LITMIR.BIZ

      Cassandra woke with a start, her nightgown bunched around her waist and her core throbbing. Usually the dream was only a couple times a week. But for the past six months, it had been every night. The dreams seemed urgent, as if the man was desperate for her.

      Would she really find out his name? Hell, who cares about the name? He said he was real. Alive. She was nothing but a desperate fool.

      She ran her fingers along the empty pillow next to her, wishing he was stretched out beside her. Cold gripped her body where his had provided warmth and she curled into a tight ball, wanting his hands on her hot skin. Her dream man had ruined her every pursuing a relationship with a real man. No one came close to him, not even Luke.

      Sunlight poured through the half open red and gold drapes. She almost believed his masculine taste lingered on her lips—cinnamon. She closed her eyes and tried to go back to sleep, recapture the erotic fantasy, but her body was too alive, begging to be kissed and touched.

      She sighed and opened her eyes. Her best friend from college, Lilly Grace, softly snored in the bed opposite of hers. Cassandra gripped the downy comforter tighter and buried her face into the pillow. She’d give anything to be spooning the man of her dreams.

      Lilly gave her a sleepy smile, stretched her arms over her head and arched her back like a spoiled cat. “Good morning.”

      “Morning,” Cassandra said.

      “Sleep well?”

      “Yeah,” Cassandra whispered.

      Lilly sat up, pushing black curls out of her face and leaned against the headboard. “Ready to hit the slopes?”

      “Definitely.”

      Lilly studied her with her knowing blue eyes. “Cassie, why is your face so red? You’re sweating.” A sly grin spread across Lilly’s face. “Did you have the same dream again?”

      Cassandra rolled her eyes. All Lilly cared about was hearing about the sex, the dream was more than hot sex. The man was part of her, her soul mate. A man she could trust.

      Lilly gestured. “Come on Cassandra, tell me about the dream.”

      “He was so real. I swear I can still feel his arms around me, smell his scent.” And feel him kissing and sucking every sensitive spot. Stop.

      “What does he smell like?”

      “Fresh warm cinnamon rolls.”

      “Sounds delicious.”

      “You have no idea.” Heat fanned her cheeks. She grabbed a tissue from the nightstand. Her fever would boil an igloo.

      Lilly tossed her head back, dark curls tumbling down her back, and laughed. “Good huh?” She gave her a teasing grin. “God, I haven’t seen you blush this bad since we went to see Bridesmaid last month.”

      Her hands clammy, Cassandra stammered, “The opening scene—she screwed him ten different ways.” She wadded up the tissue and threw it into the trashcan. What would it be like trying those positions with dream man?

      “Just like at the movies, your face is beet-red again.”

      Cassandra braided a strand of her hair. “I know. I can’t help it.”

      “God, Cassie everybody has erotic dreams, even virgins.”

      Cassandra hated being the only who hadn’t slept with a man yet. Every time, she got close, she froze. Luke had lost patience with her, accusing of her being frigid so he found solace into the arms of another woman. Maybe she was frigid. Maybe the dream man was an excuse for her not to get close to men. She got out of bed. “I’m starving. Let’s go eat.”

      “Okay, we won’t talk about your dream.” Lilly cocked an eyebrow and gave Cassandra her I’m-going-to-cross-examine-you look. “You know he’s not real. You’ve got to start dating real guys, not pine for imaginary ones.”

      “You mean like Luke?”

      “Okay, Luke was a player. I warned you about him.”

      “I know you did. It’s that it…still hurts.” At Diane’s birthday party about a month ago she couldn’t find Luke. Drinking too much wine, she stumbled into what she thought was a bathroom, only to discover Luke in bed with Diane.

      “Cassandra, not every guy is Luke Kennedy. Some guys are faithful.”

      “Maybe if I would have slept with him, he would have stayed.”

      Lilly laughed. “Ah, honey. Don’t kid yourself. You were a challenge and when he couldn’t get you, he went on to his next victim.”

      Cassandra shrugged as she headed toward her suitcase. She yanked out her red Minnie Mouse sweater, workout bra and long underwear. Luke had blamed her, telling her if she’d been more responsive, he would have stayed. Stunned, she ran out of the room, found the bathroom and promptly got sick. Luckily, Lilly had been staying with friends in a nearby hotel and came and got her. Luke didn’t have the decency to see her home safety.

      “Enough about Luke,” Lilly said. “Tell me did you and dream man do it at Walter Byron Park?” She stared. “Well, did you?”

      Cassandra’s heart skipped a beat. She stepped into her long underwear and pulled them midway up her leg. “Lilly.”

      The man had reduced her to an out-of-control sauna. She was surprised their scorching heat hadn’t melted the snow into a puddle.

      Lilly laughed. “Looking at your face, yeah, you did.”

      Cassandra jerked her long underwear up her left leg. “Shut up.”

      Lilly crossed her legs. “Each time we come up to Frisco, we go to that park. I swear you’re obsessed with it.”

      “Maybe.” Cassandra pulled her hair into a ponytail. Outside the frosted window, snow drifted onto the quiet street and aspen and pine trees shimmered in the morning sun. “Frisco’s beautiful in the winter. I love it up here.”

      “Okaaay.” Lilly stood and walked to her suitcase. She shook her head as she pulled out a navy University of Denver sweatshirt and a pair of jeans. “You’re tripping girl.”

      “I swear someday I’ll buy a house next to Walter Byron Park.”

      “You keep saying.” Lilly pulled on her pants and gave her a doubtful smile.

      Cassandra folded her arms. “You watch. I will.” How could she tell Lilly the park was her home, her own personal sanctuary?

      Winter or summer, Cassandra had often walked along the path or sat at picnic bench. She loved listening to the roaring music of the thundering Ten Mile River that propelled her troubles down its path. She’d gone there to heal after Luke cheated on her. He hadn’t tried to apologize instead justifying his infidelity and telling their friends she was the Frigid Snow Queen. For the last couple of weeks, she had cried her eyes out.

      Homes near Walter Byron Park cost over five hundred thousand dollars, but she’d find a way. She might not be J.K. Rowling, but somehow she’d get the money.

      “Hon,” Lilly said, straightening her sweatshirt. Her trim figure rivaled a high school senior’s, but she was a high-powered attorney, who would sell her mother to win a case. “I hate to do this to you, but speech and language therapists don’t bring in the dough. I don’t know why you’re going back to school for your masters in speech. Go to

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