Every Last Fantasy
contains the ebooks Every Last Fantasy & Guilty Needs
Every Last Fantasy
To overcome the anguish of their dark past, these lovers must relive the pain and horror of the events that shattered their lives so long ago. They must discover the reason for the otherworldly connection that enthralls them. Only then can they find happiness in this life.
Together, as they were always meant to be.
The day his wife died, Colby knew his life was over. At least, that’s how he wanted it to be. He didn’t want to feel anything, not even when his wife’s best friend, Bree, offered him solace. He just took off. But he couldn’t outrun the pain and he couldn’t outrun the dreams. Hot, sweaty dreams that threaten to drive him mad. He can’t stop thinking about Bree.
A year later, he returns home, determined to close the book on his old life. But those dreams—those dark, guilty needs—haven’t gone away. They threaten to consume him. And it doesn’t help that his wife’s ghost is haunting him…encouraging him…
Every Last Fantasy
“So, do you think there’s anything you can do?” Vikky had asked him, a teasing lilt to her voice, her pretty blue eyes dancing merrily.
Hell, yeah, he’d see what he could do.
As Erik pulled into the small Indiana town where they’d grown up, he recalled the Santa episode. That woman was dangerous. Oh, he figured she had done it just because Cindy had assumed she wouldn’t—and maybe she did it to aggravate Mickayla.
But she had been speaking the honest truth, he suspected.
And damned if he hadn’t been more turned on than he’d ever been in his life.
Drumming his fingers on his thigh, he debated whether or not to go into the bank and see if she was there. He almost pulled away.
But then he recalled that low, husky laugh, that wicked gleam in her bluer-than-blue eyes and that odd, hopeful note to her voice.
He had felt more alive since talking to her than he had felt in months.
Oh, yeah. He was going in.
It was Monday and she was back at work. Her episode with Santa had passed and she had all but shoved it out of her mind. Good for a giggle at the time, but her mood had dropped again, swinging awfully low and she knew damn good and well that teasing some stranger wasn’t going to do a damn thing for it this time.
She needed a change. A big change.
Ah hell, Vikky mused as Rosa Fielding continued to jaw on about her gout, and her bad heart, and her rheumatism. I need to get laid.
She grimaced as she was finally able to get away from old Mrs. Fielding. With her back to the counter, she caught Micky’s gaze and rolled her eyes, suppressing the urge to make a stabbing motion at her belly.
Kill me now, she mouthed.
Damn, that woman was as long-winded as they came. Her ears practically ached from listening to her gab for the past thirty minutes. She shot hopeful glance at the clock and saw that she only had about ten minutes to go until lunch. Eureka…a break!
From the corner of her eye, she saw a large shadow step up to her window and she plastered a bright, friendly smile on her face. Those eyes…
That was the first thing she noticed, his eyes. Big gray-green eyes with thick lashes. Then he smiled, a slight lift to one corner of his mouth.
“I don’t believe it…Erik Fortner,” she said, shaking her head and leaning on the counter, staring at him with a dopey grin.
Damn, he was still as good-looking as he had been ten years ago.
“Hello, Vikky,” he said. The low, rough voice sent a shiver down her spine, rubbing over her skin like a caress.
“What are you doing back in Corydon? Aren’t you a big-time hotshot reporter now?” she drawled.
He laughed, leaning his elbows on the counter. “I’m not a reporter. I’m a photojournalist…big difference,” he said. “And I’m taking a break. A very long one.”
She watched something dark and grim enter his eyes and her heart went out to him. “I heard you spent some time over in Iraq. I’m awfully glad to see you’re still in one piece,” she said quietly.
He shrugged. “That’s why I’m taking the break. My head…some of the things I saw are messing with my mind. I think it was the right thing, going over there, but still… My mind is raw from it,” he said, his eyes taking on a far-off look. For a second, she thought he forgot where he was, and when he blinked and looked around, a bemused look in his eyes, it just helped confirm that idea.
“It’s really good to see you, Erik,” she said, smiling, leaning over to peck his cheek across the counter.
He turned his head and she could almost swear he did it on purpose so, at the last second, her lips brushed his mouth instead of his cheek. And her entire body literally sizzled from that light contact. Pulling back, she felt the blood rushing to her face as he said, “Oops. Sorry.”
Judging by the look in his eyes, he wasn’t sorry at all.
He never realized he’d fallen asleep until the phone jerked him awake. He jumped, for a moment not recognizing where he was and his mind automatically went to Alyssa—he needed to check on her…but then he remembered.
In the distance, he could hear Bree’s low, quiet murmur and he blocked the sound of it out, tried to still the storm churning inside him. He needed to get out of here. The rain was still coming down, although from the sound of it, the downpour had lessened a little. He came up out of the chair, wadding up the blanket Bree must have draped over him. He threw it on the footstool and headed out of the den, hoping he could grab his jacket and slip outside.
Remembering that his car was still at the funeral home, he paused, but then just shook his head. He didn’t give a damn if he had to walk. He didn’t really have a destination in mind anyway—just not home. That was the only thing that mattered. He didn’t know if that house could ever be home again. He’d built it for Alyssa.
It hit him then, just as he went to grab his coat from the hook hanging by Bree’s side door. It hit him like a ton of bricks dropping down to crush him. Slamming a hand against the wall, he tried to keep from buckling under the weight. What hit him weren’t tears—such a simple term couldn’t explain the pain that boiled up from deep inside and threatened to kill him as it clawed its way out of him.
He never heard Bree come in, just knew that suddenly she was there, slipping an arm around his waist, then the other, holding him as he finally let himself acknowledge reality.
Alyssa was gone.
There would be no one last chance to hope and pray for a miracle, no more nights where he could lie awake and watch her while she slept. Gone.
* * * * *
Her back was on fire and her left leg was so numb, she was pretty sure it would take an hour just to be able to get any feeling back in it—if she was ever able to move. But she didn’t care, didn’t say anything. They were half-laying, half-kneeling, with his head in her lap and the fingers of one hand twined with hers, holding on as though he’d never let go.
Her own tears were blinding her, but she blinked them back.
She wasn’t sure when the silence between them started to change. It wasn’t a comfortable silence, or an easy one, but the grief between them kept it from being awkward. But it changed—more on her part than his—or at least she thought it had. But then she realized that his free hand rested on her thigh and his thumb was stroking back and forth. Through her skirt, she could feel his warmth and every slow stroke was enough to make her heart skip a beat. He wasn’t even aware he was doing it, she suspected—any more than she was aware that she was lazily stroking a hand through his silky hair.
The tension spiked between them and slowly, Colby lifted his head. His pupils were dilated with just a thin sliver of amber showing. The hand on her thigh stilled—tightened. His gaze dropped to her mouth. She hated how easily her body reacted, hated that she wanted more than anything to close the distance between them and press her lips to his. Hated it. Just as she hated knowing that she was weak enough to give him anything he might need, even if it was just some sort of comfort sex.
She hoped that wouldn’t happen, yet somewhere inside, part of her hoped it would. Colby might need comfort, but she needed him. She’d always needed him and she’d never had the chance.
His lashes drooped low, shielding his gaze. A harsh sigh shuddered out of him and then he shoved to his feet. Without looking at her, he walked out of the kitchen, pausing only long enough to grab a key ring from the small bowl by her phone. She heard the engine of her bike revving out in the driveway. As he pulled away, she thunked her head back against the cabinet at her back and closed her eyes.
“Nice work, Bree.”
Ebook- Every Last Fantasy
Ebook- Guilty Needs