The Dream (Crosslyn Rise Trilogy) Read online

  She was without conclusions when the phone rang by her bed. Startled, she picked it up after the first ring, but the sudden stretch sent the books on her lap sliding down the silky fabric of her gown to the floor. She made a feeble attempt to catch them at the same time that she offered a slightly breathless, “Hello?”

  Carter heard that breathlessness and for an awful minute wondered if he’d woken her. A glance at his watch told him it was after ten. He hadn’t realized it was so late. “Jessica? This is Carter.” He paused. “Am I catching you at a bad time?”

  Letting the books go where they would, she put a hand to her chest to still her thudding heart. “No. No. This is fine.”

  “I didn’t wake you?”

  “No. I was reading.” Or trying to, she mused, but her mind didn’t wander farther. It was waiting for Carter’s next words. She couldn’t imagine why he’d called, particularly at ten o’clock at night.

  Carter wasn’t sure, either. Nothing he had to say couldn’t wait for another day or two, certainly for a more reasonable hour. But he’d been thinking about Jessica for most of the day. They had parted on good terms. He wanted to know whether those good terms still stood, or whether she’d been chastising herself for this, that and the other all day. And beyond that, he wanted to hear her voice.

  Relieved now that he hadn’t woken her, he leaned back against the strip of kitchen wall where the phone hung. “Did you get to school okay today?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Everything go all right? I mean, I didn’t get you going off on the wrong foot or anything, did I?”

  She gave a shy smile that he couldn’t possibly see, but it came though in her voice. “No. I was fine. How about you?”

  “Great. It was a really good day. I think you bring me good luck.”

  She didn’t believe that for a minute, but her smile lingered. “What happened?”

  Carter was still trying to figure it out. “Nothing momentous. I spent the afternoon in the office working on other projects, and a whole bunch of little things clicked. It was one of those days when I felt really in tune with my work.”

  “Inspired?”

  “Yeah.” He paused, worried that she’d think he was simply trying to impress her. “Does that sound pretentious?”

  “Of course not. It sounds very nice. We should all have days like that.”

  “Yours wasn’t?”

  She thought back on what she’d done since she’d seen him that morning. “It was,” she said, but cautiously. “It’s an odd time. I gave the final lecture to my German lit class, and I was really pleased with the way it went, but the meetings I had after that were frustrating.”

  Carter was just getting past the point of picturing her with her nose stuck in a book all day. He wanted to know more about what she did. “In what way?”

  “At the end of the term, students get nervous. They’re realizing that a good part of their grade is going to depend on a final exam, a term paper or both. If they go into these last two weeks with a solid average, they’re worried about keeping it up. If they go in with a low average, they’re desperate to raise it. Even the most laid-back of them get a little uptight.”

  “Didn’t you when you were in school?”

  “Sure. So I try to be understanding. It’s mostly a question of listening to them and giving them encouragement. That’s easy to do if I know the student. I can concentrate on his strengths and relate the class material to it. If I don’t know the student, it’s harder, sort of like stabbing in the dark at the right button to help the student make the connection.”

  Carter was quiet for a minute. Then he said, “I’m impressed. You’re a dedicated professor, to put that kind of thought into interactions with students. The professors I studied under weren’t like that. They were guarded, almost like they saw us as future competition, so they wanted us to learn, but not too much.”

  She knew some colleagues who were like that, and though she couldn’t condone the behavior, she tried to explain it by saying, “You were older when you started college.”

  “Not that much. I was twenty-three.”

  “But you were wise in a worldly way that was probably intimidating.”

  A day or a week before, Carter might have taken the observation as an offense. That he didn’t take it that way now was a comment on how far he’d come in terms of self-confidence where Jessica was concerned. It was also an indication of how far she’d come; her tone was gentle, conversational, which was how he kept his. “How did you know I was world wise at twenty-three?” She’d seen so little of him then.

  “You were that way at seventeen, and you were very definitely intimidating.”

  He thought back to those years with an odd blend of nostalgia and self-reproach. “I tried to be. Lord, I tried. Intimidating people was about the only thing I was good at.”

  “You could have been good at other things. Look where you are now. That talent didn’t suddenly come into being when you hit your twenties. But you let everyone think you had no brains.”

  “I thought it, too. I was messed up in so many other ways that no brains seemed part of the package.”

  Jessica wanted to ask him about being messed up. She wanted to know the why and how of it. She wanted to be able to make some sense of the person he’d been and relate it to the person he was now. Because this person was interesting. She could warm to this Carter as she would never have dreamed of doing to the one who had once been malicious.

  The irony of it was that in some ways the new Carter was more dangerous.

  “Are you still there?” he asked.

  “Uh-huh,” she answered as lightly as she could given the irregular skip of her pulse.

  He figured he was either making her uncomfortable by talking about the past or boring her, and he didn’t want to do either, not tonight, not when they finally seemed to be getting along. So he cleared his throat. “You’re probably wondering why I called.”

