Fantasy Man

One lie of omission could turn her wildest dream into a world of hurt.

Quinn Fontana never thought witnessing two murders would lead to her first taste of freedom. But when her overprotective brother puts her on a plane for L.A. to hide until it’s time to testify, she can’t stop the shiver of anticipation.

If her life is going to be cut short, she plans to live it to the fullest. And that includes seducing her intended protector—her brother’s best friend and star of her private fantasies.

When security consultant Reif Callaghan awakens after a rowdy night out with his coworkers to find a warm, willing woman in his bed, he’s almost past the point of no return when he realizes it’s Quinn. And he’s come way too close to debauching his best friend’s little sister.

Her enticing offer—one night, no holding back, no regrets—is a temptation he can’t resist. Until he realizes she’s been hiding a piece of vital information that could cost not only their one chance to turn fantasy into reality, but their lives.

Warning: Contains fantasy-come-true sex, get-it-out-of-their-system sex, angry-as-hell sex, and on-the-run sex. Also, accidental ferret-napping. Asthmatics are advised to load up on antihistamines before reading.

Fantasy Man

Barbara Meyers

Dedication

For Bill

Every woman deserves her very own fantasy man

Chapter One

Quinn was having that dream again. That delicious dream about being in bed with
him
. She snuggled closer to the heat radiating from his body and slid her hand across his chest. This is how she wanted to wake up every morning. Next to a man who turned her on without even trying.

She slid her leg against where his should be, meeting solid flesh covered with hair that tickled her calf and the inside of her thigh. She sighed in her half-sleep. This was exactly what she imagined he’d feel like in her fantasies. Solid. Muscled. The heat from his skin chasing away the early morning chill from hers.

She pressed her nose against…his shoulder?…and smiled. She could smell him. She breathed in his scent. A faint hint of soap from his last shower, but underneath that, it was pure masculinity. How had she conjured this up? In her usual fantasy she couldn’t smell him or even feel his skin.

She smiled and pressed her lips to that imaginary skin. Opened her mouth for a taste.

Could she just stay here drinking in his scent, absorbing the texture of his skin forever? She could imagine nothing more appealing unless there was more of him to explore. Could she possibly conjure up an entire man instead of just disconnected bits and pieces?

What if he had a face and—and hair? Eyes and a nose and feet! What if she could picture a whole physical specimen? Maybe he’d have a brain and a heart and a soul and a name even! She could quit calling him Fantasy Man and—

The shoulder moved. That had never happened before. No matter how much she drank, no matter what time she found herself suspended in this half-awake dream-like state, Fantasy Man never moved unless she moved him. And even then it was only in her mind.

Not only did the shoulder move, so did his chest and his leg. Fantasy Man came to life and he began to touch her everywhere she longed to be touched, using his lips and hands and every part of his body to bring her pleasure.

Quinn sighed as he did everything she’d trained him to do. His hand covered her breast, squeezed, caressed, teased the nipple into a sensitive peak. Lips grazed her shoulder, her collarbone; his body pressed up against her. Fantasy Man was anatomically correct and sported an even more impressive erection than usual. It rubbed against the crotch of her panties. She relaxed her thighs in welcome.

A couple of glasses of wine or a few beers the night before always enhanced these early morning dreams. She’d have to drink more often, she decided, as she remained in the state more asleep than awake, reveling in the vivid sensations her mind could make her body feel.

Fantasy Man peeled her panties off and she was more than happy to help him. She helped him! He pushed the thin cotton of her camisole above her breasts. He suckled her nipples, touched her between her legs and Quinn moaned in pleasure.

Please
, she prayed,
let me never wake up from this.
This dream was the best one she’d ever had. Never had Fantasy Man gone so far, never had she reacted so intensely, never had she—orgasmed. At least, not without some of her own help once she was more fully awake.

This time she rose to that peak courtesy of her dream. She didn’t want to wake up, didn’t want it to be over, didn’t want to know once again that it was only a dream. That there was no man making love to her, no man touching her, no man wanting her.

