Debbi Rawlins - In His Wildest Dreams

Emma sighed, pitying the poor sap on the other end who fell for his sad lack of originality. “Did you have any questions about the paperwork?” she asked as soon as he’d hung up.

“Nope.”

She paused a moment, waiting for him to get out of her chair. He didn’t. If anything, he leaned back and got more comfortable, so she took the visitor’s chair facing the desk and turned the questionnaire around to face her.

After a quick perusal she looked up to find him staring at her. She cleared her throat. “I’ll give you an overview of what we’ll be doing in the next two weeks.”

He grimaced slightly.

Her stomach tightened. “If you have a problem committing to two weeks—”

“No.” He shook his head, his expression agitated. “I just—go on.”

God, she had a bad feeling about this. But Brenda had told her not to worry. Nick had his faults, but backing out of an agreement wasn’t one of them. She sure hoped Brenda was right.

“I don’t know how much you care to know about the theories upon which I’ll be basing my interpretations—” There was that wince again. “What?”

“Nothing.” His expression was sheer innocence. “I’m listening.”

She hesitated a moment, tempted to call him on his obvious negative reaction to their conversation. But on the other hand, did she really want to hear what he thought? Did she want to give him an opening to withdraw from the study?

She took a deep breath and began again. “There are many misconceptions about dream interpretation and I thought it might be helpful if I cleared some of them up before we got started.”

He didn’t look happy, but at least he hadn’t bolted. He glanced toward the back room, and then gestured with his hand for her to continue.

She leaned back in her chair and wondered what he found so fascinating in the back room. Had he seen the mess her associates left? “There’s significant research indicating that dreams reflect our real-life concerns and are helpful in coping with conflict or solving problems. I operate on this theory.”

He stood suddenly. “You’re not psychoanalyzing me, Doc. No way. No how.”

“First of all, I’m not a doctor. Yet. Secondly, I have no intention of trying to psychoanalyze you or anyone else.” She exhaled sharply. “Could you sit down? You’re making me nervous.”

He muttered a mild oath, shrugged out of his leather jacket, and then tugged at the neckband of his T-shirt as if it were too tight. “Yeah, right.”

“Would you let me finish?”

Eyeing her with distrust, he lowered himself back to the chair as he tossed his jacket to the side. “Brenda told me there wouldn’t be any psychobabble involved.”

Emma bristled, but she kept her cool. “This is a science. Not psychobabble. And like I’ve already assured you, anything discussed here is confidential.”

“That’s the thing, Doc.” He ruffled his hair in a gesture of frustration. “Every time you remind me this is confidential, I get a rash.”

Her gaze flew to his arms, his neck, any exposed skin.

“Figuratively speaking, of course,” he added. “Exactly what kind of questions are you gonna ask me?”

It took her several seconds to realize he’d spoken to her. His plain white T-shirt stretched snugly across his chest. Every muscle group was nicely represented. His arms weren’t too shabby either. Firm, rounded biceps strained against the hem of his sleeves.

“Doc?”

“Stop calling me that.” She quickly met his gaze. He seemed bewildered. Thank God he didn’t know she’d been ogling him like a silly teenage girl.

“Why not? You’re going after your doctorate, right?”

“Ultimately.”

“So, start acting the part.”

“That’s called fraud.”

He drew his head back, clearly surprised. “No, it’s not. You have a vision of who you want to be. Fake it till you make it. You’ll get there faster.”

She frowned, not quite grasping his point, but both fascinated and irritated with his new authoritative demeanor. “May we get back to the study?”

“I’m serious.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on her desk. “What I’m talking about is a perfectly legitimate way to attain a goal. It’s the same principle as when job counselors tell you to dress for the job you want, and not the one you have.”

It was easy to understand why he’d achieved success early. His solemn tone of voice, and the intensity in his eyes gave her a glimpse of the man who’d been driven to succeed. What an intriguing side to him.

She tapped her pencil on the edge of the desk. “The study?”

“Sure.” He grinned suddenly, and leaned back, looking totally relaxed. “Doc.”

There it was.

That subtle indefinable quality that drew women to him like ants to a picnic. Was it his slightly mischievous grin?

Or was it the way his gaze held her captive, as if telling her he wasn’t going anywhere, and neither was she. Amazing really, how the attraction crept up before you knew what hit you.

Luckily she was able to respond in a strictly professional, scientific manner. She cleared her throat, checked her bun. “Okay, where was I?” she mumbled, her voice still sounding a bit creaky, so she cleared her throat again. “Oh, yes, my method and theories.” She was back in control, unmoved, untouched by the darn devil in his eyes.

“I won’t lie to you, I believe that dreams reveal important facets about ourselves in metaphorical forms. They show us how we feel about others, about our relationships, and about ourselves, for that matter. They help illustrate our hopes and fears and weaknesses, and as an interviewer and interpreter, I will be pointing out—” She stopped, frowned. “What are you doing?”

“Huh?” He raised his gaze to hers. “Go ahead. I’m listening.”

