In His Wildest Dreams

by Marie Treanor

  It isn’t me in the dreams. Not always. The idea stunned him for a moment before he realized it made much more sense, however painful. Of course he’d never really have sex with Izzy, and if he did, he wouldn’t tie her and take her like that with such casual acceptance.

  His fingers curled into fists on the floor, and he closed his eyes. He really, really wanted to beat the shit out of whoever was doing this to her. Not just because he was jealous and painfully rigid with lust, but because he remembered from other dreams that she wept as she came.

  Of course, maybe some women did. But to Glenn, it was a sign of unhappiness. And if he could prevent that, he would.

  The face of the man with her tonight swam into his mind. Was it him, Harry, who made her come and made her cry in Glenn’s dreams? And if so, how could Glenn be so far into his head that he could feel the man’s sexual pleasure? Normally, when he dreamed of other people, it was merely observation. Like the woman hiding her jewels or whatever behind the stone. But these dreams of Izzy weren’t just too frequent, they were bizarrely detailed.

  None of it made any sense. Unless it was just his own lust, his own private fantasies that added the feeling to these dreams. He wanted Izzy too much, and all he could do was look out for her from a distance. Because God knew, if Glenn would have been bad for her, this guy he dreamed was having sex with her wasn’t any better.

  It all added another layer to his torment.

  Chapter Eight

  On Friday, as her working day drew to a close and she had the somewhat mixed pleasure of the dinner dance to look forward to, Izzy gave in to curiosity and opened the attic door at the end of the uppermost hall. A cold draught ruffled her hair. Stairs climbed into darkness. In the distance, above her head, something creaked, and she shivered. Like the library, even the smell of this place evoked a sense of age, of presence. And yet both were the Victorian part of the house, no older than the public library or the nursery building in the village.

  Izzy knew an urge to go up, to explore this unknown territory. She set her foot on the first stair, then glanced at her watch. Half past two. Time to meet Jack and get her stuff ready for her night away.

  Reluctantly, she replaced her foot on the ground, stepped back and closed the door. She imagined a sigh of disappointment, but it might have been her own.

  “You look amazing,” Harry said, with such awe in his voice that it seemed like more than flattery. And Izzy had gone to a bit more trouble with her appearance than usual, not so much to impress Harry as to boost her own confidence. After much discussion with Louise, she wore her once favourite blue evening dress that hadn’t seen the light of day—or night—in three years. She’d dressed her hair up, applied a touch of light makeup and wore the peridot pendant that had been her mother’s.

  It had been a long time since she’d socialized with a bunch of strangers, let alone a set of successful and wealthy ones. As the week had worn on, she’d found she was looking forward to this “treat” less and less, and Harry’s irritating behaviour last night had even made her wonder if she couldn’t and shouldn’t wriggle out of it. However, since it seemed unnecessarily mean to let someone down at the last minute, here she was, in her hotel bedroom, twirling somewhat self-consciously for her partner’s edification.

  The room was a rather extravagant double, booked by Harry, who, presumably, had a similar one farther along the corridor. When they’d first discussed it, Izzy had deliberately asked him to book her a single room, just so there would be no misunderstanding about the nature of their friendship, and to give him his due, Harry hadn’t appeared to expect anything else. He was prepared to take things slowly, which was the only way Izzy could tolerate.

  “You’re pretty smart yourself,” she said generously, examining Harry in his kilt and black tie. “Most distinguished.”

  He bowed elaborately and offered her his arm. Izzy accepted it in the same style and they left the room together. As they descended the stairs, she saw the sign for the charity dinner dance on her right, pointing to the large function suite. But a more raucous noise was coming from the public bar on the left. Someone was hauling two amplifiers in there.

  “Musical night on at the same time,” Harry said with a hint of apology. “But it all adds to the atmosphere.”

  As they reached the foot of the stairs, another man came in through the front door with an amp and two microphone stands. It was Dougie.

  Izzy halted in surprise. Dougie saw her at once and grinned with apparent delight. “All right, Izzy! You going to the gig too?”

