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He Sees You When You’re Sleeping

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Frances had paused in front of her tree to straighten a plump Santa ornament. The delicate glass reflected the white twinkle lights, looking almost magical. But there’d be no magic for her this year. What she wanted most, Santa couldn’t put under her tree.

After working all day, she was hot and tired, and so when What-She-Wanted-Most knocked on her door, she almost jumped out of her skin. She knew it was Booker, because she knew his knock, just as she knew his laugh, his tone of voice when he was excited, and his scent.

God, she loved his scent.

With her heart swelling painfully, she opened the door with a false smile. As usual, he looked dark and sexy and so appealing, her pulse leaped at the sight of him.

Hands snug in his pockets, his flannel open over a white thermal shirt and nicely worn jeans, he leaned in her doorway. His silky black hair was still damp from a shower and his jaw was freshly shaved. He had a rakish, “just won the lottery” look about him and the way he murmured, “Hi” had her blinking in surprise.

Somehow, he was different. There was a glimmer in his dark eyes, a special kind of attentiveness that hadn’t been there only the day before. His gaze was direct and almost… intimate. Yeah, that was it. And he wore a funny little half smile of expectation.

Expectation of what?

Uncertainly, Frances managed a reply. “Hey Booker. What’s up?”

He stepped inside without an invite, but then, they were friends and Booker visited with her a lot. Whenever he wasn’t working – or with Judith – he came by to play cards, watch sports, or just shoot the bull. Like he would a pal.

Maybe it was the holidays making her nostalgic, but when she thought of being Booker’s pal for the rest of her life, she wanted to curl up and cry.

A stray lock of hair had escaped her big clip and hung near her eyes. Taking his time and stopping her heart in the process, Booker smoothed it behind her ear.

No way in hell did he do that with his guy friends. She gulped.

In a voice low and gentle and seductive, he said, “What have you been doing that has you all warm on such a cold snowy day?”

Unnerved, Frances backed up out of reach. Booker stepped close again. “I, ah…” She gestured behind her. “I’m moving my room.”

“Yeah?” He looked at her mouth. “Want to move it next door with me?”

She shook her head at his unfamiliar, suggestive teasing. “I’m switching my bedroom with my studio because the light is better in that room now.”

As an artist, she liked to take advantage of whatever natural light she could get. In summer, she used her smaller guest bedroom for sleeping so that the larger room could be filled with her canvases and paints and pottery wheel. But now with winter hard upon them, the light was different. More often than not, long shadows filled the room, so she was switching. If nothing else, it gave her a way to fill the time rather than think of Booker and Judith snuggled up in front of a warm fire, playing kissy-face and more.

Booker stepped around her and closed the door. “Maybe I can help. What else do you have to move?”

Now that was more like the Booker she knew and loved. “Just the bedroom furniture. I already moved the small stuff and my clothes.” She turned to meander down the hallway and Booker followed. Closely. She could practically feel him breathing on her neck. Neil Diamond’s Christmas album played softly in the background, barely drowning out the drumming of her heartbeat.

Today, even Neil hadn’t been able to lift her spirits.

As they passed the kitchen, they walked beneath a sprig of mistletoe hung from a silver ribbon. Because she was a single woman without a steady date – without any date really – Frances had put it up as decoration, not for any practical use. She paid it little mind as she started under it, until Booker caught her by the upper arm.

Turning, she said, “What?”

Gently, he drew her all the way around to face him. He looked first into her eyes, letting her see the curious heat in his, then he looked at her mouth. His voice dropped. “This.”

In the next instant, Frances found herself hauled up against his hard chest while his hands framed her face.

Startled, she thought, He’s going to kiss me.

Just as quickly, she discounted that absurd notion. Booker was a friend, nothing more. He was involved with Judith. He didn’t see her as a –

His mouth touched hers.

She went utterly still outside, but inside things were happening. Like her heart hitting her ribcage and her stomach fluttering and her blood taking off in a wild race through her system…

” Frances ?” He whispered her name against her mouth.

Dazed, her eyes flickered open. “Hmm?”

Booker held her face tipped up, brushed her jaw with his thumbs, and kissed her again. It was a gentle, closed-mouth kiss, but there was nothing platonic about it. His mouth was warm, soft, moving carefully over hers. His tongue traced the seam of her lips with such enticing effect that her toes curled and her hands lifted to his hard shoulders. Booker groaned, tightened his hold – and Frances came back to her senses.

“Booker.” She shoved him away, suffused with indignation and hurt and an awful yearning. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Because she was nearly as tall, her push had thrown him off balance. He caught himself, grinned at her, and said, “Something I’ve been thinking about doing for a long time.”

Frances touched her mouth, equal parts doubting and flustered. She could still taste him. “You have?”

“Yeah. I have.” He closed the space between them again. Frances inhaled the clean scent of his aftershave and the headier scent of his body. She could practically feel the heat in his unwavering gaze. He touched her chin, tipped up her face, and asked, “Haven’t you, Frances ? Ever?”

End of Excerpt