  She was, now that he mentioned it. A man like Carter Malloy wouldn’t call her just to talk. “I figured you’d get around to it in good time,” she said lightly. She wanted him to know that she was taking the call in stride, just as she’d taken his kiss in stride. It wouldn’t do for him to know that she was vulnerable where he was concerned.

  “Well, now’s the time. When I was driving back to town from Crosslyn Rise this morning, it occurred to me that it might help both of us if you were to see some of the other things I’ve done.”

  “I saw those sketches—”

  “Not sketches. The real thing. I’ve done other projects similar in concept to the one you want done. If you were to see them in person, you might get a feeling for whether I’m the right man for this job.”

  Jessica felt something heavy settle around her middle. “You’re having second thoughts about working here.”

  “It’s not—”

  “You can be honest,” she said, tipping up her chin. “I’m not desperate. There are plenty of other architects.”

  “Jessica—”

  “The only reason Gordon suggested you was because you were familiar with the Rise. He figured you’d be interested.”

  “I am,” Carter said loudly. “Will you please be quiet and let me speak?” When he didn’t hear anything coming from the other end of the line, he breathed, “Thank you. My Lord, Jessica, when you get going, you’re like a steamroller.”

  “I don’t want to play games. That’s all. If you don’t want this job, I’d appreciate your coming right out and saying so, rather than beating around the bush.”

  “I want this job. I want this job. How many times do I have to say it?”

  More quietly she said, “If you want it, why were you looking to give me an out?”

  “Because I want you to choose me,” he blurted. Standing well away from the wall now, he ran his fingers through his hair. “I’d like to feel,” he said slowly, “that you honestly want me to do the work. That you’re enthusiastic about my doing it. Tha
t it isn’t just a case of Gordon foisting me on you, or your not having the time or energy to interview others.”

  She was thinking that he wasn’t such a good businessman after all. “You’re an awful salesman. You should be tooting your own horn, not warning me off. Are you this way with all your clients?”

  “No. This case is different. You’re special.”

  His words worked wonders on the heaviness inside her. She felt instantly lighter, and it didn’t matter that he’d meant the words in the most superficial of ways. What he’d said made her feel good.

  “Okay,” she breathed. “I’m sorry I interrupted.”

  Stunned by the speed and grace of her capitulation, Carter drew a blank. For the life of him, he couldn’t remember what had prompted the set-to. “Uh…”

  “You were saying that maybe I ought to see some of the things you’ve done.”

  Gratefully he picked up the thread. “The best ones—the ones I like best—are north of you, up along the coast of Maine. The farthest is three hours away. They could all be seen in a single day.” He hesitated for a second. “I was thinking that if you’d like, we could drive up together.”

  It was Jessica’s turn to be stunned. The last thing she’d expected was that Carter would want to spend a day with her, even on business. Her words come slowly and skeptically. “Isn’t that above and beyond the call of duty?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You don’t have to go to such extremes. I can drive north myself.”

  “Why should you have to go alone if I’m willing to take you?”

  “Because that would be a whole day out of your time.”

  “So what else is my time for?”

  “Working.”

  “I get plenty of work done during the week. So do you, and you said you were coming up on exams. I was thinking of taking a Sunday when both of us can relax.”

  That was even more incredible. “I can’t ask you to take a whole Sunday to chauffeur me around!”

  “Why not?”

  “Because Sundays are personal, and this would be business.”

  “It could be fun, too. There are some good restaurants. We could stop and get something to eat along the way.”

  Jessica returned her hand to her chest in an attempt to slow the rapid beat of her heart.

  “Or you could shop,” he went on. “There are some terrific boutique areas. I wouldn’t mind waiting.”

  She was utterly confused. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

  “You don’t have to ask. I’m offering.” He was struck by an afterthought that hardened his voice. “Unless you’d rather not be with me for that length of time.”

  “That’s not it.”

  “Then what is?”

  “Me. Wouldn’t you rather not be with me for that length of time? You’ll be bored to tears. I’m not the most dynamic person in the world.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “You. When I was ten, you caught me sitting on the rocks, looking out to sea. You asked what I saw, and when I wouldn’t answer, you said I was dull and pathetic.”

  He felt like a heel. “You were only ten, and I was full of it.”

  “But Tom agreed. He thought I was boring, too. I’ve never been known as the life of the party.”

  “Sweetheart, a man can only take being with the life of the party for so long. Let me tell you, that can get boring. You, on the other hand, have a hell of a lot going for you.” He let the flow of his thoughts carry him quickly on. “You read, you think, you work. Okay, so you don’t open up easily. That doesn’t mean you’re boring. All it means is that a man has to work a little harder to find out what’s going on in that pretty head of yours. I’m willing to work a little harder. I think the reward will be worth it. So you’d be doing me a favor by agreeing to spend a Sunday with me driving up the coast.” He took a quick breath, not allowing himself the time to think about all he’d said. “What’ll it be—yes or no?”

  “Yes,” Jessica said just as quickly and for the very same reason.

  5

  Jessica had a dream that night. It brought her awake gradually, almost reluctantly, to a dark room and a clock that read 2:24 a.m. Her skin was warm and slightly damp. Her breath was coming in short whispers. The faint quivering deep inside her was almost a memory, but not quite.

