Dream Nights With the CEO (5 page)

“What did I do?”

He wasn’t going to let it go, so she gestured outside. “I don’t want to do this in the car. Let me go to the restroom and then we’ll meet at the picnic bench.” That would give her time to think of how to best express what had happened.

He agreed, but was clearly anxious. And the weird kept getting weirder because she’d never seen him look so upset. Not when the financing had fallen through on B&B number 6. Not when B&B number 1 had lost its roof to a tornado. Both times, he’d simply sighed then gone back to work. New financing on better terms. New roof with an expansion. New possibilities. That was Wyatt.

“At the picnic table,” he said just before they separated.

“Yeah. I’ll only be a moment.”

He nodded, then paused. “Megan, if it’s really too painful—”

She flashed him a bright smile. “It’s terribly painful, so I expect my raise effective immediately.”

“Immediately?” he cried in mock outrage. “It’s the middle of a pay period.”

“I think your math skills are up to the challenge,” she drawled, relieved to see the pinch between his brows ease. Then before he could say more, she ducked into the bathroom.

Ten minutes later, she was sitting at the park bench with her back to the freeway and her gaze on a row of evergreens. It was really very pretty here. The sun had warmed her seat and was now pleasant on her face. The breeze was non-existent, which was a good thing considering it was early spring. All in all, it was quite nice for April in the Midwest.

Her phone dinged and she winced. Looking down, she saw that it was her mother. She should never have taught the woman how to text. Scanning the missive—this one a rant against inconsiderate women at the grocery store—she tapped out a quick response.

Sorry about the rude people. In a meeting. Talk to you later.

She hit send, then turned the phone to silent. And when she looked up, it was to see Wyatt standing across from her, his eyes hooded.

“Problem?” he asked.

She shook her head. “My mother. She’s just lonely.”

“She needs a hobby.”

“She needs to get laid.” Then her eyes widened in horror. Had she just said that out loud? And to her boss?

Apparently so, because he snorted a laugh. “Can’t help with that. But maybe she could go on one of those bus trips. We passed at least five of them in the last hour. Lots of people her own age, lots of potential friends.”

Megan’s eyes widened. Had he just given her the perfect solution for her mother problem? If nothing else, it would keep the woman occupied for a while. “Her birthday
is
coming up,” she said.

“There you go. Give her a trip, then guilt her into going.”

“I could do that.” She suddenly brightened. “I will do that. Thank you!”

He shrugged. “Glad I could help.” Then he sat down across from her, his expression serious, his body very, very still. And he waited while she watched the way the wind flattened his tee shirt against his very broad chest. What if she didn’t work for him? What if instead of taking her promotion, she asked him out on a date instead? What would he say?

“Megan?” he asked.

She blinked, abruptly jerking her thoughts away from her sudden longing. She loved her job, she reminded herself. She was not going to tank it just because her boss was the greatest guy she’d ever met.

“Okay,” she said, mentally re-ordering her thoughts. “You remember when I was a maid for you? At that first B&B?”

He nodded. “Tie-dyed tanks, ripped cut-offs. Best maid I’ve ever had. Er, employed.”

“You got that right,” she said with a smile. “It was a week or so before you offered me this job. I was talking with Paulita about weddings. She was pregnant, you know, and she was so happy. They’d only been married a month, but she’d wanted a kid. So bam, her dreams had come true.” Over the years, Megan had thought often about Paulita. Was the woman still as happy as she’d been then? Did she miss having a job? Money? Independence?

Meanwhile, Wyatt was frowning, obviously sorting through his memories. “She needed the job, needed the money, but I didn’t know if she could work pregnant. It’s a strenuous job.”

“Don’t I know it,” she murmured. Working in housekeeping had convinced her that she wanted a desk job. “Then, at the end of my shift, you called me into the office and showed me a spreadsheet.”

“An early form of my Employee Risk Evaluation.”

“Yeah, that.” She bit her lip remembering the neat column of figures. “It wasn’t just risk. You tabulated marketable skills, education, health, any number of other factors. You laid it all out there and boiled everything down to a single number.” She’d been a 6. On a 37 point scale. She remembered staring at that number and all but sobbing on the spot. Her whole life, all of her reduced to a single digit number.

“I remember. I had blank spaces on your line. Things I didn’t know or couldn’t evaluate.”

