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The woman came to him from the shadows and he knew her by the red of her hair. She moved slowly, deliberately, toward him and he released his breath with satisfaction. He wanted to ask her where she’d been because he’d missed her.
But the closer she got the less he felt like talking.
As she stopped in front of him, he reached out and ran a finger down her cheek. She was achingly beautiful, especially her eyes. They were spectacular blue, a shade that perfectly complemented the auburn waves that fell past her shoulders. He wanted her. No, he needed her.
Her smile deepened, as if she knew what he was thinking, and she tilted her head back. Staring at her upturned mouth, at her parted lips, a wave of urgency shot through his body. Giving in to the hunger he put his hands on her shoulders and pulled her dose, wanting to take what she was offering quickly before she disappeared again.
Bending down, he felt anticipation and something else, something that made his heart pound with more than lust.
Jack Walker’s eyes flipped open. Caught up in the raging hunger in his body, he wasn’t sure whether he was truly awake. Or where the hell he was. He knew the bed wasn’t his own, but not much else.
He looked around at the dark shapes in the room. After a few deep breaths, the patterns made sense to him. He was at the Plaza Hotel in New York, in the suite he always used when he was in town.
And the woman he still wanted so badly it hurt had disappeared into thin air. Again.
He stared up at the ornate ceiling in frustration. He hadn’t slept well the last two nights and he needed some sustained shut-eye soon. He didn’t have much patience to begin with and lack of sleep wasn’t getting him any closer to Mother Teresa territory.
The dream was driving him crazy.
Every time it was the same. Just as he was about to kiss her, right before he knew what she would taste like, he’d wake up slick with sweat and in a hellacious mood.
Jack pushed a hand through his hair. Without a suitable target for his frustration, he seethed in the darkness.
He’d only met the woman once and he hadn’t thought she’d made that big an impression on him.
Restless, he had to fight his way out of the sheets that had gotten tangled around his naked body. When he was finally free, he walked over to a bank of windows and looked outside. The view was characteristically New York. Skyscrapers reaching toward the heavens, taillights flashing in a maze of asphalt down below. It was late at night, but the city was still hopping.
A couple of days before, he’d come down from Boston expecting to meet with his college roommate, who was now a top-notch political consultant, and to buy back a family painting. Picking up a subconscious sexual obsession had sure as hell not been on his itinerary.