But wait. Something was off. Different. She struggled to open her eyes, to wake up. To figure out what it was. Because that hand on her backside did not belong to her.

Her climax was over but the dream wasn’t. The anatomically correct part of the body atop her still pressed at her core. Quinn fought the fuzzy thickness too many Coronas had left her with this morning.

Her eyes opened. Fantasy Man’s eyes were still closed, but she knew exactly who he was.

Her brother’s best friend, Reif Callaghan.

She’d had a long distance crush on him since she was fifteen. She’d thought, hoped anyway, that the time she’d be spending in his house would afford her the opportunity to get to know him. That maybe he’d be attracted to her, that maybe they’d do exactly what they were almost doing now.

She just hadn’t expected to be doing it the morning after she’d arrived, before she’d even had a chance to announce her presence in his home and in his bed.

This was bad. Really bad. She should say something. Wake him up. Tell him to stop. But, oh my God, it all felt so good. Everything she’d ever imagined about being in bed with this particular man was being exceeded.

The truth? She didn’t want him to stop. Right or wrong.

Except he had stopped.
Whyyyyy?
How dare he! Had he fallen asleep right in the middle of her now very real fantasy?

He nuzzled her neck and mumbled unintelligibly. So he wasn’t asleep. But he wasn’t exactly awake, either. She had a rule for Fantasy Man. He always finished what he started and dammit this morning would be no different.

Her legs and arms were already locked around him. It was a simple matter to roll with him so she was on top. She knew she was taking advantage of him, of the situation, and her conscience tried to warn her, but she shut it up by maneuvering herself until he was completely and deeply inside her.

She groaned in satisfaction. Shock and delight set in as she realized that while she’d always been in control of Fantasy Man, she’d never taken control of him like this.

He opened his eyes and muttered something she couldn’t understand. She sincerely hoped he wasn’t trying to say something like, “Get off me.”

She put her lips next to his ear. “Want me to stop?” When he didn’t answer, she covered his mouth with hers, recreating that undulating rhythm exploring and teasing his tongue with hers.

Fantasy Man had turned into Reality Man! She felt drunk on the power, on the knowledge that, at least for now, she had Reif Callaghan right where she wanted him.

Oh!

He grasped her hips, slightly changing his position and hers as well. He slid against a very sensitive area down there. She wanted him to do that again. He did. “Oh!” she said aloud.

Stop this right now!
her conscience screamed, while her body asked,
Are you crazy? Don’t even
think
about stopping.

“Oh!” she repeated, that feeling building inside her again. No. Impossible. Even in Fantasy Land with Fantasy Man she never came twice.

“Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh…”

He’d redirected his attention to her breasts, rolling the erect peaks between his fingers, first one then the other, while his mouth explored her, finding that sensitive place just below and behind her ear, all the while, his lower body kept pushing her further and further toward the brink.

Without warning he rolled her over and picked up the pace, driving against her again and again and again, moving so hard and fast she could hardly keep up. The image of a herd of thundering mustangs came to mind, running wild and free taking her with them, higher and higher before she crashed in a spiraling mind-shattering climax. Their bodies clenched together, spasming, out of control, spinning, letting go. Fantasy Man collapsed on top of her.

“Damn,” he muttered against her hair.

He stayed there while the seconds ticked by. Quinn tried to wrap her mind around what had just happened. How she had made it happen. How much she had
wanted
it to happen. The musky scent of sex hung in the air. Only a thin sheen of perspiration separated them.

Fantasy Man finally picked up his head and stared at her with piercing green eyes. He said exactly what she knew he must be thinking.

“Who the hell are you?”

Chapter Two

The fantasy evaporated and reality set in with a glacial chill. At that moment she knew she’d done something that would have consequences far beyond her own selfish motives and momentary pleasure.

