Dream Nights With the CEO (12 page)

Oh God. The apartment. Hadn’t they sixty-nined on the bed? Oh shit! She saw the memory hit him at the exact same moment. But whereas she just felt numb with shock, she could see the heat creep up his neck and burn in his cheeks.

She cleared her throat. “So, you’ve been having the same dreams?”

“It’s not possible.”

“But you have, haven’t you?”

He nodded, the motion a sharp jerk of his chin. She bit her lip, trying to assess the damage here. Just how much had they been doing in their dream state? When was her first super hero dream? “I can’t remember when they started.”

His face was turned as he glared out the window. He was a numbers guy who thought people who believed in ghosts were nuts. He was not going to take well to the idea of shared dreaming.

“Let’s just figure out what happened,” she said. “There’s going to be a logical explanation.” She said it, but she didn’t believe it. Shared dreaming wasn’t so big a stretch for her. Especially for two people who’d worked closely together for years.

“The train,” he said, his voice strangled. “My first really vivid dream was of leaping into a train and diverting it—”

“To a state fair. That’s my nightmare!” she cried, feeling an irrational outrage. As if he’d taken away something personal to her. Which he had. He’d taken away a nightmare and made it into a happy memory. “I’ve had that nightmare for years and you changed it to…”

“To a state fair and a kiss.”

She swallowed. “Yeah.” She remembered the kiss. She’d spent many a happy moment remembering that kiss. “I’ve haven’t had that dream since.” She flashed him a smile. “Thanks.”

He just looked at her, clearly at a loss. “That was the first night we spent here.” Then he lifted the coffee mug to his mouth, but he didn’t drink. Instead, his mouth dropped open and just stayed that way—poised—as if only now realizing what they’d been doing in their dreams. “Last night, I dreamed we…that I…” He swallowed and set his cup down with an unnaturally loud
clank
.

“Do you think that’s why we ended up in bed together? Because we dreamed we were… That we…”

He shook his head, denying the whole thing. She could relate. In fact, she realized that she was doing the same thing. Shaking her head.

“I’ve never sleepwalked before,” he said.

“Me, neither.”

“I’ve never dreamed like that before.”

“Me, neither!”

“What we’re thinking isn’t possible.”

“Of course it’s not!”

Their voices were getting louder, their tone turning angry. But who exactly were they angry with? Each other? They were agreeing. And yet…

He rubbed a hand over his face, and when he emerged from the movement, he looked even more haggard than before. “Do you think this had something to do with Bethany’s ghost?”

She bit her lip. They were both just talking out loud, testing theories before they could even begin to deal with them. “Wait, I dreamed about him,” she said. “You were downstairs checking out the basement and I fell asleep…”

He leaned forward. “The shadowy bearded figure. Was he the pirate?”

“I have no idea. He just wanted me to turn around.”

“Turn around?”

“We were at your graveyard and there was a child crying. And…”

He waited for her to finish, but she couldn’t grab hold of it. Or more precisely, she didn’t want to grab hold of the memory.

Abruptly Wyatt’s hand dropped down to the table. Without thinking, she gripped his fingers so tightly she thought she might break them. “How can this be real?”

“It can’t. We already established that. But…why did he want you to turn around?” That was Wyatt, always focused on the puzzle, not the paranormal.

“Because of the baby. He wanted me to see the baby, but I wouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

She looked at him, struggling with turbulent feelings that would not settle down. “I don’t know. I just wouldn’t. Then I woke up.”

He took a moment to process that. Then he released a slow breath. “Okay. So we’ll table it for the moment. Anything else from this shadowy guy?”

She thought back, searching her memory for even the most minute details. “Nothing. What about you? Any dreams when I was doing something else?”

“No,” he said, breaking the connection of their gazes. “It’s always been about you.”

Oh. Well. Good to know. She took a moment with that, then she ran to doing what she did best. She organized things. “So, we’ve got train dream. Then blob-thing dream.”

“Then graveyard dream. When you went to the beach.” He sounded a little bit miffed about that, and she straightened in reaction.

“You could have joined me.”

“I couldn’t move. And you didn’t wait.”

She waved a hand at him. “Please. You’re a caped superhero. No mud was going to keep you from where you wanted to go.”

“Not true,” he said, though looking at his face she knew he was thinking about that. Had he chosen not to join her on the beach? Or had he really been held solid in the mud, and she’d just abandoned him? And how ridiculous that she was angsting about something that happened in a dream.

