As the last spasm began to fade, I reached back to touch him, to make him feel even a sliver of what I was feeling, and the dream fractured, cracking around the edges with an audible crack.
"What's that?" I asked, my skin cooling rapidly.
Both his hands returned to my waist. "I don't know. I don't even know your name."
I turned toward him, my eyes wandering from his muscular chest and shoulders up to his face and those intensely blue eyes.
Then, I whispered the words I'd wished I'd said back at the grocery store. "I'm Merry."
His hands tightened on my waist. "Why did you run away from me?"
"I was afraid."
"Of me?" He shook his head. "I would never hurt you. Never."
"I was afraid of myself. What I was feeling," I answered.
"What did you feel?"
"Overwhelmed." Feeling more confident in the dream than I did in real life, I reached up and touched his cheek, smiling as he turned his face into my hand. "You call me beautiful, but I think that's what you are."
I learned then that his smile always started in his eyes, warming them and crinkling the corners before his mouth even began to curve. And as his lips moved, that dimple popped out. Before either of us could speak again, there was another audible crack and the dream shattered.
I opened my eyes and stared up at the ceiling, annoyed by the throb in my body and the fatigue that plagued me. Until I glanced at my phone and saw that I'd slept through my alarm by fifteen minutes.
Shit. I'd set it earlier than I needed to be up, but now I would have to rush a little. I almost wished I'd messaged Mr. Dumont back and told him that I could only do a phone or Zoom interview.
It was too late now.
At nine, I put the finishing touches on the small amount of make-up I wore and drank the last of the coffee I'd made in my hotel room. I managed to eat one of the two Pop-Tarts in the package I'd opened, but that was all my nervous stomach could handle.
I walked to the full-length mirror in the main bedroom, ignoring the memory of that erotic dream, and gave my outfit one more quick look. Though it wasn't exactly the professional image I wanted to project, I did look put together. I brushed a few crumbs from my blouse and grabbed my black tote bag. And turned away from the mirror and the image I could still see there of my naked body against Marcus' tanned skin.
According to Google Maps, it should only take me ten minutes to drive to the office building where I was meeting Mr. Dumont, but I wanted to be sure I had plenty of time to find a parking space and take the elevator to the correct floor.
It seemed destiny was still with me because I managed to park, find the building, and get upstairs in less than a half hour. Which meant I had to twiddle my thumbs for another twenty minutes and I would still be fifteen minutes early.
I went to the ladies' room, washed my hands, and touched up my lip gloss before I finally headed to the office suite Mr. Dumont listed and opened the glass door.
The man at the reception desk gave me pause. He wasn't young and not all that friendly. In fact, he looked like his face would crack and fall apart if he tried to smile.
His eyes were so dark that I couldn't differentiate between the pupil and iris. But it was the cold glint in those onyx depths that had my stomach jumping even more than it already was.
"Hi, my name is Merry Clarke. I have an appointment with Mr. Dumont."
He gestured to the chairs against the wall. "Sit."
My eyebrows lifted. It seemed his resting bitch face was an accurate representation of his personality.
He stared back at me, not even blinking, until I turned and walked away from his desk. He waited until I sat down before he picked up the phone on his desk and pressed a few buttons. I couldn't hear what he said, but I didn't need to. I focused on taking deep, slow breaths and tried to be discreet as I pressed a hand against my jumpy stomach.
I would calm down once the interview got started. I hoped.
"Follow me."
I glanced up from my study of the brownish-blue carpet and found the receptionist standing in front of me. Hmmm. Black hair and eyes that matched his black shirt, pants, and shoes. I imagined even his socks and boxers were black.
I bit back the smile that wanted to spread across my face because I didn't want him to think I was laughing at him because he was larger than he appeared when seated behind the desk. His shoulders were broad and his thighs bulged inside his slacks. Not only did he look angry, he was big enough to crush me like a bug.