  Gig. Of course. She’d heard them all talking about the jazz band playing their first public gig on Friday night. Everyone else had been planning to go as moral support, including Chrissy.

  “Well, no, we’re at the dinner dance next door,” Izzy said, dazed. Glenn was here, and she’d no idea how that made her feel, just that she did. “But I’ll sneak over and listen. What time are you on?”

  “’Bout nine, apparently,” Dougie said. “Knowing these things, more likely to be ten.” He nodded at Harry in friendly fashion and hauled his burden onward.

  Harry held the function suite door open for her, his face as well as his posture somewhat stiff. For some reason, he was pissed off, which hardly boded well for a pleasant evening.

  “What a coincidence to find these guys here,” she tried lightly. “I thought they were playing in Mallaig or Fort William.”

  Letting the door fall shut behind him, he said seriously, “Izzy, you don’t owe them anything. Tonight is your escape from the cares of the world, remember?”

  Touched by his concern, she gave his arm a quick hug, just as someone hailed him jovially from the bar, and Harry introduced her to the first of a sea of successful professional faces. They all seemed interested in her and her connection to Harry. “We’ve been friends for a couple of years,” she told them. “Since I first moved to Ardknocken.”

  “And what exactly do you do in such a backwater?”

  But before she could answer for herself, Harry took over. “Freelance research,” he said, allowing admiration to creep into his voice, as if he’d said, Brain surgery or particle physics. From which she understood that he didn’t want to advertise her current connection to Ardknocken House. Because the work was menial? Or because of the character of the residents?

  She tried not to be irritated. But the pointless new lies on top of the necessary old ones she’d been carrying around for years began to take the shine off the evening. She held her own in conversation, almost without thinking about it. As if she knew these people already—intelligent, ambitious, charming for the most part, and just a little smug.

  When they sat down for dinner, the food and wine were excellent. A musical trio played gentle chamber music while they ate, and the atmosphere grew convivial. Izzy got talking to the middle-aged couple, Fred and Gilda, on her other side, who were semi-retired and devoted their free time to various charities. When it came out that Izzy lived in Ardknocken, Gilda said, “I’ve been in contact with an organization over there. A sort of cooperative for ex-long-term prisoners. Do you know anything about that?”

  “Yes, actually. I’ve been—”

  “Izzy’s started volunteering there a few hours a week,” Harry interrupted. “We went to an event up there just last night.”

  Izzy stared at him. But again, she made allowances. She was being paid cash-in-hand. It was probably better for everyone if it was called volunteering. She just had the uncomfortable feeling that this wasn’t Harry’s motive. She began to think that now she knew him a little better, she didn’t actually like Harry very much.

  “Really?” Fred said, interested. “It does sound as if they’re doing good work, and something pretty novel at that.”

  “Definitely,” Izzy said, this time before Harry could even draw breath.

  After dessert, she excused herself to go to the ladies’ r
oom, after which, since it was half past nine, she slipped away from the function suite and crossed the foyer to the public bar.

  A young rock band was giving its all on the stage at the far end of the room. Much closer, a woman’s voice yelled Izzy’s name over the noise, and she looked around to find Chrissy waving to her from the bar.

  Izzy made her way around and got there just as Chrissy was giving her order to the bartender. “What’re you drinking?” Chrissy shouted.

  Izzy shook her head. “I’m through there at the function. Just dropped in to see if the band was on yet.”

  “Aye, Dougie said! Should be ten minutes yet. You look amazing, by the way!”

  Until then, Izzy had grown so used to the evening dress that she’d forgotten she was somewhat over formal for this venue. “What, this old thing?” she said sardonically, and Chrissy laughed, just as two male arms loomed in front of her face. Strong, bare forearms with a scattering of light hair. She knew who they belonged to, even before the scarred, elegant hands picked up several of the drinks placed in front of Chrissy.

  She tried not to tense or to melt, but she couldn’t control the sudden, rapid beating of the heart.

