle swell of her breasts.
Her sweet fragrance filled him. She felt warm and soft and way too good. It took a moment for him to control the rapid rise of his own heartbeat before he could listen to hers. It was steady, slumberously slow. She was asleep, all right. He drew back until he could once again see her eyes moving beneath her closed lids. Not just asleep. She definitely was dreaming.
He was growing more perplexed by the moment. Why had she fallen into such a deep sleep? Was she experiencing a side effect from some medication?
Whatever the reason, Michael knew, he couldn’t leave her lying on the cold marble floor. He wove his arms carefully beneath the satin folds of her dress and picked her up. She curled her body into his with a soft murmur, a small smile drawing back her lips. Her eyes continued to move beneath her closed lids. She was still fast asleep, and still dreaming.
She was also a warm and totally enticing armful. He couldn’t resist holding her soft body close, cradling her head against his shoulder. Her thick, silky bangs fanned his neck like seductive feathers.
Michael carried her across the rotunda, through the door to his wing, down its corridors, and finally to his private apartment, at the back. Once there, he punched in the key code to unlock the door. He swept her inside, flipped on the light and headed for the couch.
He laid her gently on its soft cushions and knelt beside her. Her veil was so long it swept the floor. He worked the rosebud crown free of her hair and withdrew its elaborate folds from around her head. Then he tossed the assembly onto a nearby chair.
Her hair tumbled across the teal-blue couch cushions in thick, loose, fiery waves. He ran his fingers lightly across the flaming strands, fascinated by their crackling beauty. They were cool and silky to the touch. But when he drew back his hand, it felt strangely hot from the contact.
His eyes returned to her face. The brighter light of the room cloaked her cheeks in a fair blush and set an enticing shine across her lips. She was absolutely captivating. He suddenly couldn’t wait to know the color of her eyes, the sound of her voice, the feel of her smile.
“If you’ve swallowed a potion that put you to sleep,” Michael whispered, “that qualifies you as a true Sleeping Beauty. Maybe all this situation calls for is a kiss to awaken you.”
It was a tempting thought. And the moment it came to Michael, he found himself succumbing to its temptation. He sought her hand, lightly pressing his middle
fingers to the pulse point in her wrist. Then he leaned down to brush his lips lightly over hers.
She tasted as sweetly insubstantial as whipped cream, and as coolly mysterious as her unexpected appearance on his doorstep in the dead of night. He drew back quickly, all too aware of the increasing beat of his heart.
He studied her carefully, noting that there was no change in the steady, sluggish pace of her pulse. Her breathing was still slow and even. Her eyes still moved beneath their closed lids.
She was still dreaming.
It looked like this Sleeping Beauty was going to need a more arousing kiss, if he hoped to wake her.
There was an element of the unfathomable and forbidden about that thought that Michael was finding entirely too enchanting and intoxicating a blend to resist.
He didn’t.
He pressed his mouth to hers more firmly, eagerly claiming its soft curves and contours. She tasted warm and sweet, and so wonderfully giving. He quickened the tender friction, focusing all his attention on her soft lips. A sensuous heat radiated into him from the delicate fusion of their mouths.
Michael could feel his breath thickening as his body responded to the intimacy of the contact. With the tip of his tongue, he caressed the sensitive skin at the edges of her lips with bolder and bolder strokes, until he could feel them parting.
When the warmth of her breath was suddenly, exquisitely mixing with his own, her pulse quickened. His went wild.
He forced himself to hold back, reminding himself that she was still fast asleep, still unaware of him. He was determined to make her aware of him—completely and totally aware. He removed his hand from hers, concentrating on touching her only through his kiss.
He pressed the warm wetness of his tongue against the enticing slit of her parted lips. He slipped inside to taste the sleek porcelain smoothness of her teeth before dipping into the warm, deep softness of her mouth. Her flavor filled him like a hot cinnamon cider.