Fran Lee - Out of Her Dreams

The rest of the afternoon went fairly quickly as another two hundred and forty books were whisked off the shelves and out of just-opened boxes and brought for her to sign. As the afternoon progressed, and news circulated that the cover model who had posed for her books had actually been none other than a real live professional wrestler with biceps the size of footballs and a body to die for, she found herself under a barrage of questions…and she had no honest answers.

She found herself avoiding answering questions about how she had met the infamous “bad boy” of the wrestling world. Most of these women had never even seen or heard of the man, just like her, but now they all seemed to know who he was and that he was allegedly the hidden inspiration for her larger-than-life hero, Chance Davis.

There were even a few die-hard wrestling fans standing in line for her novel by the end of the day and when the supply of new books was exhausted, they stripped the shelves of her older books, the earlier parts of the series. It amazed her that gossip travelled faster than the speed of sound.

She lifted her eyes to the face of a young man with rings through his nose and lip, who was grinning down at her. “You’re a fan of my romance novels?” she asked with a look of surprise.

The youth wagged his brows at her and grinned. “Nope but I’m a big fan of Chance Braza!” He indicated the face of her hero on the cover. “I bought the book for my girlfriend but I get to hang the cover on my wall.”

Chance Braza? So that was his pro wrestling name. She smiled wryly and signed the flyleaf, “To Chance’s biggest fan. Samantha Hastings”. He crowed and yelled back over the line to someone standing by the door, “I got it!”

Her day ended an hour and a half after the store had closed its doors for the afternoon. That was how long it took to clear out the crowd of waiting customers who had bought her books. After the last person had vacated the store, she sank back and massaged her aching hand and gratefully took the pair of painkillers Phyllis held out to her with a fresh glass of cool water.

“Well, that seemed like something straight out of the Twilight Zone .” She tried not to sound completely exhausted as she picked up her bag and jacket and shrugged into the sleeves.

“So, where are you going to meet him? You want me to go with you?” The woman’s hopeful eyes searched her face. “For moral support, I mean?”

Sam shook her head and pulled his card out of her bag, frowning at it as she pulled out her cell phone. “No. It’ll be all right. I think he just wants me to grovel a bit more. And I’ll happily grovel. Just pray he doesn’t decide to twist my head off.”

“You sure you want to go alone?” Phyllis asked.

Sam grinned at her and nodded. “I’ll be fine. After all, what the hell can the man do to me in the middle of a restaurant? All he can do is threaten and then call his lawyer, right? I doubt he’ll commit murder in front of a few dozen witnesses.” Besides, she wanted to see him again and she certainly didn’t want Phyllis there to stare and drool.

She dialed the number on the card and after several rings, the line clicked but there was no voice. Assuming his voicemail had picked up, Sam sighed with relief. Thank God! She would just leave him a message and maybe delay the meeting until she had time to consult with her attorney. “This is Sam Hastings, Mr. Chance. Sorry I missed you-”

“You didn’t miss me.” His deep, husky tone interrupted her speech.

“Oh. I thought I’d reached your voicemail.” Her pulse accelerated alarmingly. What a wuss. How pathetic could she be?

“I just finished up here and it’s a lot later than I expected, so maybe we can set an appointment for lunch tomorrow.” She bit her lip.

“No. Dinner. Tonight. Park Regency Hotel. Nine thirty sharp. Ask for me at the desk.” His line went dead and she bit her lower lip a bit nervously. She pressed the end button and put the phone away, meeting her business manager’s questioning eyes. She fought to conceal the flush of anticipation his words had sent racing through her.

“If I don’t call you by eleven, file for my insurance. And I want to be buried at sea. And don’t forget to feed my cat.” She figured a flip attitude might work here. At least she wouldn’t sound so desperately needy.

Phyllis made a wry face. “You think he might hurt you?”

“Only my pride and my bank balance. I was just joking.”

“Well, just try hard to make him see reason, okay? And if that fails, try a blowjob.”

Sam gave a short laugh of shock as she stared at the woman. “Phyllis!”

“Or tell him I will. Just call me and I’ll be there in a jiffy.”

“I don’t believe you just said that, you wicked, wicked woman.” Sam shook her head and grinned at her as she shouldered her bag. “See you tomorrow at the gym.”

“And I want all the gory details.”

So do I. Sam’s thoughts were hectic and hot, just like her body felt. Man, she had to get her brain back into gear here. She couldn’t afford to behave like she had in the stockroom. She had to maintain a businesslike facade of professional pride. Yeah. Sure. And remember not to drool all down his nice suit.

She glanced at her watch as she hailed a taxi. It was nearly eight. She had just enough time to go change into a decent dinner dress. The Park Regency boasted a four-star restaurant and she didn’t want to go all rumpled and bedraggled. She gave her address to the cabbie and as she sank back into the comfortable rear seat, she watched the traffic pouring past, her thoughts wandering treacherously back to those marvelous few minutes in the stockroom of the bookstore when she had actually relived her recurring dreams with a living, breathing, hotter-than-hell man who hadn’t seemed to mind one bit that she’d been mindlessly feeling him up.

Her cheeks burned at the memory of his calloused hands on her body, slipping up under her blouse to cup and gently squeeze her breast through the satin and lace of her bra. Cupping her ass cheeks as he’d pulled her against his thigh while she attempted to hump his leg like a horny puppy. Oh God. How completely embarrassing!

Her apartment was not far from the Park Regency. She probably could walk it in less than half an hour. She paid the cab driver and hurried up the steps to the front doors and swiped her card key to get inside. It took her less than twenty minutes to grab a quick shower and don fresh attire suitable for dinner. She looked at her hair and frowned. Her coppery red hair was so aggravating in its insistence on flying about her head like a wild thing. She brushed it smooth and dragged it into a conservative twist at the back of her head, securing the knot neatly with two Japanese carved faux-ivory chopsticks that she had bought because they looked like expensive Oriental hair pins.

A careful application of muted bronze lipstick minimized the size of her too-wide, too-full lips. She slipped her feet into a pair of four-inch heels so that she wouldn’t have to crane her neck to look him in the face again and she tucked her keys, some cash and the book he had bought into a smaller shoulder bag.

She glanced at her watch. Opting for a taxi again because walking in spike heels was a pain in the ass-and the feet-she left her cozy, safe apartment and headed for the elevator. She breathed a quick prayer to any deity or saint who might be listening to help her get through the next couple of hours with as little financial damage as possible, while keeping her head firmly attached to her shoulders and her feet firmly on the floor.

David glanced at his reflection in the cheval mirror over the dresser and ran one hand distractedly through his close-cropped dark hair. He didn’t know why he was so damn worried about his appearance. He shouldn’t care less if the woman thought he was attractive or not. He didn’t need to impress her.