JILLIAN SAT AT her desk staring through the window
and seeing nothing. The full moon cast an odd blue haze on the
land, as if warning of trouble while the light of the candles lit
the room in a warm glow, but she couldn’t relax. Drawing her
attention back to the blank stationary, she sighed in
disappointment. The words wouldn’t seem to flow and she had very
little time left to make right what she’d done.

Clearing her mind, she took the pen in hand and
began writing…

A noise outside her window paused her. She waited
and her breathing grew loud in her ears.

Crack!

Her heart sped up and she quickly blew out the
light. Danger lurked outside, just as the witch had said would
happen.

Creaks sounded on the porch and she knew it would
only be a matter of seconds before she met death’s grip.

Grabbing the unfinished letter, and with shaking
fingers, she quickly folded it and tucked it inside her dress
pocket. Jumping up from the chair, she scurried to find a place to
hide but the crashing of the door made her stop. Hiding would be
useless. Her fate was written and she wouldn’t cower in fear.

She turned to stare through the shadows but saw no
movement. Heavy breathing echoed off the walls. “I know you’re
there. You’ll never get by with this,” she said.

“I already have.” A thick voice answered.

Taking several steps back, her shoulders struck the
wall. “You’ll die one day for your betrayal,” she hissed.

“Everyone must die, sweetheart. Too bad today is
your day.” There was laughter in his tone.

Jillian held her breath, listening…waiting. She slid
along the rough panel until a hand grabbed her arm and twisted.
Pain ripped through her limb and she bit her bottom lip to keep
from screaming. “I’ll come back for you. I promise,” she said
through clenched teeth. “I’ll see that you get what you deserve—” A
grip came on her neck as large fingers dug into her tender skin.
Her breath was lost. She brought her arms up and pummeled his
brawny chest, but it was like pounding a stone wall—even her kicks
made no difference against him.

Closing her eyes, Jillian accepted defeat and waited
for her life to end…

The tension released and she dropped to the floor.
Gasping for breath, she reached up and clutched her sore neck. The
ache was almost unbearable. Bringing her head upward, she saw his
outline in the moonlight. She cried out as he lifted his arm and
the crushing blow struck her head, sending her hard onto her
back.

Several minutes passed, her mind was fuzzy and her
breaths shallow. Her vision blurred. Blinking, she wiped the
wetness from her forehead but it was coming faster than she could
keep it from dripping into her eyes.

Weakness overcame her and her heartbeat slowed. The
light in the distance grew brighter, welcoming her, and the pain
eased. A sensation of complete bliss washed over her—the fog was
like a magnet drawing her into a rainbow. There was no resistance
left in her body.

A man’s face came to her—olive skin, pale eyes and
beautiful smile.

“Roark…” She smiled and he grinned. Lifting her
hand, she reached for him, but like a cloud, his image
evaporated.

Everything went dark…

Chapter 2

Colorado, Present Day

BRONTE SHERIDAN SAT down at her desk and closed her
eyes. Her headache wasn’t letting up. Pressing her fingers against
her temples, she wished the throbbing would stop. The door opened
and she looked up as her assistant walked in.

“Are you okay?” Fallon asked.

Bronte dropped her hands. “No. I’ve got this
headache again.” She reached into the top drawer, grabbed the small
bottle of aspirin, popped the lid and poured out two tablets.

“Good thing I brought you this.” Fallon handed the
paper cup to Bronte. “Caffeine in the middle of the day for a quick
pick-me-up. Call it a gift.”

“You’re a life saver.” Bronte swallowed the pills
followed by a gulp of heavily sugared and creamed coffee. “Thank
you.” Over the years, they’d become close friends and Fallon always
seemed to know how to help.

“Well, what’s the verdict with Gage?”

“Sore subject,” Bronte said as she looked up at the
pretty blonde. “I told him that I needed time. I can’t continue
with our engagement until I’m completely sure where my heart is.”
She noticed Fallon’s smirk. “What does that look mean?”

