I have the odd, stress-filled dreams of a party planner. In one of them, the wedding cake doesn’t show up and my mother decides to bake one at the last minute. We get into an argument about whether seven-grain is the way to go on a wedding cake. (My mother is a famously healthy baker, with mixed results.) In another dream, it rains, and the tent we rented melts into white blobs, like sodden toilet paper.
Then things take a turn for the weird. I dream there’s a grizzly bear in my bed, and I’m okay with it. And then the dream gets sexy. The bear’s body is warm and hard, and his ambitious erection is poking me in the bum, and he fingers my nipples…
I wake up with a jolt, my eyes popping open. There is a grizzly bear in my bed. He’s pressed to my back, his thick, muscular arm around my waist, his hand cupping my right boob.
Holy Mother of God. Blake Riley is spooning me, uninvited.
And I think I like it.
No!
No, I don’t like it.
Right.
After letting out a perfectly silent sigh, I start to formulate a plan. He’s sleeping soundly, which helps. The snoring in my ear is a big clue. So I inch one toe toward the edge of the bed, then slide all at once out of his grasp in a maneuver that would make my yoga teacher proud. We’ll call it the Escapes-from-Grizzly pose.
When I land on my feet at the side of the bed, he’s still snoring soundly, his unfairly handsome face smoothed out by sleep, unruly brown hair sticking up against my pillow.
I tiptoe into my bathroom and close the door so carefully that there isn’t even a click. Then I just stand there for a second and try to gather my wits. Today is my brother’s wedding, which I planned from the invitations to the guest list to the cake to the coffee after dessert tonight. It must go off flawlessly. My family is just waiting for me to fail.
And I just had a quasi-bestiality dream about the ridiculously attractive man asleep in my bed.
A shower will help, right? I turn on the water, shed my banana PJs and hop in. I wash my hair and apply my best conditioner, because I don’t want to frizz out in the photos. (I’ve planned those, too.) I’m already feeling better when I shut off the water and wrap my towel around my naked body.
Taking care to be absolutely silent, I slowly open my bathroom door…
And then shriek when I find Blake Riley standing on the other side. Stark naked.
“Arrrh!” he says, clapping those big paws over his ears. “My head.”
I want to make a witty retort. Like maybe, My eyes! But it doesn’t work, because my tongue is suddenly three sizes too big as I stare at the glory of Blake Riley in the buff. His shoulders are like well-muscled mountains, his pecs like perfect, sculpted dunes. I want to explore them with my tongue.
Actually, I’m pretty sure I did once.
“Gotta use your bathroom, honey. Pick that tongue up off the floor and let me pass?”
This remark snaps me back to consciousness. “Did you ever hear of clothes?”
“You’ve seen it all before.” He places a hand on my upper arm and nudges me aside. “Really, honey, I know you’re enjoying the view, but I’ve gotta make the bladder gladder.”
I’m no longer in control of my eyes, though, because they follow his hand down to where he wraps it around his giant…
Gah!
Scurrying into my bedroom, I yank my bathrobe off its hook and hastily tie it on. With a double knot. Just in case.
“Why were you in my bed?” I grumble at the bathroom door.
“Couch was too small,” he calls back.
“That doesn’t give you permission to jump into bed with me!”
“You said it was cool when I came in and asked to bunk with you,” he protests. “And you’re awful cuddly, J-Babe. Like sleeping with an octopus.”
Ugh. Betrayed by my subconscious.
Grabbing my brush, I begin raking my hair into shape. I have to dry it, style it, put on makeup, get dressed, meet the caterers, see to the cake. And a hundred other things.
I pick up the hairdryer just as a warm, solid body sidles up behind me. “You know,” a low voice drawls as a warm hand squeezes my shoulder. “There’s time to feed the kitty before we get dressed for the big day.”
He’s so near that parts of me tingle even in my outrage. “Blake,” I say, my voice almost a whisper.
“Yes,” he breathes beside my ear.
“I don’t have a cat.”
He lets out a sexy rumble, his thumb trailing down my arm. And it’s then that I realize feed the kitty means…
“We aren’t feeding the kitty or hiding the salami or anything else you can think of to call it. We’re just not. There will be no repeats this weekend.”
He reaches beneath my wet hair and cups the back of my head, his long fingers trailing across my skull. Goosebumps break out all over my body. “Never say never, J-Babe.”
It’s a good thing my back is to him, because I can’t control my shudder of longing as his fingers leave my skin. “Don’t you have to go meet your date?” I remind the both of us.
“I’ll get her right before the wedding. I thought I’d help you with errands first.”
“Seriously?” This gets my attention. I spin around because I have to know if he’s joking. I need all the help I can get.