Dirty Sweet Cowboy

But a bang on my bedroom door wakes me up even further .

“Are you ready!?” Bea’s voice comes through the white lacquer door .

“What? Ready?” I call back. My hands slide along the crisp linen comforter in my surprisingly beautiful room. “How can I be ready? I just woke up .”

The door opens and Bea stalks in, her eyes flashing .

“What the heck are you doing? We’re going to be late, Ava !”

She marches over to the window and flings open the curtains. My hands automatically rise to shield my eyes .

“It’s summer vacation, Bea,” I complain. “Maybe give it a rest ?”

“There are no more summer vacations, Ava! We graduated, remember? And the keynote speaker starts in ten minutes! We’re going to be late !”

I pout and slide closer to the edge of the bed. “I was having the best dream,” I mumble .

Bea slaps her thighs in frustration. She takes three steps in either direction like a caged animal .

“You know what, Ava, just meet me down there, okay? Get your act together !”

In a huff, she turns and rushes back out of the room. I can hear her grabbing another handful of resumes off the table as she flings open the door and leaves the suite .

But she’s right, I really need to get going. I force myself to get in and out of the shower and slap on some eyeliner and mascara while I brush my teeth. A simple wrap dress goes on fast and, after tying my hair back, I’m out the door in seven minutes flat, presentable enough for a darkened ballroom with the keynote speaker, I assume .

The ballroom is packed—standing room only. Even if I wanted to find Bea, I’d be afraid to draw attention to myself. The event organizer is already mumbling something into the microphone, introducing his guest. I slide along the back, looking for a place where I can at least lean against the wall, out of the way. I find a vacancy near the exit and cross my arms, stifling a yawn as I remember that I didn’t get any coffee .

The audience breaks into applause, and I do the same thing, clapping as I crane my head to see what’s going on. A man in a charcoal-gray suit strides to the middle of the stage, his hand outstretched to shake the other man’s hand. He turns toward the crowd and claps his hands in front of his chest, bowing slightly in a humble, strong gesture. When he looks back up, those piercing blue eyes seem to find me immediately, pinning me hard to the wall where I stand .

It’s him. It’s Ethan Mercer .

Instantly my mind is thrown into fast-forward. I can barely make out the words that he is saying. I feel like he can see me, like he’s talking directly to me .

I remember the dream. It was him in my

dream. He was talking directly to me, just like this, with words that I could barely understand because of all the noise in my head, just like this .

My heart racing, I try to control my breathing and shift from foot to foot, noticing how my panties are damp, my belly trembling and clenching over and over again. I don’t know what’s happening to me. Something about the way he strides across the stage, gesturing, chuckling affably, projecting his voice to the farthest corners of the room… It’s like watching a lion at the zoo. Some magnificent beast. Muscle and grace, threat and promise .

It’s absolutely thrilling .

Then everyone is clapping, and I clap too, hoping the lights will go on so I can duck back out of the room and disappear to somewhere else in this hotel. There has got to be another panel or speech or class on resume writing or something that I can be at. I need to get away, quickly. I feel like anyone who looks directly at me is going to know all the lusty, rushing thoughts in my head .

But as I turn for the exit door, I feel a hand circling my elbow and a gentle tug. I turn around, immediately immobilized under his icy-blue stare .

“Come with me,” he commands, his voice low and confident, somehow aimed directly at me though there are so many other sounds in the room .

Helplessly I am swept along with him through the exit door, then a short work passageway, before we go through another set of doors into a private dining room. The smell of coffee washes over me like a tidal wave, and my stomach growls loudly in response .

He quirks an eyebrow at me. Of course he heard it. Dammit !

“Are you hungry?” he smirks .

“Famished,” I admit .

“Perfect timing then. Looks like brunch is ready for us .”

Swallowing hard, I let him guide me toward a table in the center of the room, the only table here. He holds out a chair for me and I slide into it, hoping that my stomach won’t make any more embarrassing noises .