Dream Nights With the CEO (9 page)

That had been the reason she’d stuck to “yes, sir” and “no, sir” for all these years. He seemed to be comfortable in that pattern. But now that she’d pushed for a promotion, now that she wanted to be more of a colleague than an assistant, suddenly all these extra possibilities were appearing.

She called him “Wyatt” now. She went to a comic book shop with him, and now out to dinner. And at night…

She swallowed. One step at a time. She’d figure it out as she went along. After all, three years ago she hadn’t a clue how to be an administrative assistant. Now she was a dream at the job. The best one on the planet, or so he often told her.

This change would just take a little time. She’d find her sea legs. She’d be okay. They’d be okay. Because this job was just too important to her to screw it up.

“I’ll just buy my beads,” she said. “Then we’ll have a great dinner.”

“Ooooo-kay,” he said as he stood there waiting for her to do just that.

“Yeah. Right. Good.” Then she turned tail and ran to the cashier.

Chapter Eight

“So I did some digging while you were napping.”

Wyatt stiffened in his seat, his waistband tightening almost painfully against his overstuffed stomach. Wow, dinner had been great. “I did not nap,” he said with mock horror.

She laughed, her mysterious nervousness from earlier completely gone. “Fine, while you were studying the back of your eyelids this afternoon and making those very rhythmic snoring-like sounds—”

“I don’t snore!”

Her expression went completely deadpan, but her eyes danced. “Of course not, sir. Not a snore. Just a new form of talking to yourself, I’m sure.”

He huffed. “I have been known to talk to myself from time to time.”

“Sign of genius, sir.”

He arched a brow at her, trying to look intimidating. It didn’t work, but then it never did on her. “You were doing some digging?” he prompted. “And call me Wyatt.”

She nodded, leaning forward eagerly as she pushed aside her empty dessert plate. Watching her eat double chocolate decadence cake had been a torture all its own. Her pink tongue had been dexterous as she licked at the chocolate, and her eyes had gone all dreamy. He’d had to adjust his trousers for the thousandth time. He just knew what sounds she made during climax. That memory—and that fantasy—was crossing the line. But he’d given up fighting it. He had feelings for his assistant. Lots of feelings, and no matter how hard he tried to suppress them, they weren’t going away.

“You wouldn’t believe what I found,” she said. “Bethany wasn’t kidding when she said her aunt had collected all sorts of weird stuff. Folklore wasn’t the half of it. She’s got magic amulets from New Orleans, beautifully carved ink blocks from China, pigmy tribe poison darts—”

“Seriously?”

“Books galore and even some hand-written stuff on velum. Velum!”

Wyatt blinked, his mind momentarily diverted from the sight of her flushed face and animated movements. “How much stuff?”

“Enough to decorate the whole B&B with plenty to spare. Who knows how much of it is valuable. We’d have to bring in an expert. Possibly several experts. Don’t know. But there’s a theme and a marketing angle in there somewhere.”

“At least one.”

“Honestly, it’s called Miranda’s Place. We should make it her place for real. The woman had a fascinating past.”

“The whole house is interesting,” he said. “The pirate was just the beginning. The place was a stop on the Underground Railroad. It served for a time as a home for TB victims. It’s amazing. The past goes on and on.”

She released a happy sigh. “I want this building, Wyatt. I want to make it over the way it should be.”

“You’re not afraid of the ghost?” He knew she wasn’t. In truth, he was hoping she’d say she didn’t believe in ghosts.

“Ghost shmost! No shadowy bearded guy is going to keep me from making this place into a gold mine.”

He was about to say something, but his words caught and changed halfway to his mouth. “Shadowy bearded guy? Did Bethany say he looked like that?”

She swallowed and her gaze slipped away. “Um, no.”

He studied her, dread coiling in his stomach. She wasn’t
actually
a true believer? Was she? “Something happened. You think you met him.”

She snorted, the sound much too emphatic. “Nothing happened, Wyatt. I just had a dream obviously
prompted
by all this ghost talk.”

He didn’t believe her. Her eyes were sparkling with excitement. She got into this stuff, he knew, but now he didn’t know how to take that. Part of him wanted to classify her as a paranormal nutcase, but he knew that wasn’t true. Meanwhile, she must have read the skepticism on his face because she looked him dead in the eye and lied. “Active imagination. Nothing supernatural about that.”

“You’re a terrible liar,” he said.

She looked back down at her food. “I know you don’t believe,” she said, “but a lot of people do.”

“Meaning, you.”

“Meaning a lot of people.” She huffed out an irritated breath. “So long as no one gets hurt, what does it matter?”

