Patricia Rosemoor - In Dreams

If she concentrated on the details, on the now, she didn’t have to deal with the future yet. She didn’t have to worry about psychic dreams that she maybe could or couldn’t change.

“I’m not used to a man feeding me,” she murmured as he filled her plate.

“What are you used to?”

“Having my dates take me to restaurants.”

“You must eat in lots of restaurants.”

“Only on occasion. Not serious eating, though,” she assured him. “Just experimenting to see what’s to my taste.”

She’d never met a man she’d wanted to date more than a few times. And there hadn’t been all that many of those, either. But she didn’t mind. She liked having men as friends. Better than their trying to hook up with her when she didn’t feel the vibe. She felt the vibe with Justin, all right.

A surreptitious look at him made her wonder what hooking up with him would be like.

Would reality have anything on her dreams? she wondered.

Or was Justin too good to be true?

She waited until they were both halfway through with their étouffée before she asked, “So what is it you do when you’re not fishing?”

He arched his eyebrows and asked, “How do you know that’s not the way I support myself?”

“Haven’t seen any fish around here.”

“Maybe I’m taking a few days off. It has been raining, in case you didn’t notice.”

“I noticed.” She poked her fork into a piece of crawfish. “So, you’re telling me you fish when you’re in New Orleans, too? And don’t try to deny you live there. Stephen told me you’re just visiting LeBaux.”

Justin’s smile drifted off. “Stephen ought to keep his mouth shut about what doesn’t concern him. At the moment, I haven’t decided if I’m going back to New Orleans or not. My time there didn’t prove to be all I had hoped for.”

Frustrated that he wouldn’t give her a straight answer, Lucy nevertheless decided to be satisfied with that. She didn’t want to keep probing if it would hit another nerve as she’d so obviously done. She was never going to see Justin again once she left here, after all. The dreams were still in the realm of fantasy. They couldn’t come true if she refused to have anything to do with Justin…the only way she could keep him safe.

Still, she was curious about just what Justin was doing out here alone in the bayou.

Hiding?

He certainly was complex.

He behaved as if taking care of a wounded woman was an everyday occurrence for him. He was gorgeous and entertaining, but beneath the charming facade, she sensed something different…something deeper and darker…something to which she responded to despite herself. Not that she liked being pushed around, even if it was for her own good. But that thread of steel in his veins when he wanted things his way had certainly surprised her.

Lucy remembered Justin saying something about the bayou hiding secrets. What secrets was the bayou hiding for him?

SOMETHING ABOUT Lucy Ryan got to Justin in a big way. No doubt it was the fact that she was a lady in distress and his natural proclivities were to help her. Especially now. He needed to feel right again.

But he wasn’t ready to go back to New Orleans.

He watched her clean her plate like she’d been starving. A woman with appetites, he thought, wondering about other things she might hunger for.

“There’s more on the stove.”

“I would be eating with my eyes rather than with my stomach.”

She had beautiful eyes. Large and gray and for the most part sincere so he could practically look right down to her soul. Rather he could, if he believed in souls. He wasn’t sure what he believed in anymore. Certainly not in himself.

He rose and started to clear.

“No, I’ll do it,” she insisted, making contact with his hand as she reached for the same plate.

He thought she might pull her hand back—she’d been a bit jumpy—but she stood still, staring at him, eyes wide open. His pulse shuddered as he read desire in them. And fear.

She was afraid of him.

He let go of the dish.

“All right. It’s all yours.”

Sitting back at the table, he couldn’t keep his eyes off her as she scraped plates into the garbage, then took them to the sink where a pan of soapy water awaited. He watched every movement of her hands—artist’s hands, smooth with long fingers and neat dark red nails—and wondered what they would feel like washing him. His instant erection told him he would like to find out.

Not that he could. Or would. He was no good to her. No good to anyone, not even himself. The way his life was going, he could get them both killed.

The knowledge didn’t stop him from fantasizing…from wanting to know every dip and curve of her body…from wanting to forget by losing himself inside her.

Justin shook himself. He was an idiot. He wasn’t going to solve anything with sex. What he needed was a therapist and a couple of years on the couch. And a new profession, one that didn’t get people killed.

“Done,” she said, moving toward him and drying her hands with a dish towel. “You don’t mind if I let the plates drain for a few minutes before drying them?”

“You’re supposed to dry dishes?” he asked lightly, as if that were news to him.

Lucy came closer. “You yanking my chain?”

He’d like to yank her chain and anything else he could get hold of.

Instead he said, “This place is casual. The only reason I don’t use paper plates is that it would give Mama a heart attack if she found ’em. She swears paper ruins good food.”

She cocked her head. “Do you always do what your mother expects of you?”

“Not always. A man has to have some say of his own. But I have to give her the plate issue, because I think she has a point.”

She reached over to wipe down the table and she was too close for Justin to ignore. He was filled with her woman’s smell, her disturbing presence. And he was weak, after all. A mere man. He reached out and circled her wrist.

Leaning over the table, Lucy stopped what she was doing and met his gaze. Justin saw something in her features that reflected what he himself was feeling. Hunger for something more than food. The emotions were stronger than the fear he’d sensed earlier.

With the sound of rain tap-tap-tapping overhead, he pulled her to him. She didn’t resist. A slight tug and she was cradled in his lap. They stared at each other for a moment more, a moment in which every fiber of his body stirred and responded to hers.

He wanted her, and unless he was out of his mind, she wanted him with equal craving.

“Oh, Lu-u-cille,” he murmured before hooking a hand behind her neck and pulling her face to his.

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