until the soft wave crashed over in soothing warmth.
“You collapse in my arms. Your skin is damp and those heavenly breasts are pressed against my chest. I reach down and take a bite through your shirt. Your dark, silky hair hangs down against my desk. I’m holding you in my arms, admiring the sleepy, sated smile on your face. You’re so beautiful, Scorpio. I press my lips between the folds of your blouse and taste the sweet skin between your breasts. I can feel your heart beating wildly against my lips, then it slows as we rest in each other’s arms.”
Oh, yeah.
There was a long pause. Trisha’s limp hands could barely make contact with the keyboard, and she wondered if Pisces47 felt the same way. She waited, allowing her heartbeat to slow when a message finally popped up on the screen.
“How do you feel, Scorpio?”
Her weakened fingers could only type, “Good.”
“Me, too.”
There was another long pause as Trisha tried to recover. She needed to return something, anything other than a few shaky pleas.
“I…” she typed, letting him know she’d be answering in a moment.
“No, Scorpio. Tonight’s for you. Crawl into bed. Curl up and think of me. Think of your dreams as you rest in peaceful sleep.”
She stared at the screen, the session still echoing through her mind.
“I will,” she typed.
“Good night, Scorpio. And remember, honey, whenever you need me I’m just a click away.”
Unable to move, she studied the words while the message popped up saying Pisces47 had logged off. She glanced around her bedroom suddenly realizing she had no idea what time it was. It had been light when they began tonight’s chat, but the sun had gone down somewhere during the first climax and now the room was dark, lit only by the white screen of the chat room.
She shook herself and pressed the keys to download the chat. She’d saved all of Pisces47’s chats. They were too good to toss into cyberspace, so she held them as memories of the man on the other end of the line.
Whoever he was.
Trisha’s brain told her he was probably either a pudgy old married man, or a sex-starved, geeky college kid. But in her fantasies, she knew exactly who he was.
Logan Moore.
Logan had been the object of her fantasies since she’d taken her job at the Moore Agency two years ago. And for two years he’d ruined her for every man that crossed her path. In Trisha’s mind, no one could stand up to Logan Moore and his dark, midnight eyes. She’d often wondered what secrets he kept in those bottomless pools.
But she’d never be the one to find out. Not only was Logan her boss, but rumor had it, the man went through women like a long-haul trucker went through diesel fuel. He was a consummate playboy with a preference toward wealthy supermodels and aspiring actresses. At least, that was the general consensus around the office, and if true, Trisha Bain was clearly out of the running.
For more than a year she’d tried to ignore her infatuation with Logan. She’d continued dating, hoping somewhere along the line Mr. Right would come along and help her forget the tall, chiseled man who filled her dreams. But she’d quickly discovered the effort was pointless. No man would be a worthy substitute for Logan Moore.
At least, not in the flesh.
That was when she happened upon LoveSigns.com and found the perfect solution. She could meet the ideal partner and carry out her sexual fantasies online, with no physical contact to remind her that the man feeding them to her was someone other than Logan Moore. She could put one man’s words with another man’s image and come up with the ideal mate.
For the time being.
Of course, she knew some day she’d have to move on and doing so would probably mean quitting her job. She couldn’t spend the rest of her life clinging to something that didn’t really exist. And she had no intention of doing so.
Her fantasies about Logan and her account with LoveSigns.com would only take her through the next few months, when she completed the ad campaign that would be the jewel on her résumé to help her land a high-paying job somewhere else.
Just a few months of fantasies, and Trisha Bain would forget about Logan Moore and move on with her life.
At least, that was the plan.
“READY FOR THE big meeting?”
Trisha glanced up from her desk to see her friend, Adrienne, peeking through the doorway of her office.
“Not really,” she replied. The pen she held jittered in her shaky hand. Not wanting to reveal her nerves, she dropped it on the desk and folded her hands in her lap. “Devon just called. His flight’s delayed and he won’t be back in time. It’ll just be me and Logan.”
The perky smile on Adrienne’s face sobered as she took a step into the room. “So? This is your campaign, what do you need Devon for?”
Devon made a threesome. Without him, she’d be left alone with Logan, in his office, causing the line between reality and her fantasies to become dangerously thin.
She squeezed her hands together, digging her fingers into the backs of her knuckles. “I just…” she started, not sure how to explain, and based on Adrienne’s knowing expression, she wasn’t going to have to.
Adrienne reached back and closed the door. “This is about Cyber Man.”
Trisha still didn’t understand the complete lapse of judgment that had caused her to confess her twice-weekly chats to Adrienne. Okay, so Adrienne had been her best friend since their days at U.C. Berkeley. If she were to confess to anyone, it would be her. But given the fact that Adrienne had been against the idea from the start, she wasn’t appreciating that I-told-you-so look on her face right now.
Trisha wanted sympathy, not a lecture.
She chose not to respond. Instead, she just frowned and moved her now aching hands from her lap and tucked them under her thighs.
Adrienne took a chair in front of the desk. She was making herself comfortable. She was apparently staying.
Lecture time.
“I told you that was a bad idea.”
So was telling Adrienne about Cyber Man.
Adrienne stared at her for what seemed like an excruciatingly long moment, then finally smiled. “Why don’t you just ask Logan out?”
What was better, the lecture or complete stupidity?
She scowled, letting Adrienne know she’d just crossed over to the latter.
“Gee, let’s see,” Trisha said, hoping to drag out the sarcasm in her tone. “I’m only five-foot-six, which makes me three inches too short for Logan Moore.”
Trisha’s height brought her eye level to his iron-pumped chest, but the six-foot-three
