Dream of You (2 page)

She got up and kissed her mom on her cheek,
briefly so she wouldn't get upset by the familiarity. Sally still
smelled like her mother, even if she didn't remember who she was.
"See you later, Mom," she said as chipper as she could.

But her mom just sat there, unseeing.
Lost.

Lola watched for a moment before quietly
letting herself out. She brushed the tears from the corners of her
eyes and walked out. Screw sales and bestseller lists—she had to
write a kickass romance for her mom.

Sam pressed his forehead against the cool
surface of the desk, his hands crossed over the back of his skull
to keep his head from exploding.

Too much tequila last night. He should've
known better than to drink so much. He was frickin' thirty-four
years old—he should've had enough common sense by now to know that
tequila only made him reckless.

Amanda last night: case in point.

At least he hadn't slept with her. What
little common sense he did have prevented that mistake. He shook
his head, then moaned and stopped before his brains spilled onto
the desk.

Not that he had much in that department, in
his opinion. The evidence was stacked against him:

1. At the age of twenty-two, he'd accidentally
   gotten his girlfriend Chelsea pregnant on the same night he
   accepted his first pro-football contract.
   

2. He'd married Chelsea, because that was what a
   man did, and they'd had Madison some months later.
   

3. He'd wrecked his promising football future at
   twenty-three, by blowing out his knee skiing.
   

Marriage had been... not good. Whoever said
it was better to have loved and lost was a jackass.

He'd had delusions of what love was like, and
he tried to live them out with Chelsea. It'd been pointless. She'd
loved his potential football stardom more than she'd loved him.
When that was gone, so was all pretense of affection.

Fortunately, that horror had ended three
years ago. Madison was the only good thing to come from it—the only
good thing in his life.

Unfortunately, Chelsea knew he felt that way
so she constantly messed with him. Like yesterday, when he was
supposed to pick his daughter up to take her out for her
birthday—until Chelsea decided that wasn't convenient for her.

It tore his heart not being with Madison,
especially on her birthday. Especially when he'd promised.

The door of his office screeched like it was
a crypt gate opening.

He waved a hand blindly over his head. "Go
away."

Something dropped onto his desk. "Taylor," a
stark feminine voice said.

Just when he thought life couldn't get
worse...

Of course, this thing with Jennifer was his
fault too. The product of another insanely bad decision. You don't
shit where you eat, and you don't screw your boss.

But he had.

"Drink the coffee," she ordered.

Something hot touched his arm. He lifted his
head enough to see the mug before him. "Is it poisoned?"

"I wouldn't put you out of your misery that
easily."

"True." Gingerly, he sat up and took a sip.
It went down hot and soothing, and for a second he was incredibly
grateful to Jennifer.

Then she spoke. "What was last night's name?
Monica? Jessica?"

Jennifer's voice held an edge that made his
head throb harder. But he couldn't blame her—he'd been a jerk to
her. Not that he'd made her any promises, but he should have known
better than to go there with a woman like her. She wanted hearts
and flowers and candles, and he was done with that bullshit.

The only reason he'd gotten personally
involved with her was because he'd had too much tequila that night
too, and Jennifer had been kind and willing to listen. She'd been
warm to hold, and it'd been so long since anyone had been sweet to
him...

"Well?" she asked archly, perching primly on
the edge of his desk.

"There was only Don Julio," he replied in a
croak.

"Obviously you two don't get along." She
studied him like he was lower than dirt. "You're pathetic," she
finally declared.

No kidding. Thirty-four, a failed marriage,
and an eleven-year-old daughter he only got to see when his ex was
feeling benevolent. At least his career was going strong.

"I've decided to change your programming,"
Jennifer said.

He sat up as abruptly as his pounding head
would allow. "What?"

"I'm changing your time slot and
programming."

He couldn't say anything for a second, he was
so taken off balance. "Why? My ratings are solid. Management would
never go for that."

"They already have. We need you to bump up
ratings for a different segment. I assured management you were the
perfect man for the job."

"Which segment?"

"The love hour."

"
No
." He set down the mug with a
clank
, not caring that the hot coffee sloshed onto his
hand.

"Yes." The smirk on Jennifer's face was pure
evil. "As of Friday night, Touchdown Taylor is going to be
Touchy-feely Taylor."

He gaped at her, waiting for her to say she
was just jerking him around. God knew he deserved it after the way
he'd treated her. Still—this was his career. It was the only way he
remained connected to football. It was the way he made sure Madison
had everything she needed, from the necessities to therapy so she
wouldn't be scalded from the divorce. "I know I wasn't nice to you,
Jennifer—"

"You were a bastard," she corrected
mildly.

He nodded. "I was a bastard. A total bastard.
But this is my career. I can't just change and start doing, what?
Relationship counseling?"

"Of course you can't. You don't know what
relationship
means."

"Okay." He relaxed. "So we agree."

"But you
are
going to host
Ladies'
Night
, our new segment dedicated to all things love and
romance." Her grin was pure satisfaction. "I told management you
were the perfect guy for it, what with all your experience with
women."

"You're an evil woman."

"I know," she said gleefully, swinging her
legs.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Because I like seeing you squirm."

He knew she'd been upset when he hadn't
wanted to see her after that one night they'd had, but he hadn't
realized she'd been so badly hurt. Part of him was glad she was
punishing him this way. He deserved it. "I didn't mean to treat you
callously, Jennifer. I regret it if you took it that way."

All the starch dissolved from her and he saw
the lovely woman he'd shared that one evening with. "I know,
Sam."

"Then why are you doing this?"

"To save you from yourself. To teach you
about love."

"Yeah, but
why
? Why would you care? It
doesn't make sense."

