Don't Walk Away (DreamMakers #3)

You’re my soul mate, Em.

The husky, emotion-ridden words he’d whispered to her all those years ago echoed in her head, making her heart clench. She’d believed him. She really, really had, and knowing Dean Colter loved her, that he believed they were fated to be together, was the only reason she’d chosen to stay in a town that had nothing to offer her.

Her father had wanted to send her to boarding school, to a place where academics thrived and scholarships were in abundance, but Emma had insisted Taraville Public High School was good enough for her. Because she’d wanted to be with Dean.

And when the biggest opportunity of her life had presented itself after graduation, she’d passed that up, too.

For Dean.

But they hadn’t been soul mates, because soul mates didn’t abandon each other. Emma choked on the bitterness that rose in her throat, wondering how many other girls Dean had delivered the line to. Her old classmates? Every woman in San Francisco?

Was his we’re soul mates speech part of his seduction technique?

Something of her internal turmoil must have shown on her face, because Suz looked worried. “Wait—are you sure you’re not interested in him? Because I was joking about the soul mates thing. Dean and I are good friends. And if you are interested in him, I can nearly one hundred percent guarantee he’s interested in meeting you, and not because he chases everything in a skirt. I don’t suggest you plan for white picket fences and one-point-five kids with the man, but I will vouch for him completely. He’ll treat you like a princess, and you’ll have the time of your life.”

“Sexual god in the sack, I take it?” Emma was proud of how in control her voice sounded.

“Like every single one of the Parthenon that used to come to earth to dally with the humans is still around, wrapped up in that lovely, muscular, talented hunk of manhood.” Before she could ask anything else, Suz rose to her feet, moving unsteadily toward the kitchen. “I’m making a double shot in the dark. You want tea, right?”

“Please.” Emma followed her.

“Seriously, though, Dean’s a sweetie…” Suz went on, “…and a nasty fucker. He’s so damn dirty he makes me proud. I don’t think you could make the man blink with any request, but no matter what he’s doing, it’s all about worshiping women. In bed and out.”

Emma’s imagination provided a full-color video track to accompany Suz’s words as she shared some kink-fest love-shack adventure Dean had related. And the time he’d been stopped for speeding by the police, and no one in the car had any clothes on. Or the times he’d been one of two men offering paradise to some lucky woman…

All the while, her brain offered commentary to go along with the images, mostly Huhs? and WTFs? because the Dean that Suz was describing was not the one Emma remembered from her youth. Her Dean had been gentle and kind, and so patient it had floored her.

Then again, he hadn’t exactly been a prince in the end, so maybe he’d been playing her all along.

At the counter, Suz poured two shots of espresso into a cup of regular coffee, added three spoonfuls of sugar and a dash of cream. Then she raised her mug in Emma’s direction. “To the men who know how to make our motors hum. Uncomplicated. Strictly for pleasure, the way sex is supposed to be.”

Emma clinked her mug against Suz’s and forced a smile she hoped reached her eyes. But she wasn’t smiling inside. She was simply…confused. And angry. And far more bitter than she ought to be feeling, considering how much time had passed since Dean had left Texas—and her—in his dust.

People said time heals all wounds, but Emma was smart enough to know the truth. You never got over your first love.

Or your first broken heart.





Gillian





Gillian managed to restrain her laughter until she pulled Colby together and sent him out the door. After Dean’s little trick with the alarm, the poor man’s head had to be splitting apart, and she felt sorry for him, but it was still amusing. Colby had turned ultra-needy the instant she’d turned off the sirens, needing help calling a cab, needing aspirin—

Men. They could have an arm chopped off and be bleeding to death and insist they were fine, but a cold or a wee bit too much to drink turned them into babies.

It looked as if she was the only one who had it together this morning. She whistled as she poked around the office, a rising sense of satisfaction making her grin.