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Authors: Kathy Lyons
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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
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
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