In Your Wildest Dreams (4 page)

The truth was, Tina never worked as hard as Stephanie. She lacked ambition, made poor choices, and following her last boyfriend down here was just one example. Tina had refused to see that part of Russ’s decision to accept a job in a new city was because he wanted to break up—even Stephanie had detected that, yet Tina hadn’t.

Now, though, Stephanie couldn’t help wondering if things would be different if she’d been more supportive and less judgemental. If she’d been more constructive, rather than just criticizing. She’d thought the bartender had acted superior tonight, but had she unknowingly acted superior to Tina all these years?

Despite the fact that they’d not been close for a while now, Stephanie could scarcely imagine her sister out there somewhere selling her body. What must it be like? What had driven Tina to such a place? Her phone calls had been so cryptic, simultaneously cheerful and sad. Where was she right now? Having sex with a stranger? One of the rich, smarmy men Stephanie had met tonight? Or…she closed her eyes, unable to even give words to her worst fears, that something had happened to Tina, something awful. She couldn’t possibly give up her search simply because she hadn’t gotten any leads tonight—no matter what the unhelpful, know it all bartender said.

And as for what has occurred with him, it was an aberration that was all. An aberration best forgotten, put away somewhere in the back of her brain where she files anything that threatened her sense of control. Where she’d apparently buried all her encounters with passion.

It was vital she have full control over herself if she were to find Tina. And ig the bartender wouldn’t help her, she had no choice but keep looking for her sister in the same circles she had tonight. It seemed the only way to bring Tina home.

You
float on dark bayou water, your skin moist with the humidity hanging heavy in the air. A heron calls in the distance and you hear the deep, plunging splash of a caiman tumbling in from the marshy bank. The musty scent of arrow arum wafts past as tall cypress trees rise up like arms to hold you. You are home.

But you see a new shape on the landscape, pale and curvaceous. A woman. Naked and lovely, soft white skin that strikes you as vulnerable in such a harsh environment. She is marked by the only real color in the gray-and-green film of the bayou—a pink hibiscus juts from her hair, the large petals shading her face.

Although when you look closer, trying to see more clearly, she somehow blends with the trees and foliage, hidden, gone. And in that silent moment you understand that vulnerable is the
last
thing she is. She is a chameleon in the forest, using her defenses with confidence and ease.

You scan the moss-draped banks, searching the low, gnarled branches and cypress knees, before catching sight of her once more, a vision of beauty tucked into your world as naturally as if she'd always been lurking, waiting to make herself known.

Dipping your oar into the water, you row toward her, hungry, anxious. The need presses on you as if it were a boulder weighing down your chest. You have to reach her. But as you approach the bank where she's been standing as still as another tree, she vanishes again, lost to you in the gangly greenery.

"Where are you?" you call out.

A hint of pink draws your attention and your next glimpse of her comes beside an ancient oak flung with Spanish moss—you spy the curve of a white breast, the stretch of a slender thigh. How can she merge and mingle so well with the trees and moss and earth here? How long has she been waiting, watching, thriving here, like some beautiful bird or rich, lush plant?

You row furiously in her direction—you have to have her, press against her—but one blink and she's gone, an apparition. Perhaps a thing you want so badly you've imagined her?

But then, no—

Because in an instant everything changes—

She is beneath you in the pirogue, all wild, welcoming flesh, and you are in her, deep, tight.

Her arms and legs curl around you, her body nimble and as eager as yours.

You thought it was hot in the bayou, but no climate could compare to the solid wall of heat rising within you, wrapping around both of you as you thrust into her warmth. You rain kisses on her glistening skin—mouth and face, neck and breasts—a man starved for what she can feed you.

You drink her in, soak her up, greedy, needing every last drop of her.

And only when you come inside her do you realize—
this is
home.

_{Chapter 4}

The next morning, Stephanie resolved to put the previous evening behind her, sexy bartender and all. Her heartbeat skittered a bit at the memory of his warm hands, but she consoled herself by thinking,
What else would you expect? It's the first time you've been touched that intimately in a while, and the first time you've
ever
been touched by a man like that.
Dark. Dangerous. Another skittering heartbeat, damn it.

After returning from a hearty breakfast prepared by Mrs. Lindman, the sweet gray-haired proprietress of the LaRue House B and B, she moved to the small desk near her window. She tried to focus as she flipped open her laptop, but strangely, she found herself noticing things about her room that she hadn't before.

Fringed lampshades. The lush brocade of the armchair she'd pulled up to the desk. Vibrant purple throw pillows on the bed that she'd carelessly shoved aside last night when crawling beneath the sheets, so anxious to escape the night.

The light of day was making her realize that what had happened last evening had left her more sensitized, aware. Of everything. Mrs. Lindman's sausage links had seemed spicier this morning, the orange juice tangier. The very act of eating had felt
...
bizarrely sensual.

What else have I missed?
she wondered as she studied the bold colors and luxuriant textures surrounding her.
Is the whole world like this and I've just never noticed?

