LITMIR.BIZ

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a glimpse of lace and satin spread nearby on a stool. She’d had no trouble making herself at home. Then bending down, he studied what she’d spread out on the table. There was a small notebook with a silver pen lying next to it and a series of sketches. He skimmed the neatly printed list on the open page of the notebook. Repair the plumbing, renovate the lobby, turn the penthouse into a five-star restaurant—Henry’s.

      Tony frowned as he picked up and examined each one of the sketches she’d drawn. If he was reading them correctly, they were of different floor plans for expanding the penthouse suite into a restaurant. And they were good. He glanced at her again. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that she was writing about his hotel.

      Who in the hell was she?

      He swept his gaze more carefully over the area again, noting the small suitcase and the leather briefcase. A niggling suspicion formed in his mind even as he reached to examine the tag. One glance confirmed it—this was Lily McNeil.

      Sitting back on his heels, he studied her again as questions lined themselves up in his mind like so many toy soldiers. Why was she here? Or perhaps more specifically, why had she canceled her reservation and then changed her mind? Or had she planned to sneak into his hotel incognito and gather information without his knowledge?

      He watched the play of the firelight over her features. So this was the owner of that voice. She wasn’t exactly the way he had imagined her. Nor did she seem to fit the voice. Looking at her didn’t make him think of hot, sweaty all-night sex. Instead, she made him think of the slow, thorough, take-your-time-and-savor kind.

      His gaze shifted to her mouth, and he imagined her taste—not sweet, but tart at first. The sweetness would lie beneath. He wanted to explore that mouth, linger until he’d coaxed out all the flavors. He reached out to touch one of her curls. He could see the different colors, cool gold with a hint of fire here and there. He wanted to touch her—to run his hands over that skin. Even as the images formed in his mind, desire tightened in his center as if his body already knew what it would be like to feel her softness arching against him.

      Muffling a sigh, Tony reined his wandering thoughts in and dropped the curl he was still rubbing between his fingers. Then because he couldn’t help himself, he ran his finger lightly down her cheek to her chin before he dropped it to his side. She wasn’t a sleeping beauty, he reminded himself—and he wasn’t the prince meant to wake her up. This was Goldilocks, and the fictional girl who’d caused quite a bit of havoc in the bears’ lives. It was his job to see that Ms. Lily McNeil didn’t do that to the Romanos. The family was his responsibility, and he had to put them first.

      She stirred, and her lips parted. Tony stilled. Once again he felt his mind empty, and then all he knew was an almost overpowering desire to fit his mouth to hers and throw caution to the winds. If she struggled, that would be the end of it. If she responded…He ruthlessly clamped down the images that poured into his mind. He couldn’t. It wouldn’t be fair to her. And it wouldn’t be smart. He forced himself to rise and then switched off the lamp next to the couch.

      He hadn’t grown up in the hotel business without developing a canny instinct about people—and Lily McNeil was trouble, both professionally and personally. Getting involved with her would definitely not be smart. He let his gaze rest on her again. But it sure as hell would be fun. And when was the last time he’d let himself think of doing something just for the fun of it? Not since his father’s death when he’d had to shoulder the responsibility of the hotel. Eons ago, it seemed.

      Giving his head a quick shake, Tony made himself walk to the upper level and through the bedroom door. What he needed was a good night’s sleep. Whoever the hell Lily McNeil was, he was going to need all of his wits about him. And he’d better keep his libido under control.

      Just then, lightning flashed. He saw it split the sky, and the thunder clapped so loud, so close, that the windows rattled. A warning, he thought. A second later, the lights flickered and went out.

      Definitely a warning, he thought as he made his way into the bedroom.

      LILY FOUGHT HER WAY UP from a dream. She’d been with her lover. He’d touched her hair and her cheek. His fingers had been callused, arousing. She’d been so sure he was about to kiss her. In that moment when he’d seemed to hesitate, she’d wanted so badly to open her eyes, to reach out and cover his hand with hers, to draw him closer. But she’d been trapped in that paralysis between sleeping and waking. Don’t go. She’d tried to say the words, but no sound had come out.

      And then he’d moved away.

      The sharp sting of rejection brought her fully to the surface, and the moment she opened her eyes, she realized the suite was pitch black. A glance at the windows told her that nearby buildings were dark, too. A power failure. Rain pelted the glass in an unrelenting rhythm. In the distance, a flash of lightning forked through the sky, followed by a rumble of thunder. The noise from the storm—that’s what had pulled her out of her dream, not her lover walking away. The dull pain of failure still lingered from the dream. Ridiculous, she thought as she sat up. She was not going to let her fear of failure creep into her dreams, too.

      After pushing herself up off the couch, she used the furniture to guide her as she made her way to the upper level. Failure was a part of her past, and she was going to make sure it did not seep into her future. She was going to go back to sleep in that bed made for lovers. Then she was going to conjure up her dream lover and make sure he didn’t pull away.

      Running her hand along the wall, she made it to the door she was sure opened into the bedroom. The darker shadow three feet in front of her had to be the bed. Once she reached it, she felt her way to the side near the windows where she recalled seeing the step-stool. There. Once her foot connected with it, she climbed up on the mattress and slipped beneath the covers.

      A yawn overtook her as her head settled on the pillow. The bed was so warm, so welcoming, as if a lover was already there, waiting for her. Her lips curved in a smile. Dame Vera had promised her one, after all. So what if it was only one conjured by her mind? A dream lover didn’t interfere with your life. Closing her eyes, she emptied her mind of everything, then concentrated on calling up a picture of her dream lover. Visualization. That was the key. She hadn’t seen him too clearly in the dream, so he could be anything she wanted him to be.

      Slowly, she brought his features into focus. A strong nose, Roman, she decided. And the cheekbones of a warrior. His mouth was masculine, but the whole effect would be softened by dimples that appeared only when he smiled. And then there were his eyes. They were the color of dark, forbidden chocolate. Irresistible. The warmth of the bed began to seep through her. As she felt herself begin to sink into sleep, her dream lover’s features became even clearer in her mind. Her last thought before sleep overtook her was that she’d seen her dream lover somewhere before.

      3

      TONY DRIFTED somewhere in the twilight zone between waking and sleeping. The last thing he wanted to do was surface from the dream he was having. His Goldilocks was sleeping in his bed. And it felt just right.

      She was nestled against him like a spoon, her back to his front. Each time he inhaled, her scent filled him. He would have recognized it anywhere. Spring flowers, the kind his mother had taken such care to grow in terra cotta pots on the roof.

      With lazy pleasure, he slipped one hand beneath her to keep her near and ran the other down her from her shoulder to her thigh. The contrast of warm silky skin and more roughly textured cotton had a warm flame of desire moving through him. She shifted, pressing more closely against him, and the flame eased into a slow, searing burn.

      He slipped his hand beneath thin cotton. She made a throaty sound of pleasure when he cupped her breast, another when he scraped his teeth against the nape of her neck. He’d dreamed before of touching her like this, but the sensations seemed sharper now. Her skin was soft as water, her waist so narrow. Hearing the quick hitch of her breath, he let his hand take the long, slow journey again. He felt his own need grow as he absorbed each separate layer of her response—the pounding of her heart, the warming of her skin when he pressed his palm against

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