  She stretched. When the quivering lingered, she curled into a ball to cradle it, because there was something very nice about the feeling. It was satisfying, soft and feminine.

  Slowly, even more slowly than she’d awoken, she homed in on the subject of her dream. Her reluctance this time had nothing to do with preserving a precious feeling. As Carter Malloy’s image grew clearer in her mind, the languorous smile slipped from her face. In its place came a look of dismay.

  Jessica had never had an erotic dream before. Never. Not when she’d been a teenager first becoming aware of her developing body, not when she’d been dating Tom, not in the long years following the divorce. She wasn’t blind to a good-looking man; she could look at male beauty, recognize it, admire it for what it was. But it had never excited her in a physical sense. It had never buried itself in her subconscious and come forward to bring her intense pleasure in the middle of the night.

  Flipping to her other side, she shielded her face with her arm, as if to hide her embarrassment from a horde of grinning voyeurs masked by the dark.

  Carter Malloy. Carter Malloy, beautifully naked and splendidly built. Carter Malloy, coming to her, kissing her, stroking her. He’d been exquisitely gentle, removing her clothes piece by piece, loving her with his hands and his mouth, driving her to a fever pitch that she’d never experienced before.

  With a moan, she flipped back to the other side and huddled under the covers, but the sheet that half covered her face couldn’t blot out the persistent images in her mind. Carter Malloy, kissing her everywhere, everywhere, while he offered his own body for her eager hands and lips. In her dream, he was large and leanly muscled, textured at some spots, smooth and vulnerable at others, very, very hard and needy at still others.

  Sitting bolt upright in bed, she turned on the lamp, hugged her knees to her chest and worked to ground herself among the trappings of the old and familiar. To some extent she was successful. At least the quivering inside her eased. What she was left with, though, was an undertone of frustration that was nearly as unwelcome.

  She couldn’t understand it. She just wasn’t a passionate person. Lovemaking with Tom had been a part of marriage that she’d simply accepted. Occasionally she’d enjoyed it. Occasionally she’d even had an orgasm, though she could count the number of times that had happened on the fingers of one hand. And she hadn’t minded that it was so infrequent. Sex was a highly overrated activity, she had long since decided.

  That didn’t explain why she’d dreamed what she did, or why the dream had brought her to a sweet, silent climax.

  Mortified anew, she pressed her eyes to her knees. What if someone had seen her? What if someone had been watching her sleep? Not that anyone would have or could have seen her, still she wondered if she had made noise, or writhed about.

  It was something she’d eaten, she decided. Certain foods were known to stir up the senses. Surely that was what had brought on the erotic interlude.

  But she went over every morsel of food that had entered her mouth that day—easy to do, since she was neither a big eater nor an adventurous one—and she couldn’t single out anything that might have inspired eroticism.

  Maybe, she mused, it had to do with her own body. Maybe she was experiencing a hormonal shift, maybe even related to menopause. But she was only thirty-three! She wasn’t ready for menopause!

  The hormonal theory, though, had another twist. They said that women reached their peak of sexual interest at a later age than men. Women in their thirties and forties were supposed to be hot—at least, that was what the magazines said, though she’d always before wondered whether the magazines said it simply because it
was what their thirty-and forty-year-old readers wanted to hear.

  Maybe there was some truth to it, though. Maybe she was developing needs she’d never had before. She had been a long time without a man, better than eleven years. Maybe the dream she’d had was her body’s way of saying that it was in need. Maybe that need even had to do with the biological clock. Maybe her body was telling her that it was time to have a baby.

  Throwing the covers back, she scrambled from the bed, grabbed her glasses and, barefoot, half walked, half ran down the back steps to the kitchen. Soon after, she was sitting cross-legged on one of the chairs with an open tin of Poppycock nestled in her lap.

  Poppycock was her panacea. When she’d been little, she had hidden it in her room, because her mother had been convinced that the caramel coating on the popcorn would rot her teeth. Now that her mother wasn’t around to worry, Jessica kept the can within easy reach. It wasn’t that she pigged out on a regular basis, and since she didn’t have a weight problem, it probably wouldn’t have mattered if she had, but Poppycock was a treat. It was light and fun, just the thing she went for when she was feeling a little down.

  She wasn’t feeling down now, but frustrated and confused. She was also feeling angry, angry at Carter, because no matter how long she made her list of possible excuses for what had happened, she knew it wasn’t coincidence that had set Carter Malloy’s face and body at the center of her dream. She cursed him for being handsome and sexy, cursed herself for being vulnerable, cursed Crosslyn Rise for aging and putting her into a precarious position.

  One piece of popcorn followed another into her mouth. In time, she helped herself to a glass of milk, and by the time that was gone, it was well after three. Having set her mind to thinking about the material she had to cover in her Russian seminar that afternoon, she’d calmed down some. With a deep, steady breath, she rose from the chair, put the empty glass into the sink and the tin of Poppycock into the pantry, and went back to bed.