She frowned and pulled out a pad of paper, writing down what they’d already discussed. She used a one-word shorthand. No way was she going into detail about any of it. Not in black and white.

“So after the first graveyard dream,” she said, writing down
Graveyard 1
, “there was mine with the shadowy guy—”

“And your baby.”

“Not my baby,” she snapped much too vehemently. “Just
a
baby.”

He nodded. “Okay. A baby. But next time, turn around. We need more information, so you need to look.”

She grimaced, not wanting to acknowledge that he could be right. Not wanting to acknowledge any of this. “Fine. If there is a next time, I’ll look.” But she wouldn’t want to. She already knew that from deep inside her soul. She really did
not
want to look.

“Then there’s last night’s,” said Wyatt. “You were screaming, and I went to rescue you.”

She snorted. “Easy trap.” She made a face at him, desperate to get to a more normal teasing tone. “Sucker!”

He stiffened in mock insult. “You were screaming.”

“You were lying. Maybe if you’d shown up as yourself from the start we would have figured this out earlier.”

He frowned. “Sure, I can see that happening. Hey Megan, I just dreamed I was a superhero who hosed the Armus off of you. That’ll happen…like, never.”

He had a point there, but she wasn’t going to give it to him. Instead, she put on her most prim face. “Well, it did happen. And because you didn’t talk about it—”

“Or you!”

“We ended up in bed.”

And there it was. The big fat elephant in the middle of the room. They’d woken up in bed together. They’d maybe had sex last night—and damn hadn’t that given her a freak-out in the bathroom. But she’d already been in the shower, and frankly, she’d woken up all hot and bothered. She had no idea if they’d actually had sex last night or not. Physically, she couldn’t tell, beyond this morning’s encounter.

And mentally… She sighed. Mentally, they’d been getting their freak on for a few days at least. Masked crusader and all. Lord, he’d pulled off her costume with his teeth!

She bit her lip, trying to get her scattered thoughts in order. “So, um, I have to ask. In case we did do it…well, how are you health wise? I mean, uh, anything I should know about?”

He stared at her, completely uncomprehending. Geez, did he need her to spell out STD? Then suddenly his eyes widened. “I’m clean,” he bit out. “And you—”

“Completely healthy.”

He nodded. “Well, that’s good to know. I wasn’t worried, but…that’s good.”

“So what now?” she asked. Then she mentally cursed herself. Had her voice really sounded so lost?

“I can’t lose you in my business, Megan. I just…can’t.”

“I don’t want to be lost either. I just got a promotion.”

He looked haggard. She felt equally torn up. Then he abruptly straightened. “If we can’t go backward, then we have to go forward. We were planning to go out on a date next week, remember? Back in Chicago next Friday we’re going on a date like two normal people.”

“As if none of this had ever happened?” she asked. It wasn’t possible. No way could she think of him as just her boss. Not after she’d chained him up in her dreams.

“Yes,” he said, though his voice was strained. “We’re partnering with Bethany on this B&B just like we planned. Then you’ll run it and make it a gold mine.” He stared at her a long moment, his brilliant mind obviously churning over possibilities, problems, all sorts of things she could only guess at.

“What about the ghost?” she asked. “What about our shared dreams?” She didn’t know why she had to push him on the one thing guaranteed to freak him out, but here she was doing it anyway.

“Megan—” he began.

She cut him off. “If you say it didn’t happen, that all of this is a product of a suggestible imagination, then I’m going to lose it. The ghost is real, we shared dreams, and this place is haunted!”

He swallowed and his skin looked pale, but she didn’t see any other reaction to her irrational outrage. And it was irrational. She loved this sort of stuff, and even she was struggling to accept it. He had to be reeling.

“I don’t know what to think,” he finally said. “I’m not like you. I don’t…embrace this stuff so easily.”

“But do you think I’m insane for believing? Even after all the evidence—”

“Of course not!” he shot back. Well, that was reassuring. “I just… I’m not willing to accept this yet.” Then he held up his hand before she started to argue. “But if you want to go ghost hunting, I don’t have a problem with that. Everyone’s entitled to their own thoughts.”

He might as well have said “delusions.” But since she still wanted to explore a relationship with him—not to mention keep her job—she nodded as if everything was okay. Still, some part of her couldn’t resist pushing. “I’m going to take a nap and confront this ghost. I’ll tell him what we intend about the house, and… I don’t know. Have it out with him.”

Wyatt’s eyebrows rose all the way up into his hairline. “Seriously? You think that’s possible?”