Taking a deep breath, she murmured, "Get hold of yourself," and turned her attention where it belonged, onto her computer screen.

Her e-mail was filled with messages from Grable & Harding, the ad agency she'd temporarily left behind. Thanks to technology, though, one couldn't seem to leave much of anything
truly
behind these days. Most of the e-mail could be waded through later, but she opened the one labeled "Curtis Anderson." Curtis was, foremost, her boss, but also the man she'd been dating prior to her trip south.

S—

How's your sister? Hope she's well and that you 're helping get her problems ironed out.

Also, have to inquire as to your return to the office. It's not me—Stan and the bigwigs are asking about your absence. He's worried about the phone co. campaign. You know Stan. He was his blustery self, asking how a major campaign can be pulled together with you there and the rest of your team here. So I told him I'd check with you.

And besides that, I miss you.

Let me know when you're coming home, and I'll plan something special.

Given its fairly short length, the message left her head spinning.

It reminded her of her lie, simply claiming Tina was in New Orleans and going through some personal problems. She recalled the way Curtis had tilted his head, his sandy hair never moving, but his eyes reaching. "What
...
sort of problems?"

She'd decided it was none of his business. Now she wondered if she'd simply been embarrassed. They were executives. Executives didn't have sisters who were prostitutes. "I can't really say."

He'd patted her hand to let her know it was okay. That was the kind of man he was. A hand patter. A giver of consoling smiles. A man who knew to open and close a message with personal concerns, sandwiching the real question in between.

And she couldn't blame Stan. Nailing the account for the long-distance carrier was huge, and so, naturally, the campaign had been assigned to Grable & Harding's most accomplished ad exec—and she'd promptly dashed off to the Big Easy on a leave of absence that was going to take longer than she'd promised.

She clicked on reply.

C—

It's nice to hear from you.

Please assure Stan I've got the pitch under control. Phil is working on the demographics and setting up focus groups, and Maria is handling the concept boards. I'll get the PowerPoint presentation rolling on my end.

Remind Stan I've never pitched a campaign without winning the account, and I don't plan to start failing now. Sometimes issues outside of business must be dealt with, but I'm competent enough to do that without jeopardizing Grable & Harding.

My sister still needs me for a little while longer, but I'll be home soon.

Thank you for thinking about me. I miss you, too.

S

When she hit the send button, her stomach was tied in a knot.

I miss you, but I let a stranger touch me last night. I miss you, but he made me feel more than you ever have. Infinitely more.
Her thighs ached even now.

If Curtis's kisses had ever made any part of her ache, she'd entirely missed it.

And up to now, she hadn't minded. Like so often in the last ten years, she'd told herself she'd simply gotten too mature for passion, that not all women could experience the ovewhelming desire you read about and saw in movies.

But last night had proven she
could
feel it. Dear God, she hadn't even thought about Curtis when she'd been with the bartender, hadn't thought of him until just now. Fortunately, she, too, knew enough to pad the bad news with a lot of good, so he'd never have to know what he
didn't
make her feel.

Next, she pulled up an Instant Message box to see if Melody was online. Her heart lifted when she got a quick answer.

TIFFANYSMOM226:
Hi—I was just hanging out in the baby chat.

A common occurrence. Melody's obsession with her six-month-old always left Stephanie amazed at such an about-face.

STEPHGRANT: /
went to Chez Sophia last night. No success. No one knew her. What now?

TIFFANYSMOM226: /
wouldn't give up on Sophia's.

STEPHGRANT:
Why?

TTFFANYSMOM226:
There's a different crowd every night. Some girls only work there certain nights of the week.

Stephanie hadn't thought of that. But she certainly didn't relish the idea of returning, for more reasons than she could easily identify. Which reminded her
...

STEPHGRANT:
You didn't tell me not to use my last name.

TIFFANYSMOM226:
Never crossed my mind. Some things in the business are just understood. Sorry.

Stephanie only hoped there weren't a lot of other insider tips she was missing out on.

STEPHGRANT:
Are there any other places to find high-end escorts?

TIFFANYSMOM226:
Afraid not. A couple of big-time madams were shut down in an FBI sting several years ago, and since then, things have been kept more on the down low. Sophia's third floor is the only place that wasn't affected, because the feds never found out about it.

Stephanie considered her next move. To her dismay, she only saw one.

STEPHGRANT:
So you really think I should go back there? I was glad it was over.

TTFFANYSMOM226:
I'm sorry it was difficult. Did you do what I told you ?

Sell it, feel it, flirt, smile, touch their arms, giggle, and only ask about Tina once you have them buying your act.

STEPHGRANT:
Yes.

Except maybe the last one, with the bartender.

TIFFANYSMOM226: /
still think it's your best bet. Outside of Sophia's, I wouldn't know where to look.

Stephanie sighed. She'd so hoped Melody would have something else to share.

STEPHGRANT:
Okay. I'll go back.

TIFFANYSMOM226:
Good luck, and let me know. I have to run. Tiff is teething and she's getting irritable.