Megan took a breath, forcing herself to continue. “You told me you saw possibility in me. That there might be a better job for me but only if I got that number up to double digits.”

“You hadn’t graduated from college yet. I knew you were tired. You were studying every break you had. I was…I was trying to give you incentive to finish.”

Her lips curved into a smile. “You were afraid I was going to drop out?”

“Yes.”

A single word, but it explained so much. “Well, it worked. I took that damn paper home and stared at it. I filled it out for my parents, my brothers, my boyfriend. Hell, I even wrote it out for Paulita. Her greatest ambition was to stay home and have a dozen kids. That gave her a big fat zero according to your spreadsheet on all sorts of line items.”

“It wasn’t an evaluation of you as a person. It was simply a list of your job skills and value. And I kept Paulita on. I never fired her. Not even when she was so huge she couldn’t make a bed right.”

True enough. But at the time, she hadn’t known how big Wyatt’s heart was. Sure, he boiled people down to a number, but then he let his heart sway him away from the cold black and white.

“I know that now. But back then, I was getting a degree in anthropology. The only way I could score lower was if I didn’t graduate.” She glanced up at him. “My boyfriend—the history major—thought you were a major ass, by the way.”

He swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

She could see he still didn’t truly understand what had happened. “I dumped him because you were right. Your entire spreadsheet boiled down to two things: hard work and no excuses. Commitment, work hours, goal setting—that was the hard part. College degree, job skills—that was the no-excuses part. You either had the skills or you didn’t. The why didn’t matter. Yes or no. Point or no point.”

“Geez,” he breathed. “I was just trying to make sure you graduated from college.”

“I did. And my brother did. The other went military, but that’s another story,” she said, studying his frowning expression. “You don’t get it. Up until then, I was thinking of the world as my playground. I studied what I wanted when I wanted.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that. That’s what college is for.”

“But I’d never seen myself as a marketable commodity. And it’s a valuable perspective, one that I needed to see. Otherwise, I might have graduated with an anthropology degree and ended up working at McDonald’s.”

“You always had more drive than that. You wouldn’t have been in fast food for long.”

She smiled, extraordinarily pleased that he knew that about her. “You gave me a wake-up call that I needed. That my brothers needed. That my mother
still
needs.”

“She may be a little old for some lessons.”

“But not to understand my value. That I’m trying to make a different future for myself other than wife and mother. “ She pulled out her iPad and brought up a file. “I still have your ERE. The newest version, by the way, not the one from three years ago.”

He looked at it, his eyebrows rising. “My goodness, look at your value. Clearly you’re underpaid and undervalued.”

“Damn straight. Which is why my boss just gave me a twenty-five percent raise.”

“Twenty.”

“You sure?”

He flashed her smile. “I’m disorganized, not senile.”

She shrugged. “Worth a shot.” She reached for her pad, but he refused to give it up. He was studying it closer.

“Do you have a goals list too?”

She nodded and shifted the screen to the appropriate file. That had been another one of his ideas—done by example rather than specific suggestion. Taped to his office wall was a list of five business goals to accomplish within a year, five years, and ten. He was making steady progress on all three.

He looked at it and blew out a low whistle. “You want an MBA and…a hotel chain?” He looked up. “Planning to become my competition?”

“If only,” she joked. “No, I’m not thinking ownership. Just executive in a mega corp. Like Hilton or Marriott. You’re smaller and more innovative. There’s room for us both in the millionaire club.”

He smiled as he swiped the screen, moving through her different lists. “What’s this?”

She glanced down. It was her personal goals list. Things she wanted in her life beyond her career. Something that had never been on his wall. It included things like marriage, two kids, and a vacation in Australia. “I’ve always wanted to go to Australia,” she said, ducking the bigger items.

“Have a husband in mind?” he asked. His words sounded casual, but a glance at him showed an underlying tension in his body. Or maybe that was her with the sudden cramp in her belly. After all, she’d seen him without his shirt just this morning. And right now he was outlined by the sun, his tee stretched across a sculpted body. Add to that what she already knew about his brilliant mind and great big heart, and she was halfway to love.

“No husband yet,” she rasped. Then she swallowed. “Notice that the list doesn’t have a timeline attached. That’s for some day. After my career is established.”

He nodded, his expression blank. Then he tapped the pad off and passed it back to her. “So three years ago, I ripped away your childhood innocence.”

