WAS SO PLEASANT , BEING IN the warm water, letting the jets swirl around her. Clare felt safe, secure, loved. Opening her eyes, she looked out the attic window and saw snow had begun to fall—little flakes clung to the glass—making the heat rising from the tub even more delicious.
The door to the attic opened, and Brady stepped inside. He was naked and beautifully formed—a chest covered with dark hair, toned abs, muscular thighs. An impressive erection. She smiled.
“Don’t gawk,” he said teasingly. “You’ve seen it all before.”
“Ah, but it’s such a pleasant sight.”
He held up the bottle he carried. “Champagne.”
“What’s the occasion?”
“You’re back.” Easily, he popped the cork. “Finally, you’re back.”
“I am.” She sat up, revealing bare breasts. She knew she should be embarrassed in front of her best friend, but she wasn’t.
As he came closer with two filled flutes, his gaze caressed her. Handing her a glass, he leaned over and kissed the swell of one breast, then climbed into the tub.
The water sloshed with his weight, and Brady held up his drink. “To new beginnings,” he said easily.
“To new beginnings.”
Lazing back in the tub, she closed her eyes again. Nothing was better than this, she thought, absolutely nothing.
Then the water turned freezing cold and she began to shiver. Oh, God, what was happening?
This time when she opened her eyes and looked over, the other man in the tub wasn’t Brady. He was Jonathan. “What’s going on?” she asked.
“What do you mean? Is something wrong?”
“Where’s Brady?”
“Darling, Brady’s gone. He’s been gone a long time. I’m here now.”
“I…”
“Shh,” he said, taking the flute from her hand. “Relax. Lie back and enjoy the water.”
“But it’s cold.”
“No, no, it isn’t.”
“I want Brady.” She started to cry.
Suddenly Jonathan’s face flushed with anger. “Don’t you dare cry over another man in front of me.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t help it.”
“Then get out…”
C LARE AWOKE . S HE WAS in her own bed, and she was warm. Outside, she could see the forsythia tree blooming by her window—no snow—and the sun was still shining. She glanced at the clock. 5:00 p.m. She had just enough time to make the brownies. Throwing off the light cover, she realized she was naked. And then she remembered the dream. Her head began to pound.
She made her way to the bathroom, took some Tylenol and dressed quickly. In the kitchen, she found the brownie recipe Max liked in volume two and began making the chocolate confection. She kept her mind busy because she didn’t want to think about the dream. But after the pan was in the oven, she pulled out the notebook and, according to Anna’s instructions, began recording the events.
She blushed writing about Brady’s nakedness. Felt fear resurrect at Jonathan’s anger. She tried to console herself with Anna’s assurances.
Clare, dreams don’t mean you necessarily want what you dream. They often combine reality in shocking ways.
She started to giggle. Well, being naked with her best friend was shocking, all right.
But she stopped giggling when she admitted that the dream wasn’t the only time she felt turned on by Brady. The sensations she’d experienced when serving him lunch today—becoming aroused, wanting more from him—confused her. And when she’d read his books, she’d been filled with warm feelings, which had gotten even warmer when she’d caught him watching her. What did all this mean?
It was nearing six when she took the brownies out of the oven and put the pan in a wicker nest she found in the cupboard. She stuck her keys in her pocket, crossed to the foyer and maneuvered open the door. It slammed behind her. At the sound, the woman in the hall startled. Lucinda Gray had her hand on the doorbell of Brady’s condo.
She didn’t have a key.
Clare remembered Brady’s words. She wants more, but she understands
The door to the attic opened, and Brady stepped inside. He was naked and beautifully formed—a chest covered with dark hair, toned abs, muscular thighs. An impressive erection. She smiled.
“Don’t gawk,” he said teasingly. “You’ve seen it all before.”
“Ah, but it’s such a pleasant sight.”
He held up the bottle he carried. “Champagne.”
“What’s the occasion?”
“You’re back.” Easily, he popped the cork. “Finally, you’re back.”
“I am.” She sat up, revealing bare breasts. She knew she should be embarrassed in front of her best friend, but she wasn’t.
As he came closer with two filled flutes, his gaze caressed her. Handing her a glass, he leaned over and kissed the swell of one breast, then climbed into the tub.
The water sloshed with his weight, and Brady held up his drink. “To new beginnings,” he said easily.
“To new beginnings.”
Lazing back in the tub, she closed her eyes again. Nothing was better than this, she thought, absolutely nothing.
Then the water turned freezing cold and she began to shiver. Oh, God, what was happening?
This time when she opened her eyes and looked over, the other man in the tub wasn’t Brady. He was Jonathan. “What’s going on?” she asked.
“What do you mean? Is something wrong?”
“Where’s Brady?”
“Darling, Brady’s gone. He’s been gone a long time. I’m here now.”
“I…”
“Shh,” he said, taking the flute from her hand. “Relax. Lie back and enjoy the water.”
“But it’s cold.”
“No, no, it isn’t.”
“I want Brady.” She started to cry.
Suddenly Jonathan’s face flushed with anger. “Don’t you dare cry over another man in front of me.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t help it.”
“Then get out…”
C LARE AWOKE . S HE WAS in her own bed, and she was warm. Outside, she could see the forsythia tree blooming by her window—no snow—and the sun was still shining. She glanced at the clock. 5:00 p.m. She had just enough time to make the brownies. Throwing off the light cover, she realized she was naked. And then she remembered the dream. Her head began to pound.
She made her way to the bathroom, took some Tylenol and dressed quickly. In the kitchen, she found the brownie recipe Max liked in volume two and began making the chocolate confection. She kept her mind busy because she didn’t want to think about the dream. But after the pan was in the oven, she pulled out the notebook and, according to Anna’s instructions, began recording the events.
She blushed writing about Brady’s nakedness. Felt fear resurrect at Jonathan’s anger. She tried to console herself with Anna’s assurances.
Clare, dreams don’t mean you necessarily want what you dream. They often combine reality in shocking ways.
She started to giggle. Well, being naked with her best friend was shocking, all right.
But she stopped giggling when she admitted that the dream wasn’t the only time she felt turned on by Brady. The sensations she’d experienced when serving him lunch today—becoming aroused, wanting more from him—confused her. And when she’d read his books, she’d been filled with warm feelings, which had gotten even warmer when she’d caught him watching her. What did all this mean?
It was nearing six when she took the brownies out of the oven and put the pan in a wicker nest she found in the cupboard. She stuck her keys in her pocket, crossed to the foyer and maneuvered open the door. It slammed behind her. At the sound, the woman in the hall startled. Lucinda Gray had her hand on the doorbell of Brady’s condo.
She didn’t have a key.
Clare remembered Brady’s words. She wants more, but she understands
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