Just as she rose, Aidan and Jeremy came in from the back. Aidan greeted her with a kiss and a hug, and assured her that they would all miss her in New Orleans.
Except for Jeremy, who would be following her home the next day.
After dinner, Kendall hugged her goodbye at Jeremy’s car and whispered, “Listen to your dreams. Promise me you’ll listen to your dreams.”
Words. Just words, Rowenna told herself.
But she couldn’t forget the images that had plagued her sleep.
Jeremy planned to drop Rowenna at the front door of her hotel, but he didn’t make a move to leave, even after he opened her door and then stood on the sidewalk while she thanked him for the ride.
She hesitated, then asked, “Do you want to come up? I have coffee and tea, maybe even a bottle of beer or two in the minibar.”
“No thanks. We’re both leaving tomorrow. I’m going to head back to my hotel and pack. I’m sure I’ll see you up there. Thanks again for your help, though.”
She nodded. “Thank you again for the ride.”
She still just stood there. So did he. He found himself thinking of all the time they had shared, all the occasions when they had sat close together in the studio and he had breathed in her perfume. He thought of the amber lights in her eyes, eyes a man could get lost in. Suddenly, after all the times when he had felt the need to stay far away from her, he wanted to be close. Touch her flesh and see if it was as smooth as it looked, find out if the texture of her hair was really as silky as he dreamed. If the passionate fire of her speech translated into the way she made love.
“Yeah, sure, of course. My pleasure.”
“See you, then.” With that she turned and headed into the hotel.
It wasn’t late, Rowenna thought. Over on Bourbon Street, the bands would still be playing for hours.
She thought about heading out for a drink and some music, then decided against it. She opted for a long shower, followed by a light beer from the minibar. She wanted to sleep—needed to sleep—and she was afraid to sleep.
Kendall had told her in all seriousness that ghosts came in dreams, and now she was afraid to go to sleep.
She tried to watch some television until she was too tired to stay awake, but even as she aimed the remote, there was a knock at her door. And she knew, even before she went to answer, that Jeremy Flynn would be standing on the other side. Her heart began to hammer. She felt a flush rising to her cheeks.
Speaking of dreams…
He was leaning against the door frame, and for a moment his expression was completely unguarded. She was wondering what he was doing there. Thinking that he was insane. That he should go straight back to his hotel.
“You’re not supposed to open a door without asking who’s there,” he said.
“I knew it was you,” she told him.
“Psychic?” he asked softly.
“I knew,” she repeated.
She hoped he didn’t want to talk.
He didn’t.
She drew him into the room. Other than the pale glow streaming from the bathroom, she had already turned off the lights. And she was glad of that, because she didn’t want to talk, either. Nor did she want to study his expression or let him study hers. Most of all, she didn’t want him asking permission.
She had donned a silk kimono after her shower, and now she let it slip to the floor, then cupped his face in her hands, rose slightly on her toes, found his lips and kissed him. His arms came around her, strong and tight, and his mouth opened to hers with equal passion, lips molding against hers, tongue thrusting deeply, evoking a rise of hunger within her that was both intoxicating and frightening.
She was afraid. What if she had forgotten how to make love? Was it really like just hopping back on a bicycle? Could she fail? Be too awkward…?