“Of course it is,” she said firmly. It was a total lie. She had no idea what she was talking about. “He wants to make me turn around, right? In my dream. I just won’t turn unless we hash things out first.”

Wyatt snorted, but the sound was the most relaxed thing she’d heard from him all morning. “You talk about this like it’s normal. Like it will all happen just like you say.”

“It’s not normal,” she said firmly. “It’s
para
normal, and I’m an expert in that.” Another lie. Sure she’d read everything she could on the subject—fiction and nonfiction alike—but that was far from real experience.

His lips curved into a sweet smile as he dipped his head to hers. “Well, then I bow to your superior wisdom.”

“Damn straight,” she said. Then she looked down at her page. Was she nuts? Sure, everything had been fun so far. Well, creepy and fun. But ghost stories weren’t always lighthearted. What if the Captain turned violent? What if her head started spinning around? What if really scary things started happening and someone got hurt? Or died? Did she really think she could have it out with a ghost in a dream?

Of course she was crazy. And of course she thought she could take care of things. She had to. Otherwise, she and Wyatt were about to invest their last dime in a haunted B&B that might destroy her financially and cripple his company for years.

Chapter Eleven

The ghost didn’t contact her that afternoon when she took a nap. But since she was incredibly restless throughout the afternoon, she wasn’t really surprised. And then an emergency happened with the very temperamental chef at Wyatt’s second B&B, which required him to return to Chicago immediately. He flew out within the hour, leaving her the car to drive back after she’d worked out more details with Bethany. And hopefully, she and the ghost would have a chat.

The pirate didn’t show. Not that night. Not any night as she took over Bethany’s rooms. But that was okay because Megan had a Plan B, which she implemented her last night there. At midnight, she lit candles, meditated, and then spoke her mind out loud.

It was a very short talk.

“We’re buying this house. We’re going to make it into something special. Something that gives attention to all of Miranda’s wonderful history and her folklore passion. Hope you don’t mind.”

Then she paused a bit. No response as far as she could see, so she continued.

“If you
do
mind, you better talk to me now. Because as of tomorrow morning at eight a.m., I’m putting things in motion. If you hurt anyone or screw up our renovations, then I’ll burn this place to the ground. I’m not kidding. I’ll do it. I don’t know if it’ll affect you in the least, but it won’t be that much fun haunting a big ol’ pile of ash.”

She waited, her breath suspended for some sort of response. Still nothing.

“Good,” she finally said. “Glad we had this little talk.”

Then she blew out the candles and went to bed. It took a bit for her to relax. She kept expecting another dream of graveyards and a bawling child. But eventually she dropped off into a long and dreamless night.

She took that as ghostly consent. Which meant, come eight a.m., she started talking to lawyers, architects, and contractors. Wyatt had given her a budget and full control. Finally, her dream was a reality. She was stepping up in the business world, had a project she could really sink her teeth into, and the partnership agreement with Wyatt was beyond generous. Everything was turning up roses. Too bad she was living in Angst Hell.

It was ridiculous. She was much too old to be doing the “does he like me, does he not” dance. In truth, she already knew the answer: Wyatt liked her. A lot. And she liked him. A lot.

Well, that was a whole bunch of lots without anything concrete to build on them. First off, he wasn’t here with her figuring things out. She had all sorts of questions. Were they going to date like dinner-and-a-movie? Or date like we-are-having-hot-monkey-sex? What exactly had they done that night? In detail. Because if they’d had condom-less sex, that might cause a bit of a problem. But she didn’t think they had. Or perhaps just didn’t want to think she could have made love with a guy and slept through the whole thing. Either way, she was determined to focus on work and not borrow trouble.

Second, when they spoke on the phone or in email—which was often—it was all business, all the time. Most men didn’t handle emotions well, and Wyatt was even worse. So that left her wondering all sorts of other things. Had he changed his mind? Was the woo woo too weird? Had he turned tail and run? Was she going to get fired? Not right away, but eventually would it get too difficult to work together? She didn’t know, and she was driving herself nuts thinking about it.

After three years together, she’d seen Wyatt work tirelessly night and day. She’d figured out the tortured pathways of how he thought and designed her own life to mesh with his. She’d even managed to help him with a few personal items, usually having to do with picking up dry cleaning or scheduling his time away for the holidays. That was it. That was the extent of his personal life as it mixed professionally.

Which meant that as a boyfriend, he was a blank page. Or more accurately, a missing page. She wanted that page. She wanted to read it, write on it, layer it in chocolate, and kiss her way to ecstasy upon it. But she couldn’t do any of that with him off in Chicago and her in Cherry Moon.

