Barbara Dunlop - Too Close To Call

“Ashley?” His voice was husky against her ear, the soft puff of air erotically tickling her sensitive skin.

He was awake. She turned her head and smiled into his dark, sexy eyes. They were going to make love again, and this time she was going to savor every second.

“You want me to take you home?” he asked.

Home? She shook her head. No way. Not before they made love again.

She tipped her chin, hoping he’d reach out with those big, strong hands and stroke her face.

“Coffee?” he asked. “Or maybe breakfast? It’s nearly six.”

“Are those my only choices?” she mumbled in the sexiest voice she could muster.

“What other choices do you want?” There was a hint of laughter in his tone.

Ashley was about to tell him in bald terms just exactly what choice she was looking for.

But, suddenly, the hotel room vanished, replaced by a computer screen. Jeffrey wasn’t in her arms in a fantasy bedroom on the oceanfront. He was leaning over her in the Argonaut computer lab.

Icy mortification washed through her. He was waking her up from a catnap and she was about to proposition him.

“Coffee sounds good,” she choked out. Coffee. Followed by a long cold shower, and a stern lecture about curbing her fantasy life.

“Want me to bring it here, or you want to go out and grab some breakfast together?”

“What time is it?” She straightened up in the padded chair.

“Nearly six,” he said.

She lifted her hand to her forehead, combing back the fine hairs which had worked their way loose from her braid. Checking her skirt and short-sleeved sweater she made sure everything was in the right place.

Two hours? She’d been asleep for two hours?

As the implication sunk in, her gaze flew to her computer screen. He could have done anything in two hours. He could have read her whole presentation. He could have erased it or sabotaged it.

“The answer is nothing,” he said dryly.

“I didn’t say a word.”

“It’s written all over your face.” He straightened. “I’m an honest man, Ashley. I want to win, but not at the cost of my principles.”

Principles? Ashley blinked. That wasn’t a word bandied about in the L.A. television industry very often.

She honestly didn’t know whether to believe him or not.

“Besides, if I betrayed you while you slept, there’s nothing you can do about it now. Let me buy you some bacon and eggs.”

“I don’t eat meat.”

“Then, let me buy you pancakes and fruit. Not to brag or anything, but you’re going to need your strength if you’re going up against me.”

As Ashley stared into his eyes, the sensations from the dream burst back through her mind, making her shiver with the memory. She’d felt so safe in his arms. More safe and loved and cherished than she’d ever imagined possible.

“You okay?” he asked.

She nodded, squeezing her eyes shut, reality warring with fantasy.

“Come on, sleepyhead.” He slipped an arm around her shoulders, strong fingers coaxing her up. His voice was a sensual rumble near her ear. “Let’s get you something to eat.”

Ashley yielded to the pressure of his arm. Yielded to the magic of her dream. Yielded to the charisma of the new Jeffrey. She allowed him to draw her into a standing position, her body brushing his broad chest.

Had he grown taller?

No. That was silly.

“When’s the last time you slept?” he asked, voice soft.

She shrugged her shoulders, making no move to pull away. “What day is this?” She gave a quick, nervous laugh.

He cocked his head, looking deep into her eyes for a long moment. Then something subtly shifted in his expression, and he quickly blinked.

His fingertips held her arm a little more tightly. “Uh. You better let me take you home to bed.”

Ashley drew a quick breath, her breasts brushing against him for a split second.

He didn’t mean…

Of course he didn’t mean that.

But, she had such a craving.

“Ashley?” He sighed her name, and his gaze darkened.

“Jeffrey?” she whispered back, subconsciously leaning in.

Just one little kiss. She just wanted a sample. Just a taste of what she’d missed in her dream.

His arm slipped to her waist and tightened around her. He shook his head and muttered something under his breath. Then he drew her cheek against the thin fabric of his dress shirt, rocking ever so slightly.

Something inside her shuddered, then settled, then sighed.

“This is bad,” he whispered against her hair, voice sounding strained.

He stroked his palm down her disheveled braid. His chest rose and fell with several deep breaths.

“Yeah,” she agreed, as the heat of his hand seeped into every single follicle.

“I cannot believe…”

She waited, but he didn’t finish the sentence. She tipped her head back so she could look him in the eyes. Her lips softened and her knees grew weak.

This was bad, but in such a good way.

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