Her actual memories of Reif Callaghan were blurry at best. Tony and Reif had been roommates at FSU for four years, but to Quinn, five years their junior, Reif had been unattainable. She had certainly been beneath his notice. Still her ridiculous crush had only grown more intense on the rare occasions their paths had crossed. The last time was five years ago in Tallahassee when he and Tony had graduated.

She wasn’t quite prepared for such intense scrutiny from those eyes of his. Not with his naked and slightly sweaty body still atop hers. Not with her camisole pushed up to her armpits.

What had she done?

She struggled beneath him, wanting to get away, to push the memory of what happened between them out of her mind.

Liar,
her subconscious replied.
You don’t want to forget this. Not now. Not ever.

Maybe not, but she’d at least thought the first time she had sex this fantastic it would be with somebody who knew who she was. Someone who
wanted
her
.

He repositioned himself as she wiggled out from under him, yanking her camisole down as she went.

“Hey, wait a minute, how’d you—” Reif put his hand on her waist.

She shot up. “Get your hands
off
me.” She wondered how effective her tone was considering that, like the rest of her, her voice was a little shaky. So many emotions were zipping through her at the moment, she wasn’t sure which one to feel first. Fantasy had collided with reality in a way she still couldn’t process. Not with him there, naked, looking for answers she didn’t have.

Reif sat up, the sheet pooling below his waist.

Quinn found her jeans on the floor and yanked them on. The hell with her panties. She wasn’t going to waste time looking for them
now
.

“I just—would you—did I—”

She didn’t wait around to hear whatever else he had to say and she certainly wasn’t going to be there when he got out of bed, leaving the sheet behind. She hightailed it down the stairs, not completely sure where she was headed, but knowing she had to get herself under control before she could face him again.

She skidded to a halt in the kitchen. What was she going to do now?
Oh God oh God oh God.
She’d done something stupid. Unforgiveable. Something she wouldn’t be able to take back. Ever. And she had nowhere to run.

She forced herself to breathe, to calm down and think. She needed to do something normal. Coffee. She’d make coffee. Surely a routine task like that would put everything back in perspective, or at least put things into some kind of context she could work with.

She knew from her search for sustenance last night that Reif’s cupboards were nearly bare. But he did have coffee and a coffeemaker. She set the brew cycle and contemplated the dark liquid as it dripped into the carafe.

She’d been annoyed when Reif hadn’t collected her from the airport yesterday. She’d waited near the baggage claim for over forty-five minutes, giving him and the famous LA traffic the benefit of the doubt. She had no way to contact him. Her brother Tony didn’t want anyone to have a way of tracking her, like a cellphone. He’d assured her he’d contact Reif and Reif would be there because Reif would
never
let Tony down.

Only Reif hadn’t shown, so Quinn took a taxi to his house. When she’d ascertained that no one was there, she’d kinda-sorta broken in and made herself at home. By then she was starving and exhausted, but there was nothing to eat unless she wanted to make a meal out of grape jelly and ketchup.

Pissed and alone, she’d started in on Reif’s six-pack of Corona Light. She’d drank them all, letting the alcohol calm her while she explored the house.

Reif lived like a monk. The furnishings were spartan and there was only one bed, a king-sized one in what was obviously his bedroom. It would serve him right if he found his bed already occupied when he finally showed up. He could sleep on the couch.

Quinn had doffed most of her clothes and snuggled under the covers. The booze, lack of food and all around rotten day made her desperate for some kind of pleasurable relief. In her mind she’d let Fantasy Man have his way with her in a most satisfying and delightful manner until she fell fast asleep.

Her night of blissful slumber hadn’t ended with any of her problems solved, however. It had only created more.

Reif watched the woman depart, his state of shock growing.
What
the hell had just happened here? Where had she come from? Who was she? What was she doing in his bed? What the hell was he doing having unprotected sex with her?

Idiot
, he cursed himself. He stood up, dragging the sheet with him. He tugged it away and threw it back on the bed. A pair of pink panties fell to the floor.

