Dream Wedding: Dream Bride / Dream Groom. Susan Mallery

you want your coffee?”

      Chloe was already heading out the door. “I’ll grab some on the way,” she called over her shoulder, and made her escape to freedom.

      * * *

      ARIZONA SMITH WAS everywhere, Chloe thought with dismay as she sipped her coffee at the small diner across the street from her office. His picture had been plastered on three buses and on four different billboards she’d spotted on her way to work. Even now he was staring at her from the bench directly in front of her building—or at least his picture was. She couldn’t escape the man.

      “Deep breaths,” she told herself. The trick was to keep breathing. And moving. If he couldn’t catch her, she would be safe.

      It was too weird. All of it. Maybe she’d seen his picture over the past couple of days and not really noticed. Somehow it had gotten lodged in her brain and only surfaced last night. A perfectly plausible explanation.

      If only the sex hadn’t been so good.

      “I don’t believe in destiny,” she reminded herself again as she left the diner and made her way to the foyer of her building. The magazine office was on the second floor. She stopped by reception long enough to pick up her messages.

      “Jerry wants to see you,” Paula, the receptionist-gofer called. “Something about a special assignment.”

      “Great.” That was what she needed. Something challenging to take her mind off her temporary insanity.

      She dropped her things at her desk, then headed for her editor’s office.

      Bradley Today was a small but prestigious magazine that came out twice a month. Chloe had gotten a job there when she’d graduated from U.C. Berkeley with a degree in journalism. Eventually she planned to make her way to New York, where the big magazines were published, but for now she was gathering experience and building her clippings.

      “You wanted to see me, boss?” she asked as she stepped through the open glass door.

      “Yeah, sit.” Jerry waved to the seat opposite his desk.

      It was only eight-thirty in the morning, but his long-sleeved shirt was already rumpled and his tie hung crooked. If the clothes hadn’t been different from the ones he’d worn the previous day, Chloe would have sworn he’d slept in them.

      “It’s like this,” he said, then stuck one hand into the pile of folders on his desk. He pulled one out, looked at the label, shoved it back and grabbed another. “Nancy’s pregnant.”

      Chloe nodded. Nancy was one of their most experienced writers. “She’s been that way for about seven months.”

      “Tell me about it. Babies. Who needs ’em? Anyway, she says she’s too far along to be running around for me. She wants to write stuff that lets her stay in the office. Can you believe it?”

      His outrage made Chloe smile. “Wow. How insensitive of her.”

      “Exactly. Does she give me any warning? No-o-o. She calls me at home last night and drops the bomb. So now I pass it along to you. Good luck, kid.” With that, he tossed her the folder.

      When she touched the stiff paper, Chloe felt the same shivery chill she’d experienced the previous night when she’d slipped on the nightgown. The tiny hairs on the back of her neck rose. She knew exactly what she was going to find inside that folder, and there was nothing she could do to change it. It was, she admitted, inevitable.

      “He’s in town for about three weeks,” Jerry said. “Follow him around. Shouldn’t be hard. He wants this piece as much as we do. Decent publicity and all that garbage. Get to know the real man. Write me something brilliant and it just might be your ticket out.” Jerry looked at her. “A bigger publisher or maybe even a book deal. Do it right, kid. Breaks like this don’t come along very often. Now get out of here. I’m busy.”

      With that Jerry picked up his ringing phone and probably forgot she’d ever been in the room.

      Chloe gingerly took the folder and returned to her cubicle. She didn’t want to open it. Maybe if she waited long enough, it would go away. Wishful thinking, she thought, and drew in a deep breath. She flipped back the top cover and saw him. He was standing on the edge of a mountain, leaning against an outcropping of rock. She recognized the clothes, the place and the man. She knew that just around the corner was a cave and in the cave was a fire and a bed of straw.

      “I don’t like this,” Chloe whispered. “It’s too strange.”

      “I brought it,” Paula said as she walked into the tiny space and dumped a stack of folders onto the spare chair pressed up by Chloe’s desk.

      “What is it?”

      “Research. All the stuff Nancy had gathered on that Smith guy. She said to call her at home if you want any tips.” Paula’s gaze drifted to the photograph. “Wow, he’s good-looking. Just like that guy in the movies. You know—Indiana Jones. Although he doesn’t really look like Harrison Ford. He’s taller. Still, I wouldn’t shoo him away if he turned up in my bed.” She waved her fingers and left.

      “Apparently I wouldn’t either,” Chloe said glumly. So much for escaping her destiny. In the space of twelve hours a strange man had invaded her subconscious and now her work. What was she supposed to do?

      But Chloe already knew the answer to that. An assignment like the one Jerry had just handed her was one any junior writer would kill for. Talk about a stroke of luck.

      Or destiny, a little voice whispered.

      “I don’t believe in little voices either,” Chloe muttered, “So I’m going to get to work now.”

      She spent the rest of the day reading through Nancy’s notes, clippings from other articles and some information she’d pulled from the Internet. By four-thirty her eyes hurt and she had a major headache. She still didn’t have a strategy for dealing with everything that had happened, but she needed to get one and fast. Her first meeting with Mr. Smith was in the morning at the university. Nancy had already set it up. He was taking her on a private tour of the gem exhibit.

      She gathered up all the papers and stuffed them into her briefcase. Maybe she could work better at home.

      Forty minutes later she pulled into the driveway of the Victorian mansion that had been in her family for generations. Safe at last, she thought as she climbed out. She walked up the steps and into the foyer.

      “It’s me,” she called. Cassie’s car hadn’t been in the garage, but Aunt Charity’s had.

      “We’re in the kitchen.”

      Chloe made a face. Aunt Charity had spent much of her life traveling the world. She seemed to know someone from every possible corner of the globe, and at one time or another they all liked to visit. Who was it this time? A tribal elder from Africa or some obscure prince from the Middle East? She felt that familiar wave of resentment toward her aunt Charity for not being around when she’d needed her the most. But she filed those unpleasant thoughts away. She just wasn’t up to dwelling on that tonight. And she wasn’t in the mood to play hostess, either.

      Still, she straightened her shoulders and forced herself to smile as she crossed the hallway and entered the kitchen. She already had her arm extended so she could shake hands with Charity’s mystery guest.

      She came to a complete stop just inside the oversize room. Her jaw dropped. She told herself to close her mouth, but her body wasn’t paying attention.

      He was as tall as she remembered. Lean, powerful and too good-looking by far. Not a tribal elder, or even a prince. No, he was much more dangerous. He was Arizona Smith—the man from her dream.

      CHAPTER TWO

      “ARIZONA, this is one of my nieces. Chloe. She’s the journalist. Chloe, this is Arizona Smith. I think you were watching him on the morning news show earlier today, weren’t