In Dreams. Patricia Rosemoor

He needed to feel right again.

      But he wasn’t ready to go back to New Orleans.

      He watched her clean her plate like she’d been starving. A woman with appetites, he thought, wondering about other things she might hunger for.

      “There’s more on the stove.”

      “I would be eating with my eyes rather than with my stomach.”

      She had beautiful eyes. Large and gray and for the most part sincere so he could practically look right down to her soul. Rather he could, if he believed in souls. He wasn’t sure what he believed in anymore. Certainly not in himself.

      He rose and started to clear.

      “No, I’ll do it,” she insisted, making contact with his hand as she reached for the same plate.

      He thought she might pull her hand back—she’d been a bit jumpy—but she stood still, staring at him, eyes wide open. His pulse shuddered as he read desire in them. And fear.

      She was afraid of him.

      He let go of the dish.

      “All right. It’s all yours.”

      Sitting back at the table, he couldn’t keep his eyes off her as she scraped plates into the garbage, then took them to the sink where a pan of soapy water awaited. He watched every movement of her hands—artist’s hands, smooth with long fingers and neat dark red nails—and wondered what they would feel like washing him. His instant erection told him he would like to find out.

      Not that he could. Or would. He was no good to her. No good to anyone, not even himself. The way his life was going, he could get them both killed.

      The knowledge didn’t stop him from fantasizing…from wanting to know every dip and curve of her body…from wanting to forget by losing himself inside her.

      Justin shook himself. He was an idiot. He wasn’t going to solve anything with sex. What he needed was a therapist and a couple of years on the couch. And a new profession, one that didn’t get people killed.

      “Done,” she said, moving toward him and drying her hands with a dish towel. “You don’t mind if I let the plates drain for a few minutes before drying them?”

      “You’re supposed to dry dishes?” he asked lightly, as if that were news to him.

      Lucy came closer. “You yanking my chain?”

      He’d like to yank her chain and anything else he could get hold of.

      Instead he said, “This place is casual. The only reason I don’t use paper plates is that it would give Mama a heart attack if she found ’em. She swears paper ruins good food.”

      She cocked her head. “Do you always do what your mother expects of you?”

      “Not always. A man has to have some say of his own. But I have to give her the plate issue, because I think she has a point.”

      She reached over to wipe down the table and she was too close for Justin to ignore. He was filled with her woman’s smell, her disturbing presence. And he was weak, after all. A mere man. He reached out and circled her wrist.

      Leaning over the table, Lucy stopped what she was doing and met his gaze. Justin saw something in her features that reflected what he himself was feeling. Hunger for something more than food. The emotions were stronger than the fear he’d sensed earlier.

      With the sound of rain tap-tap-tapping overhead, he pulled her to him. She didn’t resist. A slight tug and she was cradled in his lap. They stared at each other for a moment more, a moment in which every fiber of his body stirred and responded to hers.

      He wanted her, and unless he was out of his mind, she wanted him with equal craving.

      “Oh, Lu-u-cille,” he murmured before hooking a hand behind her neck and pulling her face to his.

      5

      THE FIRST TOUCH of Justin’s mouth on hers was electric. Lucy gasped, the sound lost in the instant passion of the kiss. In those few seconds, all her good intentions melted away like sugar in the rain.

      She kissed him back, savoring the taste of his mouth, the smoothness of his teeth, the strength of his tongue. His probing of her mouth reminded her of other probings, more intimate joinings. It reminded her of her dreams.

      It was like a dream now—mouths melding, hands exploring. She quivered and her body responded with a rush of wet warmth when his fingers lightly explored the skin of her side—the good side, not the wounded one. He took her to a different place, away from trouble and fear. She became lost in the moment…in the heat…in the sense of euphoria of this being right.

      But it wasn’t right. She was wounded and he could be, too, because of her. That thought threaded its way through to her conscious. This was the first step toward making those dreams come true. The first step to hearing that shot ring out in the rain.

      Lucy pushed at Justin’s chest. He released her immediately and she bounded to her feet.

      “That can’t happen again!” she told him.

      “If you say so.”

      “I just did!”

      “Calm down, chère, I simply thought the attraction was mutual. I’m not trying to force you into anything.”

      “Like hell you’re not. You’re forcing me to stay here.”

      “Only for a few hours. I promise I’ll get you to your car at first light.”

      Nerves jangled, Lucy decided at that moment that Justin couldn’t force her to do anything. Let him think what he liked for now, but she was going to get off this houseboat and out of his life as soon as possible.

      In the meantime, she looked for something to do and found a stack of magazines. “I hope you don’t mind if I read. I’m wide-awake, and after that nap, it’ll be hours before I can fall asleep again.”

      “The light won’t bother me. I can fall asleep anywhere,” he said, indicating the couch.

      “Don’t be silly. You have a perfectly good bed.”

      “You want to share?”

      “I want you to use it.” Grabbing a magazine, she plopped down on the couch. “When I get sleepy, I’ll just stretch out here.”

      “If you insist.”

      Well, at least he was acting agreeable. Not that he went to bed right away.

      But there were only so many things to do on a houseboat once the sun had set. And she had the couch and the reading light. Besides which, he’d been up since dawn without the benefit of a nap like she’d had.

      Eventually Justin seemed jittery, as if having nothing left to do with himself was getting on his nerves. He looked tired, which he should be considering how early he’d risen that morning. She couldn’t help noticing his eyelids were drooping more than usual.

      “Are you sure about the bed?” he asked.

      No teasing in his voice tonight. She could hear fatigue instead. Good.

      “Positive,” she said. “I’m probably going to be up for hours reading.” And plotting, getting the nerve to do what she had to do. “The bed is all yours.”

      Still he hesitated, staring at her. She kept her expression neutral, gave him a little smile and hoped her “Good night” would do it.

      “Night.” He gave her a penetrating look before entering the bedroom and closing the door behind him.

      And Lucy sagged with relief.

      If he suspected anything, he wasn’t acting on it. Just how long would it take him to fall asleep? Although she continued to flip through magazines, her eyes glazed over and she wasn’t getting the content. She