Two days later, she found the keys to her bike in the mailbox, along with a scrawled note from Colby. She read the familiar handwriting and felt her heart twist in her chest, felt the sting of tears in her eyes.
Taking a trip. Need to get away.
C.
Yeah. She definitely understood that—she’d give just about anything to get away from things for a while, away from a house where there were a hundred memories of Alyssa, away from a life that held a thousand reminders of just how lonely Bree’s life had become.
But she wasn’t going anywhere. She had a business to run and it was one she’d been neglecting far too much since Alyssa had gotten so sick. She headed into the house, but instead of grabbing a bite to eat and a shower, she just tossed the keys onto the counter and headed back outside. If Colby was gone, now was as good a time as any to make good on at least one promise to Alyssa.
The big one, she still wasn’t sure she could keep, but this one was easy.
Chapter Two
A Year Later
Even in dreams, she haunted him.
Hell, worse in his dreams.
When he was awake, Colby usually managed to jerk himself back in line if his wayward thoughts drifted toward her a little too often—something that happened more than he liked, but he could control it.
When he had a hard time doing so, he could use the emotional version of taking a cold shower—he could think of his wife. That did it every damn time.
But when he was asleep, those rules didn’t apply.
In his sleep, he wanted to think about her, fantasize, dream…
Touch.
Taste.
Fuck…love.
Caught in the dream, he tossed on the bed, his hands clutching at tangled sheets as he lay alone.
In the dream, he wasn’t alone.
She was with him—always with him…
“I need you…” she whispered as Colby turned to Bree and pulled her against him.
Her long, dangerously curved body pressed against his, her hands fisted in his hair as he lost himself in her. Covering her mouth with his, he nipped and sucked on that full lower lip until she opened for him.
Pushing inside, he drank her in, stole as much of her taste as he could while his hands got busy stripping the clothes from her body.
Simple, casual work clothes hid a body designed to tease a man to the breaking point. Under those clothes, those killer curves were almost bare, hardly covered by skimpy wisps of silk and lace. Silk cupped her breasts, lifting them high while a scrap of lace and silk stretched across her full hips and between her thighs.
Tearing his mouth from hers, he stared down at her body, at the way her breasts rose and fell with each ragged breath, the way the muscles in her belly contracted as he skimmed the backs of his fingers along the smooth, golden glow of her skin before dipping them inside the low-cut panties she wore.
She was wet.
Through the silk panties, he could see how wet she already was, and he wanted—needed—to lie between her thighs, pull that lace aside and taste her. Touch her.
Drive her so close to the edge that she screamed out his name. Drive her until she was as insane, as needy as he.
Working his way down her body, he stripped the panties off and pressed his mouth to her dripping core. She smelled sweet—too damn sweet, too damn good. The taste of her * was an addiction he couldn’t handle, but he couldn’t pull away either.
He licked her, sucked on her clit, fucked her with his fingers until she shoved up on her elbows and grabbed his wrist, working herself against his hand and sobbing out his name.
She came—and in that weird way of dreams, it shifted and reformed around him before he had even had time to savor her climax.
He could still taste her, still ached to feel her even as he stood on the floor in some darkened, unfamiliar room while Bree knelt before him. Her mouth—soft and sweet—wrapped around his dick while he fisted his hands in her hair and fucked her mouth. She hummed deep in her throat. He felt the vibration of it clear down to his balls.
Colby kneaded her scalp, groaning and rocking against her as she whimpered and clutched his hips—holding him tightly, holding him close, her nails digging into his flesh as though she feared he’d pull away.
Not that he would. Not that he could. For as long as this lasted, he was going to enjoy it—and damn it, he wasn’t going to come in her mouth. He wanted to come inside her *—deep inside. So deep that she could feel him in the back of her throat.
The wall at her back seemed to appear out of nowhere as he pulled her to her feet and urged her backward, gathering all those ripe, lush curves.
“Wrap your legs around me,” he muttered against her mouth, almost reluctant to speak for fear of shattering the dream.
Oh, he knew he was dreaming.