“You’ve been dating him for what? Two years is it?
And you’re not sure?” She shrugged. “That could be a sign.”

“Is one ever really sure about marriage? A lot of
people get cold feet,” Bronte said. “I know people who have been at
the alter three times and still sweat bullets.”

“Is that your father?” Fallon asked. Bronte nodded.
“You’re nothing like him. Some people go through marriages like
they do trash bags.
You
believe in love, even if you’ve put
your personal life on hold for work too many times. I remember once
you told me that you wanted a man who could sweep you off your
feet. The only sweeping Gage has done is in the stock market. In
fact, and I don’t think I need to point this out, you’ve had a lot
of headaches lately.”

“Lack of sleep.” Bronte laid her head back. “I had
that nightmare again—you know the one I told you about. The man.
The blood.”

“Yeah—the tall, dark, handsome stranger? Sounds like
a fantasy to me.” Fallon wiggled her brows. “I wish I had dreams of
sexy men. Mine consist of burping jerks with holes in their
underwear. I can’t get away from men like that in real life
either.”

“I wouldn’t mind the interruption on an occasional
night, but they’re intense and I wake up feeling distressed. It’s
the strangest thing. And as time goes by, they become stronger and
much more real.”

“I know what you need. A book that deciphers your
dreams. I could get you one.”

“Don’t bother. I’d rather keep this as simple as
possible. I’m having dreams without a purpose—nothing more.
However, if you have a book that describes a proven remedy for
insomnia, I’ll take it,” Bronte said.

“Good thing you’re going on vacation. That’s exactly
what you need. You’ll come back refreshed and transformed, with a
tan too. I’m glad you’re finally getting away and I’m sure your
clients will survive without you.”

Bronte watched as Fallon strolled across the office,
picked up the can from the windowsill and watered the plants. “You
should take them home with you.”

“Oh no, I have enough,” Fallon said with a shake of
her head. “And don’t worry, I’ll take care of your buddies while
you’re gone.” She lovingly patted a leaf.

“My buddies? If not for you, they would have died a
long time ago. Who in the world would gift plants anyway?”

Fallon lifted a thin brow. “The writer you
contracted a few ago, the one who has made you lots of money from
his best sellers.”

“Oh, right. Then keep them alive. By the way, when I
come back I think it’s time for us to talk about a promotion.”

Fallon spun on heel, her eyes wide. “For me? To
editor?”

Bronte smiled. “You’ve worked here long enough and
you’ve shown great instinct and capability. You deserve it. Now,
run along so I can finish these reviews. I’d like to catch my plane
this evening. The ocean is calling my name.”

With a new energy in her step, Fallon left, closing
the door behind her.

Bronte relaxed into her chair as a sinking feeling
swept over her. She’d be spending the week alone at a resort in
Cabo San Lucas.
Shouldn’t she be more excited?
After all,
who wouldn’t want to vacation in paradise? Truth was, she didn’t,
but her father had given her the trip for her thirty-second
birthday, which she believed was a guilt-gift. She knew them well
because she’d gotten a lot of them over the years. Maybe the time
away could help her clear her head.

Bringing her thoughts back to her task at hand, she
plunged into her work.

By five-thirty, Bronte had finished. She closed up
the folders, put them away and grabbed her briefcase, checking her
desk one last time before heading out.

The large, open outer room was quiet and the only
light came from the windows. A crack of thunder made her jump and
she peered outside. Rain fell in sheets. With a sigh, she dropped
her suitcase, went back into her office and hunted through a
cabinet for an umbrella. A rumbling sound made her pause in her
search.

Ding!
The elevator doors sounded.

Going to the door, she peered out, expecting to see
one of the office workers. Instead, two tall, burly men stepped
from the cubicle. She started to step out of sight but one of the
men spotted her. There was no other alternative but to acknowledge
them. “Can I help you?”

“Bronte Sheridan?” the taller man asked.

“Yes, but I was on my way—”

BOOK: Wicked Pleasures

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