“And I never thanked you for that. Thank you, Wyatt. And my brothers thank you, too.”

He took a deep breath, his expression still vaguely haunted. “So I’m forgiven?”

She laughed, the sound surprisingly light. In fact, it felt damn good. “Yes, I believe so. Assuming, of course, that I get that raise.”

“Twenty-five percent. Effective immediately.”

She blinked. “Twenty
-five
percent?”

“I just looked at your ERE. Clearly, I need to pay you more before someone else snatches you away.”

She grinned, loving the sound of that. Then his phone rang. He glanced down at it, flashed her a bright smile, and asked another question. “We’re agreed then, right? Promotion, raise, and a commitment for at least another three years’ work?”

She thought about it and nodded. It was exactly what she wanted. “Agreed.”

“Good. Because you’re about to earn every penny.” Then he answered the phone. Ten minutes later, they were headed back to Miranda’s Place.

Chapter Four

Wyatt was standing in a private graveyard on a stormy moonlit night. His head was bowed, his cape flapped about him, and in his hand he held a blood-red rose. The other hand crumpled a pristine sheet of linen paper.

He lifted his head and looked around. How could it be both stormy
and
moonlit? Mood lighting, he realized. And mood clothing, he added, absently noting he wasn’t wearing a shirt. Then he went back to the flow of his dream.

He looked at his hands. He lifted the red rose, seeing its sculpted perfection. He was about to toss it on one of the graves, but his attention turned to the sheet of white linen. Lifting it up, he read it, even though a few stray raindrops blurred the words.

PERSONAL GOALS

1. Marriage

2. Two children

3. Vacation in Australia

Megan’s list. He dropped his hand, feeling a sense of desolation fill him. Was he standing in front of
her
grave? Was that why—

“Aren’t you cold?”

He looked up to see her walking through a gate that he would swear hadn’t been there a moment ago. She was standing in a rainbow tie-dyed tank and light blue cut-offs, her smile and her whole demeanor at odds with the gray, barren landscape. She was so beautiful it made his heart lurch in his chest.

“I might ask you the same thing.”

She glanced down at herself and grimaced. “Oh God. My tie-dyed phase.”

“I like it.”

“I like seeing you without your shirt on, too, but…” She gestured at the stormy landscape. “Isn’t this a little impractical?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, his eyes went down to the gravestones. He couldn’t read the names on the markers, and he really wanted to.

“Who are they?” she asked as she came to his side.

He opened his mouth to answer, but he had none. Just an overwhelming sense of loneliness.

“Come on, Caped Crusader,” she said as she touched his hand. “Let’s take a walk.”

Her fingers were like a live wire on his skin. The shock was electric, jolting his breath from his body and freezing his limbs. He turned to look at her, feeling desperation consume him. Why couldn’t he move?

She stopped and frowned. First she studied his face, then his whole body. “Stuck?” she said, pointing to his feet.

He looked down. Somehow he had sunk knee deep into the mud and he hadn’t even noticed. “When did that happen?”

“Doesn’t matter. Just step out. I’m sure there’s a moonlit beach around here somewhere.”

“Why not go up toward the house?” he asked, gesturing behind her. There hadn’t been a house there before, but there was now. He could hear kids laughing as they played on the lawn.

“Beach,” she said firmly. “Come on.”

He tried to lift his legs, but they wouldn’t budge. He frowned, crumpling her damned list even further while his other hand dripped blood from where the rose thorns had pierced his skin. He looked at it. It didn’t hurt, but it sure looked dramatic.

“What’s that?” she asked, pointing to the paper.

He offered her the rose instead. “For you.”

“Somehow I’m not so keen on taking a dead woman’s rose. I assume it was for her.” She gestured to the nearest gravestone. A woman’s name was written there, dark and bold.
Lily.

Lily? Who the hell was Lily?

“Shouldn’t you have brought lilies to Lily? Or didn’t she like them?”

“I… It doesn’t matter,” he finally said. Then he tossed the rose—suddenly turned into a lily—onto the mound.

“And what about that?” she asked, pointing to the paper. “Last love note she wrote you? Letter telling you she was marrying the hot young Assistant District Attorney?”

“No. It’s a list. Of things I want.”

“Really?” she said as she reached for it. “Like a shopping list? Did you put T-shirts on it? Regular pants? Or are you more into the spare cape and new utility belt kind of shopping?”