"Because underneath the arrogant bastard
exterior, there's a nice guy, and I think he deserves a chance."
She shrugged. "Maybe you remind me of someone. Maybe I don't want
another woman to be hurt by you. Maybe my dad was brought down by
alcohol. Maybe it's a combination of all that."

"You're crazy."

"Maybe that's part of it too."

He shook his head. "I'm not going to learn
about love on the radio."

"You have to, because I'm not letting you go
back to your sports talk segment until you do." She hopped off his
desk. The clack of her heels on the floor sounded like a time bomb
for his career.

"What if I quit?" he called after her.

She looked over her shoulder as she opened
the door. "You can't quit. We own you. You still have three years
on your contract. Besides, where would you go, even if you could
get out of your contract? New York? Chicago? The only other
stations that can afford you are in big cities, and we all know how
vested you are in staying in San Francisco."

To be close to Madison. He glared at
Jennifer.

She had the grace to look remorseful. "It's
for your own good, Sam. You'll see. You start Friday. Your first
guest is a local author. Lola Carmichael. She writes romance
novels."

"Roman—"

But Jennifer was out the door before he could
finish his thought.

Hands at his temples, he leaned back and
tried to sort things out in his muzzy head.

Man's man Touchdown Taylor was now hosting a
love segment called
Ladies' Night
until his boss decided he
was suitably in love with someone. And there wasn't a damn thing he
could do about it.

How messed up was that?

One thing he knew for sure: he and Don Julio
were definitely never meeting up again.

He walked into Grounds for Thought at
precisely 6:15am, just like every morning.

And just like every morning in the few weeks
since she started working there, the second Kristin saw him
striding toward the counter—toward
her
—the voice inside
whispered,
I want him
. Her heart beat faster, her fingers
twitched, and something deep and low went all fizzy with
excitement. She stood up straight and alert, smiling even though
she wasn't a morning person.

It was so strange, because he wasn't her
type. Usually she went for techie hipsters—pretty men in skinny
jeans.

This man was nothing like the men she'd known
before. He wasn't classically beautiful, but he was manly and it
turned her on. He oozed sex, and she wanted him to ooze sex all
over her.

If only she knew his name. She'd seen him
every morning she worked, but she hadn't been able to find a smooth
way to introduce herself.

"Hey there," she called out before he reached
the counter. "Your usual? Coffee and a scone, to go?"

"Yes, please," he replied, fishing his wallet
out of his pocket.

His sleep-husky voice always sent a shiver up
her spine. She stared at him, at his strong hands that seemed
capable of
everything
, and sighed. He was always dressed
impeccably in a suit tailored to fit his marvelous form. Everything
about him was neat and deliberate, from the top of his trimmed head
to the tip of his polished shoes. And he looked at a person like he
could see all the way inside.

She wanted him to do more than see inside
her—she wanted him all the way in.

Her female parts tingled in accordance.

Why he turned her on so much, she had no
idea. But she knew he was the man to give her what she wanted most
in this world: a baby. She could feel her aging eggs cheering her
on.

First, his name. After that, she'd ask if
he'd donate his sperm to the cause.

"My coffee?" he prompted, holding the money
out further.

"How about me instead?"

His brow furrowed. "Excuse me?"

She smiled brightly, mentally chiding herself
as she gave him change. "Your coffee, of course."

Knowing he was a stickler for time, she got
his order together quickly and handed it to him.

"Thank you," he said. You could tell a lot
about people by the way they treated the people who served them,
and he was always polite and respectful.

She liked that. She liked him. She leaned her
hips against the counter. "You know, you come in every morning and
I don't know your name."

"Robert Cray. Rob."

Even his name turned her on. "I'm Kristin,"
she said, holding out her hand.

His palm slid against hers, an electric tide
of sensation. She pulled him closer. What would he do if she kissed
him, right there and then?

He'd think she was insane, based on the way
he was looking at her. She grinned at herself and let him go. "Nice
to meet you, Rob."

He stared at her in a quizzical way. Then he
nodded and left.

She sighed again, watching him stride out the
door. She yearned for him.

She yearned for his sperm.

"You're drooling," Eve said, coming around
the counter with a tray of hot muffins.

"Can you blame me? The scenery here is
mouthwatering."

Eve laughed as she set the tray aside. "I was
exactly that way about Treat. He'd come in every morning for a
mocha, and I'd want to serve myself up to him instead."

Kristin stared out the window, down the
street where Rob had disappeared. She was going to offer herself to
him, she decided then and there. She hadn't gotten to where she was
by shying away from challenge. "And now look at you. Your wedding
is only a few weeks away."

Eve smiled brightly. "It's going to be the
event of the year."

"I know. I saw your guest list." Eve had even
invited her, and they'd only known each other a short time.

"We wanted everyone to be included. You only
get married once. At least, that's what we're banking on."

"I have no doubt you and Treat will be joined
forever," Kristin said, positive to the core. The only other
cohesive couple she'd seen was her parents.

She'd always assumed her parents were an
anomaly, and all her attempts at relationships had only reinforced
that belief, hence her decision to forego the struggle of a partner
and just have a child. But now, seeing Eve, she wondered...

She thought of Robert Cray and tried to
picture being with him. It wasn't hard. It involved a lot of
sex.

There were worse things.

One thing was certain: she'd made a good
decision coming to work here. She'd needed to get out and meet
people—men, specifically. Staying home and aimlessly fiddling with
her computers wasn't going to get her any closer to having a baby.
Laurel Heights had seemed like a good neighborhood to meet smart,
successful men. "I knew working here was the right decision for
me."

"I'm happy to have you." Her boss squeezed
her arm. "I may want to hire someone else, too, so if you have
friends who're looking let me know."