It didn’t. Assuming he didn’t start to doubt her sanity. Meanwhile, his brain went back to business as he mulled over the angles in his mind. She was right about the sales opportunity to the paranormal nutjobs. “What would make you turn around and run from this place?”

“Earthquake. Tsunami. Termites.”

He chuckled. “No termites. But seriously, what would be a deal-breaker on this house? Forget the money. We can work out the numbers. What would be too scary for you to accept?”

She took her time answering, filling the silence with the business of leaving the restaurant. They were going to walk back through scenic Cherry Moon. At least half the storefronts were closed, but he still saw potential. Always possibilities. Sadly, the possibilities his mind focused on right now were all pornographic. And all involved tonight’s sleeping arrangements with Megan.

“Wow, that’s loud,” Megan commented.

He nodded, reading the sign above an open door. “The Pirate Bar. Yo Ho Ho.”

“And a bottle of rum,” Megan added.

Wyatt gestured at the deafening music coming out from the open doors. “Who knew pirates loved bluegrass.”

“They have reggae on Wednesday nights, swing dancing on Thursdays, and classic rock on Fridays.”

Wyatt blinked. “Reggae? In the Midwest?”

She lifted her chin. “Don’t judge. Music is universal.”

He chuckled, then quieted. She still hadn’t answered his question, and from her heavy sigh, she knew he was waiting. Finally she took his arm, her fingers slipping through the crook in his elbow as if they’d always done that. As if she were his date and he were the happiest man in the world taking a stroll with his woman at his side.

“I love all things horror,” she said. “There isn’t a zombie apocalypse I haven’t watched. Paranormal sleuths are my escapist reading and true life ghost stories get me every time.” Her voice trailed away into a vaguely awkward silence.

“But?”

“But I’ve read scary true-life stories. If we’re talking sparkly lights and tingling feelings, that’s one thing. Give me scents and sounds that make your back clench and your breath freeze, and I’ll belly up and ask for extra sprinkles.”

“You know you’re mixing metaphors, right?”

“This conversation calls for a little mixing, don’t you think?”

He chuckled. “Good point. Please continue.”

“But…” She took a deep breath. “I won’t endanger anyone. I know that sounds weird given that we’re talking about ghosts, and we really can’t control anything, but—”

“We’re going to have to figure out exactly what we’re selling and what we’re getting.”

“Exactly,” she said, squeezing his arm. “I knew you’d understand.”

“So what would make you say no-go?”

She grimaced. “You’re like a dog with a bone,” she groused. “I don’t know.”

“Well, think about it. You wanted the promotion and more responsibility. I’m giving you profit sharing here. So think like an owner.”

She jolted. “You are?”

Oops. Had he forgotten to tell her that? “I am. But that means debt sharing too if it goes bust. You up for that?”

“Can I work it off? I don’t have the cash. You might be forced to keep me around a really long time.”

“I’ll find a way to endure,” he said with a laugh. In truth, more time with her sounded like heaven. Or hell if his current thoughts were any indication. They’d just had a lovely afternoon and a fabulous dinner. They were walking along moonlit streets and tucked tightly together against the wind. If his dick got any harder, he’d have to call for a cab because he sure as hell wasn’t going to be able to walk.

“Okay,” she said, oblivious to his physical difficulties. “If one of us wakes up with a bloody stump for an arm, obviously the deal’s off.”

“Bloody stump. No sale. Got it.”

“Same if we’re dead or dismembered in any way.”

“Good thought. What if we’re just possessed?” He was pulling out all the scary things from a lifetime of reading comics. There wasn’t a superhero yet who hadn’t been possessed in some way.

“Weeeeeell, that’s a different story. I mean, if it’s a permanent possession, then we’re good. Especially if the pirate takes you over. After all, no one else is going to get possessed. So I’ll just trot you out to all the guests as the dead pirate and make a mint. Course I’d have to take over the business, as the pirate wouldn’t have a clue about your other holdings and stuff.”

He snorted. “I think I’m going to have to draw a line here. Any possession—of either of us—and the deal’s off.”

She heaved a dramatic sigh. “Well, if you insist.”

“I do.” Lord, this was a ridiculous conversation. But oddly enough, he was enjoying it. He could laugh at it with her.

“Okay,” she said with a huff. “I’ve already covered fancy lights, bizarre scents, even the random moving objects—those are all good.”

“I hate it when someone misplaces my keys.”

“That’s not a ghost, Wyatt. You misplace your own keys.”

“And I hate it.”