He stared at them. His brain was about to explode with all the rampant thoughts running through it. Why had he drunk so much last night? A celebration, that’s why. After closing one of the biggest deals of his career, he’d let himself be talked into another round and then another and another until he was so far past his limit he’d had to take a cab home.

He’d come home alone, though. Of that he was fairly certain. He wasn’t in the habit of having one-night stands. Surely he’d remember that particular girl if he’d ever seen her before. Something vaguely familiar about her nagged at him. Who could forget that cloud of dark hair, those expressive brown eyes, that killer body?

“Pervert,” he muttered, disgusted with himself as he went into the bathroom. He braced himself above the sink, groaning at the reaction from his alcohol-laden brain. Pain exploded at his temples and behind his eyes. His mouth was like a ball of steel wool.

He splashed cold water on his face, making a mess around the sink and not caring. He was facing a potential disaster here. He estimated she weighed about a hundred and twenty pounds, and unless he missed his guess she was waiting downstairs for answers.

He ran damp hands through his hair, making it stand up in spikes. He checked himself in the mirror, not unhappy with what he saw. His eyes were a bit bleary and bloodshot, but other than that, he looked like he always did—just enough of a tan, in pretty good shape for a guy pushing twenty-nine. He wasn’t what you’d call dedicated, but he worked out a couple times a week, played tennis and sailed whenever he got the chance.

He dumped ibuprofen into his palm and took it without water. This was LA. No one drank water from the tap.

He yanked on a pair of beat-up jeans and a white T-shirt. Like a man sentenced to death but still not quite believing in his fate, he stuffed the panties in his pocket and started down the stairs.

He stared at the pot of coffee that was already brewed, its fragrance wafting beneath his nose even as he reached for a mug. The light on his answering machine was blinking double time. Usually he got messages on his cell phone or through his office. Nobody called him on his landline.

He listened to the playback as he dumped sugar and cream into his mug.

“Hey, man. I just put Quinn on a plane. I know it’s short notice, but things got out of hand here. Trust me, it’s important. She gets in at six o’clock on Delta. Flight 687. I’ll call your office, make sure you get the message. You take good care of my baby sister, now, you hear?”

“Oh, God.” Reif leaned his elbows on the counter and dropped his head in his hands as the machine bleeped and the next message played.

“Hey, Reif, it’s Marty. Some guy called, but wouldn’t leave his name. Said his sister is flying into LAX today. Delta flight number six eighty-seven. Gets in at six. He wanted to make sure you knew. I told him you were unreachable at the moment, but I’d pass on the message. He said he called your cell, so maybe you got it off your voice mail. Okay, that’s it. It was pretty quiet here this afternoon, nothing going on that can’t wait until Monday.”

His assistant’s cheery voice faded and Reif groaned again. He went to the table in the hallway where he’d dropped his keys, wallet and cell phone last night. He powered the phone on and listened to an almost verbatim repeat of Tony’s previous message.

Great. Now he knew who
she
was. Quinn, Tony’s younger sister. Five or six years younger to be exact. Which made her twenty-two or twenty-three. No wonder she’d only seemed vaguely familiar. She’d been in her teens the few times he’d met her before, which made her strictly off limits. She’d certainly grown up since then.

Wonderful. Tony Fontana, his best friend since school, had entrusted the care and security of his baby sister—his only sister—to Reif. And Reif had fucked up big time.

Reif knew how protective Tony and his father Rocco, aka The Rock, were of Quinn. Rocco’s precious daughter, the apple of his eye, and Tony’s beloved sister. Any man who mistreated her was guaranteed a slow and painful death, Tony used to joke.

Except Reif knew he wasn’t joking. If Tony ever found out what had happened this morning, Reif would be so much dead meat.

Reif returned to the kitchen and chugged a bottle of water, delaying facing Quinn as long as possible. What was he going to say? There was no excuse for what he’d done, even if he hadn’t exactly been awake when he’d done it. He knew only too well how carefully Tony and Rocco had watched over that girl, and after her mother had died their vigilance only increased. They’d put the fear of God into every male within a twenty-five mile radius of Coral Bay, Florida. The fact that Tony was a cop, and Rocco was the county sheriff of that pretty seaside resort area, made the task of monitoring Quinn’s activities that much easier.