So she forced herself to work. And to talk to her mother. And to do all those things that she needed to do but didn’t really want to. And she counted the seconds until she got back to Chicago.

And when delay after delay kept her burning the midnight oil at Miranda’s Place, she tried not to go nuts. But after two weeks—two hectic, aggravating, am I done yet? weeks—she finally got to drive home. She’d never been so happy to see the Chicago skyline in all her life.

She arrived late Wednesday night, driving well past the time when she should have stopped. But two hours of chatting with her mother via her hands-free headset had left her boiling over with resentment. She regretted saying something to her mother. She knew to
never
share, but it had blurted out in an unguarded moment. Four words, but she’d probably regret them for the rest of her life.

“I met a guy.”

Technically, she’d met Wyatt three years ago, but she wasn’t ready to give that particular detail to her mother. No way was she going to say she’d fallen for her boss. So she’d passed it off as a few extremely hot evenings with a handsome man in St. Louis. Not a lie, but also not the truth. The result? A hundred and forty-three miles of her mother’s advice, admonishments, and—most infuriating—unending questions about when she was going to quit her job.

She did her best to explain where she could and deflect when she couldn’t. Mostly, she endured because that’s what good daughters did. Which meant that by the time she hit Chicago, she was fuming.

Her plan had been to go into work, just to see if Wyatt needed anything while she’d been out of touch. Well, that was the excuse. Truthfully, she just wanted to see him. After two weeks away, she missed him. Plus, she wanted the calm sanity that was her job and not the seething emotional morass that was her mother.

But on second thought, she decided things were too precarious between them for her to show up right then. No way should she be subjecting Wyatt to this mood. So she went home. She kicked the furniture, watered her neglected plants, and watched stupid TV. A regular pity party complete with wine, chocolate chip cookies, and ice cream—dinner of the depressed female. Which meant that by the time she collapsed into bed that night, she was achingly ready for a dream.

“Please, Wyatt, visit me tonight…” she whispered.

He didn’t disappoint.

…

She was sitting atop a throne of cookies with Ben & Jerry’s upholstery. It made no sense. It was incredibly cold and uncomfortable, but apparently she was stuck here. Ass glued to the sticky Rocky Road as it melted over chocolate chips.

Ew!

She looked down at herself, expecting to be a thousand pounds, her hips spilling over the sides of her chair. Nope. She was leggy and blond. And yup… triple Ds. So, blond bimbo time it was.

And she was in a cave. Part of her hoped it was made of chocolate, but no such luck. Dark, dank, stupid cave. Dripping and ugly, it reeked of malevolence. Which meant one of two things. Either she was trapped here, a victim of sticky ice cream. Or she was Queen of the sad and disgusting world of the Female Sulks. She got the feeling she was both, and how ridiculous was that? She needed to be rescued from her own nest of carbs and goo.

“So is it okay to come in?” came a voice.
Wyatt
. From somewhere around the mouth of a cave.

“Haven’t a clue, but I doubt it.”

“Ah. Well.”

“I hope you’re wearing a cape. And maybe a gas mask. This place is seriously gross.”

She caught a flash of movement at the mouth of the cave. It was too dark to see, but she hoped it was him.

“So why don’t you leave?” he asked.

“Good question,” she said. She tried to stand up, but she couldn’t budge. And when she looked down, there were chains of chocolate bars holding her in place. “Chained up.” But just in case, she bent over to bite into the chocolate.

Rich, creamy goodness slid down her throat. Yum! She could escape this way! Stuff that tasted this good would be a breeze to eat through.

And so she did. Except as fast as she ate, more chains appeared. Sadly, there seemed to be no end of good chocolate, so she sat back with a grunt. At least she wouldn’t starve. But at some point, she was sure she’d want to see the sun.

“Do you still have that superpowered water hose? Maybe we could spray me free.”

More movement from shadows near the opening. “The water has to go somewhere, and I don’t see another exit. I’m more likely to drown you than free you.”

“Oh. Bummer.”

“Besides, I doubt water works well on chains.”

Well, not iron chains, but these were magical chocolate chains. Probably had the same problem. And drowning sounded like no fun at all.

“If I drown here, do I die in real life?” she mused out loud.

“What?”

She shook her head. “Nothing.” She sighed. “Just leave me alone. Blond bimbos deserve to die on thrones of their own making.”

There was a moment’s silence, and then his voice came from right beside her ear. “Now what kind of superhero would I be to abandon even a blonde in distress?”

