Wishes for Tomorrow. Brenda Jackson

in a voice that sounded husky to his own ears.

      He didn’t think he needed to explain. For some reason he sensed that she fully understood. “Am I allowed in today?” he asked as a smile touched his lips. She had yet to move from in front of the door.

      She blinked as if she’d just realized that fact. “Oops. Sorry about that. Yes, please come in,” she said before stepping aside.

      He strolled past her, took a whiff of her scent and felt his entire body respond. Instantly. Why was the sexual chemistry between them stronger today than yesterday? More potent. Today, they seemed to be on instinct, with little or no control.

      When she closed the door behind her and leaned back against it, she eyed him warily. He didn’t say anything for a while. “And how are you doing today, Pam?”

      “I’m doing fine,” she said, in what sounded like a strained voice. “What about you?”

      “I’m doing okay,” he said. No need to tell her about his restless night, in which he had dreamed endlessly of her and all the things he wouldn’t mind doing to her.

      “I guess you’re eager to get back to reading that journal.”

      He chuckled. He was eager all right, but that journal wasn’t what was driving his eagerness. “Sort of.”

      Again he wasn’t entirely sure just what was going on between them. What had happened since yesterday to make them so sexually charged that the very air they were breathing sizzled. He pulled in a deep breath, both feeling it and fighting it.

      “I’m going up to the attic now,” he said in a low voice, just loud enough for her to hear. “You probably have a lot to do, so forget that I’m here.”

      She smiled in a way that sent blood rushing all through him. “I doubt I’ll be able to do that.”

      “Do what?” he asked.

      She held his gaze. “Forget that you’re here.”

      He wanted to ask why, but decided not to do so. She was the one who was engaged. If any boundaries were going to be crossed, she would have to be the one to take the first step over. “You can try,” he suggested.

      “And if I can’t?” she asked in a somewhat shaky tone.

      Holding her gaze, he breathed in and pulled more sexually charged air into his lungs. He felt it stirring in his chest and flowing in his extremities, causing the lower part of him to harden. Throb. He even felt a sheen of sweat form on his brow, which compelled him to say, “Then you know where I am.”

      Without saying anything else, he turned and headed slowly up the stairs to the attic.

      * * *

      Pam leaned against the door and watched as Dillon disappeared up the stairs before releasing the breath she’d been holding. She was too shaken to think straight, and too tempted to follow him up those stairs to move away from the door.

      She glanced down at the ring on her finger, the ring Fletcher had placed there. Instead of feeling guilt, she felt desperation as Iris’s words rang loud in her ears. “Then the ball is now in your court, Pam. And you owe it to yourself to play it.”

      If only Iris knew just how much she wanted to play it. Maybe her best friend did know, which was why she’d said what she had. Iris did know love and she understood passion. She had been happy with Garlan and when Garlan had been taken away from her so suddenly and unexpectedly, Iris’s life had nearly fallen apart.

      She had been there for Iris, to encourage her to go on with life, and now Iris was there for her, encouraging her to do something for herself before it was too late. Before she legally became Mrs. Fletcher Mallard.

      But still, she needed to pull herself together and wondered why she would even consider following her impulses with a man she’d met only three days ago. What was there about Dillon that drew her to him, made her feel things she’d never felt before? Made her desire things she’d never before wanted?

      Something you’d tried twice and left you disappointed.

      Why did she think with him it would be different? Why did a part deep inside of her know that it would? It might be the way he looked at her, the heated intensity she felt from his gaze, the desire she saw even without him speaking a single word.

      Those were the things that were urging her to move away from the door and propelling her to walk up the stairs, one step at a time.

      * * *

      Dillon stared at the words written in the journal, his eyes feeling the strain of seeing the words but not comprehending them. He had read the same sentence three times, but his mind was not on what Jay Novak had written close to a century ago. Instead his mind was on the woman he had left downstairs.

      Why did some things have to be so complicated? Why had the Novaks’ homestead been the first place on his list in his quest to find the key to his heritage as the eldest son of the Denver Westmorelands? And why was he lusting after a woman who another man had already claimed?

      Dillon closed the journal and rubbed his hand down his face. Fletcher Mallard was a successful businessman and probably a prime catch for any woman in these parts. Evidently there was something about the man Pam had found to her liking.

      And there was evidently something about him that she’d also found lacking.

      No matter how things appeared, and regardless of the fact he’d only known her for three days, he refused to believe, or even consider the possibility that Pamela Novak was the type of woman who could love one man and mess around with another. So he could only come to the conclusion that she was not in love with Fletcher. Then why was she marrying him, Dillon wondered.

      Wealth? Prestige? Security?

      It hadn’t been hard to figure out that Tammi had only been interested in him because he had made the pros, and the thought of being the wife of a professional basketball player had stroked her fancy. When he had given it all up, had walked away to handle his family’s business, he’d known she assumed it was only short term, although he’d always told her differently. When she couldn’t get him to walk away from family obligations, she had left.

      Dillon’s thoughts were interrupted by the soft sound of footsteps approaching. He felt a quick tightness in his stomach. His entire being tensed in anticipation, knowing it could be only one person. He could no longer sit, so he stood and had placed the journal aside by the time Pam crossed the threshold.

      His heart began beating wildly in his chest and his body automatically hardened at the sight of her standing there. She had come to him. He hadn’t been certain that she would, but she had.

      His gaze scanned her body. He had meant to tell her earlier that he thought the outfit she was wearing, a white blouse and a dark blue skirt, looked good on her. It had been the first time he’d seen her legs and they were definitely a beautiful pair.

      “Looks like it might rain later,” she said. She strolled over to the window to glance out. While she looked out the window, he was looking at her. The sun was still shining so he wondered how she figured it might rain later. If anything, he figured it might snow. Like Denver, Gamble had its sunny days and cold nights, especially this time of the year. But at the moment he didn’t care about either. The only thing on his mind right now was Pam.

      She glanced over at him and he realized he hadn’t responded to her earlier comment about the weather. “Yes, it just might rain,” he said quietly.

      She nodded and turned back to the window. His throat had started to go dry, while at the same time liquid fire raced through his veins. At that moment he decided she had made the first move and now it was time to make his.

      Helplessly and with an urgency he felt all the way to the bottom of his feet, he slowly crossed the room, knowing each step was taking him closer to the woman he wanted. When he came to a stop behind her, she turned and looked up at him.

      He gazed down into her face thinking