She laughed as he pulled open the B&B doors. The musical sound filled the foyer as the light and the heat enveloped them. It felt like coming home in a way his real house had never been. Joyous, filled with laughter, and all because of one woman.

He turned, seeing her eyes sparkle in the light. Their gazes caught and held for an endless moment. What he wouldn’t give for a sprig of mistletoe right now. His belly tensed, his arm rippled beneath her tightening fingers…

But then he pulled away. He couldn’t kiss her. It was too big a step to take without some serious thought. He was a logical man, and he didn’t do anything without proper planning or forethought. “Come on upstairs,” he said, pushing the words through his tight throat. “There’s something you need to see.”

“Are you going to show me your etchings?” she quipped, using that old swinger’s line.

It was a lame joke and he tried to laugh. He really did. But the idea of being on a real date with her—one where he could make moves on her—had him clenching in hunger. He wanted her with an ache that began in his balls but spread to his heart.

And what a shock that was. As a man of logic, he’d assumed that tender emotions didn’t really affect him. But suddenly, he was thinking of other things. And in a day of revelations, that was the biggest surprise of all.

They made it to Bethany’s apartment. He took Megan straight to the blocked window/door, opening it up to the catwalk just outside. He’d performed a cursory inspection late that afternoon, and so he felt secure in showing Megan some of it. “This main part’s safe,” he said, “but we can’t go anywhere along the east side. I don’t trust the construction. But it can be fixed. And frankly, I think opening the upper floor and the catwalk ought to be priority one.”

She nodded as she stepped outside, her gaze peering down as she made her own assessment of the rough wood planks. “How did I not even notice this?” she murmured.

“Because it isn’t in any of the pictures. It’s the back of the house and it’s only on the third floor.”

Then she looked up. “My God,” she breathed.

He smiled, knowing what she saw. The back landscape was a spectacular expanse of dark trees, black ribbon of river, and the occasional colored dot of city lights. It wasn’t St. Louis that was on the opposite side of the house. No, this view was mostly moonlit shadows in varying shades of lavender. It was lovely, but nothing compared to the spread if you tilted your head a few more degrees up.

“That’s incredible,” she said. Stars. A zillion beautiful stars spread like diamonds across the sky.

He smiled, his gaze caught by something else. Yes, the sky was incredible, but he looked at her face. Pink cheeks, red lips, and her hair fanning out from the wind. Beautiful. But what made the sight transcendent was her expression. Awe—stunned and reverent.

This land, this house, this view—it all combined into something magnificent. And if a ghost lived here, then he could understand it. Who would want to leave this?

Except in his mind, the question changed. Who would want to leave
her
? How could he ever want anyone but Megan? Having finally acknowledged his feelings for her, his emotional side apparently was going whole hog. Suddenly, Megan was perfection itself. She was what made an awe-inspiring view into something life changing. The sane part of him said the wine at dinner must have gone to his head and he needed to lie down until it passed.

While he struggled with his own feelings, she turned a slow circle, looking at everything with wide eyes. Then she ended up facing him, her lips parted on a sigh. “Oh Wyatt,” she whispered.

She held out her hand to him, and he crossed the last distance to her side. She stood in the wind, so he felt the cold cut through him. Without even thinking about it, he wrapped his arms around her, trying to shelter her from the elements. They were face to face, their mouths a few inches apart.

“Better?” he asked as he turned his back to the wind. He wasn’t over six feet tall, but he was broad. At a minimum, he could function as a wind break.

She nodded. Then she reached up, her fingers cold against his cheek, but he still felt her touch like a brand. Was it an invitation? There was a question in her eyes, and her body felt so perfect as she pressed tight into him.

Heat seared through his groin, and lust trapped his breath. His logical side made one last effort to keep him from making an irrevocable mistake, but he couldn’t stop himself. His head dipped down and hers stretched up.

Their mouths met in what he would swear was a flash of sparks. He was kissing Megan for real, and that was the most miraculous thing.

Lip to lip at first. Then fuller, hotter as he bore down and swept into her mouth. She opened to him, her own tongue bold and hungry. He’d wrapped his arms around her to shield her from the wind, but now he pressed her tightly against him, thrilled that her athletic body felt strong enough that he didn’t crush her. Then she flexed, her hips pressing into him. It was a blatant invitation. And in case he missed it the first time, she did it again in what had to be a demand.

He growled, deep in his throat. It was a sound he’d never made, but it roared up from his most primitive soul. He gripped her tighter, bending her backward enough that he could plunder her mouth, her face, and down to her neck. His hands slid down to grip her hips, and he thrust his groin against her in a mindless tempo. Hard thrust. Powerful grind. Once. Twice.