Jule Mcbride - All Tucked In…

“Yeah,” he agreed simply, taking a clipboard from under his arm as he turned away to seat himself on a settee opposite her. “It’s right out of a Stephen King novel. If you ask me, this mansion looks haunted.”

“Good for a dream clinic,” she offered.

“Only if you’re having nightmares.”

“Which I still am.”

“I can see that from your intake form.”

She could barely believe they were talking like two normal, rational people. No doubt it wouldn’t last long. Their only real conversation after she’d run from the altar had quickly degenerated into a screaming match. She wasn’t interested in having a replay. Neither was he. Ever since, on the rare occasions they’d spoken, the conversations had been brief and polite. They were adults, after all.

As he scanned down the form she’d filled out when she’d arrived, she took another look around the room, mulling over the details—a mosaic fireplace, crown ceiling moldings and ancient oil paintings. Original beaded lamps from the nineteenth century were perched on end tables, and the hammered bronze candelabra on the mantle looked like something Dracula might carry up a flight of stairs. Tobias was right. The mansion, which had been leased with most of its original furnishings, did look a little spooky, like something out of a horror story. “It’s not really scary,” she decided aloud.

“No,” he agreed. “Just old.”

She shifted her gaze to Tobias, sucking in a breath when pure lust blindsided her again. Past memories of their lovemaking came, as visceral and unwanted as the dreams that so often seemed real to her. She found herself recalling the strength in his legs as they’d glided along her thighs, and how the short silken strands of his chest hair could feel, teasing the sensitive skin between her fingers.

He’d changed in the past seven years. Oh, he was still the same heartthrob who’d stolen her attention in high school, when he was a track star and she was a member of the pep club. He had the same straight, hay-blond hair that he wore too long and that occasionally dipped into melting brown eyes. The same sexy light-brown dot of a mole beside lips that could kiss like the devil. The same burning, penetrating concentration that he brought to every task, including lovemaking. But a few lines had appeared around his eyes, and the skin over his high cheekbones seemed more taut, making him look more mature. Yes, any trace of the boy had definitely left Tobias Free. He’d grown up completely, into a man.

He glanced up from the intake form. “Is this everything?”

Suddenly, she wished he wasn’t being quite so businesslike, and that she was outfitted in something other than khaki pants and a T-shirt. Recently, she’d bought an emerald-green sundress, but she’d decided against wearing it, not wanting Tobias to think she’d dressed for him, if she saw him. It hadn’t occurred to her that he’d sit down and read her intake form. She fought the urge to reach and smooth her hair, the wild curly strands of which were frizzing in the heat. “Yes,” she said. “I really can’t think of anything else.”

“Before I show you to your room, I’d like to ask a couple more questions, if you don’t mind.”

He was showing her to her room? “Are you sure?” she managed, feeling more nervous by the minute. When she’d made the appointment, she’d convinced herself that she might not even see Tobias. “I mean…” She didn’t know quite how to say it. “I didn’t expect you to be involved in the…”

“Nitty-gritty? You know me better than that.”

“So, that’s how you think of me?” she couldn’t help but tease. “As the nitty-gritty?”

His eyes captured hers. “Hands-on, if you prefer.”

Heat slid through her veins again. He’d been hands-on in more ways than one. “I know how involved you are in your work,” she answered, wondering if he’d actually just flirted with her. It was impossible to tell from his tone. “I’ll be glad to answer anything I can, of course,” she quickly added.

“How often do you suffer insomnia?”

She shrugged. “Not often anymore.”

“Then why are you here?”

She’d forgotten that, too. He’d always gotten straight to the point. He was the same way in bed. He’d go straight for erogenous zones that sent her soaring. Suddenly, she wished she’d slept with some other man, if only once. That way, Tobias might not have such a hold over her fantasy life. “The dreams, when I do have them,” she forced herself to say, “seem more—” she searched for a word “—intense.”

“Intense?”

Like your melting brown eyes. “Yes.”

“And they still seem real?”

She thought of the other morning, when she’d been so sure that Jenna had planned to take the day off work. “Very. Sometimes, I find myself assuming things happened that really didn’t. For instance…” Furrowing her dark brows, she thought a moment. “The other day, when I saw Mrs. Domico walking her poodle, I was shocked because I’d thought Missy—that’s her name—had been dyed green.”

He laughed softly, and the sound warmed her blood. “Dyed green?”

She couldn’t help but smile as she nodded. “I know it sounds crazy. Who would dye a dog green, but—”

“Mrs. Domico,” Tobias interjected, thrusting the splayed fingers of a hand through his hair to get it out of his eyes. “From what I remember, she was just the type.”

Carla laughed appreciatively, but the sound died abruptly on her lips. Tobias remembered everything, even Mrs. Domico. Was he as plagued by memories of their passion? “Well, the dog hadn’t really been dyed green, of course. But as I passed Mrs. Domico on the street, I asked why she’d dyed Missy white again, instead of some other color. I said I thought she’d told me she was thinking about dying the dog blue, but…”

He quirked an eyebrow. “You actually had this conversation with Mrs. Domico?”

“Fortunately, people in the neighborhood are used to this quirk of mine,” she reminded him. As her eyes drifted over Tobias, she couldn’t help but suddenly frown.

He frowned back. “What?”

“Nothing,” she said, then changed her mind and shrugged, eyeing his clothes, “I guess I’m just shocked by how respectable you’ve gotten.”

“Sounds like resistance.”

“Resistance?”

“Yeah.” His lips turned upward, looking kissable. “Freud’s concept. As soon as we start to analyze your dreams, he predicted you’d shift the subject.”

She definitely wouldn’t want Tobias to analyze the dreams she could so easily have about him. His gaze caught hers, locked and held. “About the outfit,” he added. “Don’t let a sport coat and tie fool you, Carla.”

It wasn’t really fooling her so much as making her salivate. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in one.”

It was the wrong thing to say. She could have kicked herself instantly. All at once, the air felt bristly, as if someone had come along with a syringe and injected it with pure, one-hundred-percent porcupine needles. Because, of course, he had worn a tie before. A tux, too. On their wedding day. To make up for the faux pas, she said, “It looks good.”

Clearly fighting not to roll his eyes, he stared back down at the paper on the clipboard and resumed his businesslike tone. “Are the dreams the same?”

She nodded. “Yep. Ma insisted I try to get some help. I haven’t had the…uh, underwear dream for awhile, but it’s bothered me for the past few nights in a row.”

“Your mother told you to come?”

Was it her imagination? Or, for the briefest instant, had he looked disappointed? Had he hoped this was an excuse to see him again? She hesitated. “Yes.”