Reif poured coffee into a mug and carried it through the house, keeping an eye out for her. His place wasn’t that big; there weren’t many places she could hide.

Why assume she was hiding? Maybe she wanted to see him again.

Except he remembered all too well her earlier distress.
Get your hands off me
, she’d said, although it had been a little late for that.

He opened the French door and stepped out onto the pool deck. The blue water in the small kidney-shaped pool was just beginning to reflect the early morning sun. She was there, half-hidden behind a section of lattice covered with overgrown bougainvillea. He made a mental note to tell the landscaping guy to trim it next time he was over. She’d made herself comfortable in one of the four cushioned chairs which surrounded a glass-topped table. She clutched a coffee mug in both hands, her brows slightly knit in puzzlement as she stared at the pool.

He hesitated, unsure of his welcome. Then again, it was his house. What was she going to do? Kick him out?

He approached the table. She glanced up, but he couldn’t meet her gaze. He set the pink panties on the table next to her, then pulled out a chair and sat down, hanging on to his own coffee mug for dear life.
Now what?
An apology would hardly cover what he’d done.

She ignored the crumpled underwear. “It’s cool out here,” she said, still staring at the water.

“I can get you a jacket.” Reif half-rose from his chair but she waved him back.

“No, no, I’m fine. I guess I’m surprised. I think of California as being warm all the time, just like Florida. Only if I were home the humidity would be building, the mosquitoes would be after me and it’d already be in the mid-eighties.”

Reif tried a smile. “I remember those Florida summers. You’d walk outside and feel like you were underwater the air was so heavy. The rain used to pour down day after day.”

“According to The Mamas and The Papas, it never rains in southern California.”

“Oh, it rains. Occasionally. But not like summers in south Florida, that’s for sure.”

The weather? They were talking about the weather? How perfectly inane. Someone had to bring up the fact that there was an elephant wearing hot pink panties wading in the pool.

He slid a glance her way. She took a sip of coffee and seemed remarkably calm. Now was as good a time as any.

“I’m sorry—” he began.

“Thank you—” she said at the same time.

Their gazes collided. She smiled. He frowned.

“You’re sorry?” she asked.

“You’re thanking me?” Again they spoke in unison.

She waved a hand. “You go,” she said at the same time he said, “You first.”

They each nodded.

“I—”

“I—”

She giggled and it was a sound like the tinkling water of a fountain, full of merriment. It was the last thing he expected to hear.

Reif tried again. “I thought…” This time she didn’t interrupt, but looked directly at him. Her eyes held a mischievous glint that should have put him on alert.

He focused over her shoulder for a moment. “I thought,” he repeated, “you’d be angry with me. That you were angry. Upset. You know…earlier.” He felt himself reddening in embarrassment. This wasn’t coming out right. He ran his fingers through his hair. “Hell. I’m sorry, okay? I’m so goddammed sorry about what happened—that you—that I…” Words failed him. She appeared to be amused at his inability to adequately express how he felt.

“It’s okay—”

“It’s not okay. I took advantage of you—”

“Oh, please! You did not!” she replied. “I’m to blame—”

He shook his head, having no problem holding her gaze now. “No. Don’t even go there. You are not to blame. I wasn’t thinking. I wasn’t even awake. I didn’t know what I was doing.”

Her grin widened. “Really?”

“Look, I have this condition,” Reif began.

Quinn raised an eyebrow. “Out of control libido?”

“No. Jesus. No. I can control myself, okay?”

“Rats.”

“It’s similar to sleepwalking. Sometimes it is sleepwalking. Alcohol, and I had a lot of it last night, aggravates the symptoms.”

“What are you saying?”

“That it might seem like I’m awake to someone else. I might act like I know what I’m doing. I could even carry on a conversation, but—”

“You’re actually asleep,” Quinn finished for him.