  “Izzy,” Glenn’s voice said by way of greeting. His breath stirred the top of her head.

  She waited until the drinks had gone before she turned to say a calm hello. But he was already walking away while Chrissy paid.

  “Grab the last two!” Chrissy ordered and followed Glenn. Obediently, Izzy picked up the last two glasses, which appeared to be lemonade, and weaved among the crowd in Chrissy’s wake.

  The Ardknocken men all sat at one table, and all seemed flatteringly pleased to see her. Chrissy dragged over an extra chair and pushed it between her and Glenn.

  “Belle of the ball right enough!” Charlie approved with a grin across the table.

  “I’m AWOL,” Izzy confessed, although she slid onto the spare seat, “so I can’t stop. Just wanted to say good luck!”

  She included Dougie and Archie in her gaze before casting a quick glance around at Glenn. He wore a black button-down shirt, rucked up at the sleeves, instead of his usual T-shirt and sweater, and it suited him. In fact, he looked incredibly sexy, and Izzy’s heart started performing summersaults. Although he met her gaze, he didn’t speak. She was desperate for him to speak because she didn’t know what to say, how to start the conversation she needed to have with him. If there was ever to be anything between them, this, surely, was where it had to begin.

  But it was Dougie who said, “Wait and hear us!”

  “I’ll try and nip back,” Izzy promised. More than anything, she was aware of Glenn’s denim-clad thigh so close to hers that the fabric of her dress spilled against it. Their knees almost touched.

  Chrissy leaned closer, speaking privately in her ear. “So, you and Harry—is it serious?”

  Izzy shook her head. “Just friends.” If tonight had shown her anything, it was that they could never be more. In fact, she was even doubting the friendship.

  It came to her that if she could choose, she would stay right here, absorbing the heady sexual tension between her and Glenn. Even if it was all on her side. She wanted to know Chrissy better, relax with the men whose pasts were definitely dodgy, yet whose casual company she’d grown used to and wanted to explore. She wanted to linger beside Glenn, see what came of an hour in his company…

  She didn’t have an hour.

  Before she was tempted to take it anyway, which would have been unforgivably rude, she stood up, made quick farewell noises and hurried out of the bar.

  “She’s like a cat on hot bricks,” Chrissy observed.

  Glenn grunted. His gaze was on Izzy’s elegant, retreating back. More than ever, in that getup, she seemed so far away from him as to be on another planet entirely. It was a pity his cock didn’t agree.

  Chrissy said casually, “She and Harry are just friends.”

  Chrissy, Chrissy, that makes no fucking difference. Stop prodding.

  And yet, there were the dreams. Some of the dreams were surely of Glenn making love to Izzy, whoever the other guy was.

  Fortunately, Chrissy got that Glenn wasn’t going to have this conversation with her and turned to Dougie instead. A few minutes later, Dougie got up and wandered off. In fact, he left the bar. Glenn suspected he was up to something.

  “He’d better be back in time,” Glenn said grimly.

  Izzy had managed to miss the after-dinner speech, but she danced the Gay Gordons with Harry, and the Dashing White Sergeant with Harry and Fred, with time only for a quick sip from her glass in between. Harry, who, since dinner, was drinking whisky with ginger ale, downed his entire glass and came back to a fresh one when they flopped back into their seats. The MC announced Strip the Willow, and Izzy said, “I am definitely sitting this one out!”

  “God, me too,” Harry said, loosening his tie. He was so knackered his words sounded slurred. Presumably he was less fit than Izzy, who at least walked up and down the hill to Ardknocken every day. “God, I’m thirsty. Another drink, Izzy?”

  Izzy asked for orange juice, and Harry hauled himself up out of the chair and weaved his way to the bar. It may have been tiredness, but he did look a trifle unsteady. She followed to make sure he was okay. At the bar, she saw him down a long drink of ginger ale, while the bartender poured more drinks.

  “You all right?” Izzy asked, grabbing her orange juice.

  “Yes, just a bit hot and tired. Unfit,” he said with a slightly vague smile. He was definitely staggering by the time they got back to the table. “How many have I had?” he asked Izzy indistinctly.