He frowned as her tone finally penetrated his distraction. “Are you making fun of me?”

She laughed. “It’s kinda hard not to. Look at you. So far, you’ve taken out a runaway train, the Blob,
Halloween
, a psychotic doll, and the zombie apocalypse. But you’re going to let a bit of mud keep you from walking with me? Come on. This whole graveside bit is self-indulgent.”

He peered at her, trying to process words he could only half hear. Like sounds spoken underwater. “I don’t understand.”

She flashed him a rueful smile. “I’m walking away. I’m going to swim.” She pointed far down the hill to a stretch of pristine sand and the steady rush of the waves. “Looks like Australia, doesn’t it?”

He tried to keep her with him, but he couldn’t hold on. Her fingers slipped through his as she stepped around the graves to the gate.

“Wait!” he called.

She looked over her shoulder, her eyes flashing in mischievous delight. “I’m way past my tie-dye phase. And swimming’s much more fun naked.” With that, she pulled off her top. Her breasts were luminescent in the moonlight, the shape pointed and high.

“I’m going to need a little help here,” he called.

“I
am
helping.” She laughed. “I’m giving you incentive.” Then she shimmied out of her cut offs. He watched her bottom wriggle, her breasts bob. Then he saw her beautiful legs as they slowly, step by step, walked away from him.

“Megan!”

He woke on a cry, sitting bolt upright in bed, his heart hammering. Looking down, he stared at his frozen legs. What the hell was wrong with him?

He rubbed his hand over his face and shifted his feet. Wait, he shifted his feet? He wriggled his toes and bent his knees.

It was a dream
, he reminded himself. Just a dream. His legs weren’t trapped, his body wasn’t half sunk in a grave. He was alive and healthy.

He flopped back on his bed, the remnants of the dream still haunting him. He remembered Megan all glowing perfection as she walked—naked—to the beach. He ached at the memory and one part of his anatomy stirred restlessly. He tried to will himself there, force himself back into the dream. Not on the hilltop, but down on the beach with her.

No-go. Instead, his thoughts wandered back to the gravestone and the list he’d held clutched in his hand.

Lily. Who the hell was Lily?

He closed his eyes, searching his memory, but he came up with nothing. How could he have this lingering hole in his heart for a woman he didn’t even know?

He lay there, his mind chewing on the wispy threads of his dream. But the more he thought, the more indistinct the memory became. It was a dream. Just a dream. Only a fool would lie in bed and obsess about something so unimportant.

So he didn’t. He got up and started the hotel room coffee.

…

Megan groaned and rolled over, unfulfilled lust coursing through her. Her dream beach had been cold and lonely. The sand had been coarse beneath her feet, and she was miffed that her masked hero hadn’t followed her. She tried to make him appear. She’d begged and strained. She’d even gone back to help the man. After all, something had clearly been wrong, and what woman abandoned her guy just because it
looked
like he could handle it?

But when she’d topped the rise again of that stupid graveyard, he was gone. The emptiness had cut straight through her, shredding her heart and her dream in one cruel stroke.

She blinked and looked around. She was back in her lovely bedroom at Miranda’s Place. Wyatt’s phone call at the rest stop had been Bethany with a change of heart, so they’d returned here. But even soft sheets and an eyelet comforter did nothing to dispel the ache in Megan’s heart or between her thighs. God, how stupid was she? All but crying over a lost dream.

She took a deep breath, trying to center her thoughts. It didn’t take long for her to realize what was going on. It was simple biology. Her biological clock was ticking away fast. That stupid list of personal goals had haunted her thoughts since Wyatt had poked at it that afternoon.

Sure, her professional goals were taking a big leap forward, but maybe it was time to work a little on her personal ones too. After all, a husband didn’t just magically appear. One had to go looking for him. Meet men, go on dates, all that horrible singles scene stuff.

But if she wanted a real man in bed with her instead of a dream one, then she had to make the effort. With a flash of resolve, she pushed up in bed and grabbed her laptop. She could stick a toe into the dating waters again. She had friends who’d met some really nice guys through on-line dating sites. Maybe it was time to create a profile.

Ten minutes later, she found what she wanted and started creating her profile. She was all signed up and uploading it when her email dinged.