“No, you weren’t. You were—” She brought a hand to her mouth and futilely felt around for anything foreign. God, there was probably something stuck in her teeth.

“Okay, so you caught me.” That devilish grin again. “Did you know you have perfect lips?”

She squinted at him, certain she’d heard incorrectly.

“Perfectly shaped. Perfect fullness. Perfect shade of pink. You should be doing lipstick commercials.”

“Mr. Ryder, I don’t think—this isn’t the time or—just knock it off.”

“What?” His eyes widened in genuine surprise, and then he nodded with annoying understanding. “I embarrassed you. I apologize. However, I only meant it as a compliment.” His lips curved in that smile. “Besides, you caught me staring.”

“You didn’t embarrass me.” Right. Heat singed her cheeks and she knew they were redder than an August tomato. “But I would like to stick to the business of the study.”

He threw her a questioning look, and then shrugged. “Of course. I didn’t mean to distract you.”

The hell he hadn’t. She stared down at her notebook so she wouldn’t glare at her subject, piss him off, and then have to go beg and barter for a new one again.

“As I was saying,” she said, slowly, each word deliberate, “I believe dreams do tell us a lot about ourselves, and I will of course, interpret the information you give me, but ultimately only you will know what each dream means to you.”

He snorted.

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing.”

“You always make rude noises for nothing?”

Amusement lit his dark eyes, and his mouth started to curve in a slow smile. “Sorry, Doc, I didn’t mean to rile you.”

“Right,” she muttered, and stared down at her notes. They weren’t really notes. Just something to look at while she collected herself.

How could this guy be so charming and annoying at the same time? The laughter that seemed to spring to his eyes was the irritating part. As for the rest of him…

Well, he did have a great chest and shoulders, broad, muscled without being in-your-face. And though Emma couldn’t honestly remember being impressed by a man’s hands before, she found herself periodically studying the way his long lean fingers restlessly, silently tapped the desk. That in itself wasn’t remarkable, but they inspired a sudden erotic image of him caressing her breasts that about knocked her over.

She took a deep breath. What was wrong with her? Having lustful thoughts about a virtual stranger was not her style. Especially not one who could make or break her thesis.

“Are we done here, or what?”

Nick’s impatient voice broke into her preoccupation, and try as she might, she couldn’t do a darn thing about the flush that crept up her neck and ripened her cheeks.

“Tomorrow we’ll get started,” she said calmly. “So it’s important that you record anything and everything you remember about tonight’s dreams.”

“Sometimes they’re a little X-rated.” He smiled. “Is that a problem?”

Great. “Record everything.”

“Everything,” he repeated with a devilish look in his eyes.

“Every last detail you recall.”

“Okay, Doc.” He managed to make the two simple words sound like a threat. “You got it.”

God, she hoped he wasn’t talking about some heavy-duty sexual fantasies. For the sake of the study it would make the data both interesting and thorough, but good golly, what a torturous two weeks for her.

She shuddered mentally, and then caught him staring toward the back. She followed his gaze. “What is it you find so fascinating?”

Something that looked like guilt flickered in his eyes as they met hers. Just as quickly it vanished. “Keep any prisoners back there?”

“Only ones who give me attitude.”

“Oh man, Doc, you’re getting me excited.”

She sighed. Obviously keeping this one on track would be a challenge. “Brenda said you have excellent recall. Do you use any particular method or trick?”

“I read an article that suggested giving a title to a dream as soon as you remember any part of it.”

“Does that help you recall more of the dream as the day goes on?”

“Yeah, I think so. If it was a good dream, and my mind wanders back to it during the day, it seems to unfold more.”

“Excellent. Keep a notebook with you.”

“Right. Record everything.” His voice and expression turned grim. He started to shrug into his jacket, and Emma forced her gaze away from the way the muscles played across his chest. “So, we’re done?”

She closed her notebook. “Yes.” She hadn’t even skimmed the surface, but maybe it was better he wasn’t so curious about her methods and theories. He was skittish enough. “Unless you have any questions.”

He shrugged, pulling a pair of sunglasses out of his pocket. “Same time tomorrow, or do you want to get this over with earlier?”

Gee, such overwhelming enthusiasm. “It’ll have to be the same time as today. I don’t get off work until then.”

He nodded absently, looking distracted, before he walked out the door without another word.

Emma waited a minute before she used the shiny base of the engraved brass stapler she’d received as an award to look at her reflection. Of course her image was slightly distorted, but still, her lips looked pretty normal to her. She pursed them. Maybe a little fatter than most, but…

“Hey, Doc.”

At the sound of Nick’s voice her heart nearly exploded and she straightened, almost flinging the stapler against the wall. “Yes?” Remarkably, her voice was intelligible.

His brows drawn together in a puzzled frown, he seemed too absorbed in his own curiosity to have noticed her vanity. “I do have another question.” She nodded, and with his gaze narrowed he asked, “Are you sure there isn’t anyone else here?”