She leaped, jerking sideways as he appeared at her side. “Where did you come from?” she gasped. Then she whipped around to peer at the shadows that guarded the door. “And what’s that?”

He turned. “What?”

She tried to look harder, but nothing came into focus and nothing moved. “I don’t know.” She slumped back in her chair and gazed up at him.

Damn, he was pretty. No mask or cape this time. And he wasn’t over a foot taller than her. He was just Wyatt. Strong, handsome Wyatt. Without his shirt. That was nice.

“You don’t appreciate me,” she said coldly.

He blinked, obviously startled by her cold tone. “Megan?”

She would have clapped her hand over her mouth, but she was restrained tight. Instead, she just shook her head. “I didn’t mean to say that. Honest—you promised we’d work things out then you up and disappeared.”

Her words were loud and cutting. Not at all what she’d intended, especially as he gasped and reeled backwards.

“Wyatt! I didn’t say that! I mean…”

He held up a hand to silence her. His other braced himself against the wall. “I get it. You say mean things and I get a hit straight to my solar plexus.”

“You’re such a liar,” she sneered. Wyatt grunted and dropped to one knee.

“This is ridiculous!” she snapped. “I refuse to be this person. But you’re making me into a shrew!” Oh hell, the words even tasted noxious as they flew out of her mouth. And Wyatt gasped as if he were choking.

She clamped her mouth shut. She’d be damned if she said another spiteful thing. Unfortunately, it seemed to be bubbling up inside of her. The pressure built and built. She felt like her head was going to explode. She resorted to short, panting breaths through her nose, but it was awful.

“It’s okay, Megan,” he said from near the floor to her right. “Just let it out.”

She shook her head. No way. She was killing him. And she sure as hell was not destroying what little they’d built together in some stupid damp cave.

“Everything is so dark in here! You’ve made my life work, work, and more work. I want children, but I’m your fucking slave!”

He moaned as he fell back. She heard his head crack on the edge of the cave. The sound was horrible, and it seemed to echo in the room. Oh God, what had she done?

“Dark,” he said. “That’s it!”

“What? Speak up you—” She clamped her mouth shut and the words she held back seemed to go up through her nose. It burned as it happened, but she didn’t hear Wyatt grunt in pain. And in a moment, he’d pushed weakly to his feet.

“Comics are simple,” he said, his voice strained. “It’s dark in here.”

She bit her tongue rather than voice an acidic, “Yeah, so?” She thought she’d strangled the words back, but he must have heard. He grimaced, but it didn’t stop him from making a massive fist.

Was he going to knock her out? She didn’t dare open her mouth, but she prayed he would do it. Just knock her unconscious.

Slam!
His right fist landed hard against the side of the cave wall. He followed with his left.
Bam!

The cave walls shuddered, but they didn’t break.

“Just leave me!” she screamed. “Get out while you can!”

“I’m not leaving you, Megan,” he gasped. Then he hit the wall again.

Bam! Bam!
His fists started flying. Faster and faster, his words echoing in the air around them.

“Not leaving. Not leaving. Not leaving.”

The burn in her belly eased, but not soon enough. Another one was coming. She clenched her jaws shut, but it wasn’t enough. It built and built and built.

“I hate you!” she screamed.

The blow was too big, and he went down. But he twisted as he fell. Instead of crumpling sideways, he managed to fall forward into the part of wall he’d been beating on. With one last thud, the wall started to splinter. Cracks appeared, expanding out from his fist.

“Get out! Get out!”

Those words were really her. The walls were going to collapse, and he was going to die. She’d hate herself forever if he died here. Even in a dream.

“Not leaving,” he gasped. Then she watched in slow motion as he raised his fist one last time. His face contorted and his chest rippled as he gathered his strength. And then…

Wham!

The wall exploded. Golden light spilled into the cave. And not just light, but air. Sweet, wonderful summer air. It was hot and dry, and just like that everything inside crackled and withered.

“Oh sure. Like that does anything.”

It was a final bitter statement and one that she tried to twist into something funny. Because, of course, the light made all the difference in the world. As the golden light fell upon her, she closed her eyes and lifted her face to the sun.

“See if you can move,” he said. His voice was coming closer.

“Don’t chance it, Wyatt,” she murmured. “Don’t come close.”

“Too late. I’m already here.” And he was, right in front of her, all golden skin and glorious chest. He leaned down and touched her hands. Her fingers entwined with his and together they held each other tight.