It was from Wyatt. He was the only one who would send her email at—she peered at the clock—3:26 a.m. Normally she would have clicked on the mail icon immediately, but tonight she paused. Front and center in her 3:26 a.m. brain was the idea that she was making a choice. Right here, right now, she was making a life choice. Did she keep working on her profile, separating private time from work time? Or did she drop everything and go back to work when normal people were sleeping?

Well, put like that, the answer was obvious. Her job would still be there in the morning. Whatever stuff was piling into her in-box could be handled then. Wyatt didn’t expect her to answer him in the middle of the night.
I’ll wait
, she decided, just as another two emails dinged their arrival.

She clicked back to the dating site, only to start cursing herself. She had three emails from Wyatt and she was itching to read them. What was on his mind? What amazingly brilliant thing had come to him in the middle of the night? The curiosity was so bad, she couldn’t focus on the personality profile of her ideal man. She couldn’t even read her own profile at the moment. She was like an addict trying to resist her next Wyatt fix. When had she become this obsessive about email?

She bit her lip, cursed loudly, then clicked on the icon. She’d just see if it was really a message from Wyatt. How ridiculous would she feel if she’d been angsting over a please-help-me-invest-my-millions email? But the minute the mailbox opened, she knew she was doomed.

Three messages from Wyatt, all sent in the last four minutes. She sighed. It was all well and good dividing her life into work time and private time, but Wyatt wasn’t just some nebulous idea of her job. Wyatt was a man. A brilliant, driven, sometimes clueless, handsome man. And he was sending her messages.

She couldn’t refuse them. Job or not, she didn’t want to. She loved working with him and day or night, if he called, she would answer. So she opened the first email and read it with a kind of fascination that was almost sexual. Within ten minutes she was intrigued. Within a half hour, she was excited, her mind racing. Within an hour, her back ached, her bed was covered with papers and pads, and she was grinning.

Four hours later, she flopped back onto her bed with a cry. Then she sighed in blissful delight before a giggle burst free. Good God, that had been like an extended work orgasm!

She and Wyatt had an appointment with Bethany in an hour. Megan groaned as she looked at the time. She needed a shower and a printer. And a nap! But she was still too keyed up.

The night before had been incredible. Once it became clear that she and Wyatt were both awake—and working—at the same time, they had thrown ideas and spreadsheets back and forth for how to revitalize Miranda’s Place. Wave after wave of possibilities, plans, and numbers. Such numbers! Each email had fed on the next until she’d been breathless and her fingers had cramped from all the things she was typing. And now, well before the meeting with Bethany, they had a plan in place, multiple possible budgets, even a prospective re-launch date.

“Work orgasm” was her new urban slang phrase of the day. And she had lived it. Better yet, she had
loved
it. Especially since she was going to be the one to spearhead the renovations. But only if Bethany came on board.

And that would be decided in an hour.

Another email dinged into her box. From Wyatt. She smiled. It was like one last pulse of his orgasmic frenzy. She clicked it open and couldn’t stifle her laugh.

That was incredible. Quick! Send me the weather report and let’s close this deal! Holy shit, I need a shower!

She picked up her phone and texted her usual wake up call to him.

Good morning, Mr. Monroe. At nine a.m. today, we have an appointment with Bethany Clark, current owner of Miranda’s B&B. The weather appears to be clear today, mid-fifties.

She set down the phone then headed to the bathroom but was stopped short when her phone buzzed. It was a text message.

From now on, I order you to call me Wyatt. After last night, I think our relationship has risen to a whole new level.

Megan grinned. He was right. They’d reached a whole new working relationship. One that felt sexual but without any of the ethical constraints. A week ago, she hadn’t even dreamed that this type of relationship existed, much less thought of having it with Wyatt. But they did now. A partnership. A meeting of minds, if not bodies.

Her smile faded.
This is great
, she reminded herself. But apparently, her body was feeling left out of the equation.

No problem
, she thought with a sigh. She was working on that too. She’d just finish her online profile tonight. Except that thought killed her happy mood. Sure, she wanted a whole life, one that included a husband someday. Kids, too. But her career was so exciting right now. And the idea of a man in her life—one who wasn’t Wyatt—had her cursing her biological clock. She didn’t want someone else. She wanted Wyatt with his hard body and his gentle hands. She wanted him covering her body in kisses as he slowly spread her legs and thrust inside. And she wanted those pornographic dreams with an intensity that hurt.

Why did she have to want the one man she couldn’t have? Not without risking everything she’d spent the last four years building.