  Izzy counted them off. “One whisky before dinner. A glass of wine—maybe two? Then two more whiskies. And one ginger ale before this one.”

  “Better stop,” Harry said, annunciating with great care. “Not normally this—affected.”

  Izzy patted his shoulder and poured him some water from the jug into one of his used glasses instead. “Sit tight for a few minutes. I’ll just nip next door and see if the band’s on.”

  He certainly wasn’t keen to join that expedition, although she was slightly surprised he didn’t make any objection at all to her going.

  They were in full swing when she walked into the public bar, and the crowd was loving it. Nearly everyone was up dancing, including Chrissy and Charlie. Smiling, Izzy leaned against the corner of the bar nearest the door to watch and listen.

  They were very good, and they didn’t use gimmicks or personality to carry them, just the sheer fun of the music. Archie on saxophone acted as front man, ducking up and down with the notes. Glenn’s whole body moved as he played, a faint smile even hovering on his lips. He was having fun, and the novelty of his actually showing it seemed to make everyone else smile, not just Izzy. On the dance floor, Chrissy was laughing as she gyrated and swung herself under Charlie’s arm.

  Izzy joined in the enthusiastic applause at the end of the number. She thought Glenn’s gaze might have flickered over her, but she couldn’t be sure. In any case, they moved immediately onto the next number, a slow, instrumental blues.

  Just for a moment, Izzy closed her eyes and swayed. She could imagine dancing to that with Glenn, because it spoke of all the sadness of loss. Which was daft. She and Glenn had never lost each other. A kiss and a grope when he thought she was a dream did not form a relationship.

  She wished it did.

  Abruptly, she opened her eyes and straightened, and returned to the function suite.

  Harry wasn’t doing any better. His eyes were closing. When she sat beside him and nudged him, his eyes flew open and he sat up.

  “Izzy. So sorry. I need to sleep.”

  “Yes, I think you do,” she agreed. “Come on. Is your key in your pocket?”

  Frowning, he delved until he found it, although once he’d flourished it, he frowned at it as if wo
ndering what the hell it was.

  Izzy took it from him. “Let’s go.”

  Taking his hand, she hauled him to his feet and helped him walk with her arm around his waist. She even smiled at the ribald comments from one or two of the more inebriated guests.

  “Spoiled your evening,” Harry mourned as they mounted the stairs somewhat erratically. “Sorry. Never meant—”

  “I know. And it’s fine.”

  They lurched along the corridor past Izzy’s room and negotiated the two steps up to the next section.

  At last, Izzy swiped the card in Harry’s lock and helped him inside. His room was rather horrendously tartan, but also a double. Izzy shove him onto the bed, dragged his legs up and pulled off his shoes. Then she loosened his kilt and his tie, rolled him onto his stomach just in case, and covered him up.

  “Sleep well, Harry,” she said, and left him to it with guilty relief. She’d got through the evening without having to fend off even a polite pass. Harry’s hangover tomorrow seemed a small price to pay. She could always drive them home from this, their first and definitely last date.

  What she really wanted to do was talk to Jack, but he was in bed and asleep. She had Louise’s text, and Morag’s, to tell her so. Running lightly downstairs again, she went to retrieve her clutch bag from the function suite.

  “Is Harry all right?” Gilda asked on her way back to the dance floor for the second Gay Gordon of the evening.

  “He’s fine. Sleeping like a baby,” Izzy said lightly. “Nice to meet you!” And she grabbed her bag from the table, waved to the others and left her first formal event in three years. She hadn’t even been to a wedding, she realized. Because she no longer knew anyone who’d ask her.

  Her phone vibrated in the bag, and she snatched it out, sitting on the step to read Louise’s text. It said archly, Having fun?

  It was tempting to tell the truth. Actually, I’d rather be in your shoes. Sitting quietly in her own tiny living room, reading or watching the television while Jack slept through the wall, only feet away from her. Instead of sixty miles or whatever the distance was.