breasts beaded at the thought of the dream man’s mouth on her. She arched toward the sound, a wordless plea for him to make good on the sensual threat.
When he didn’t comply immediately, she knew a moment’s frustration. She wanted to draw him closer, to feel his tongue on her breast, licking away the hungry tension in skin that felt too tight. Too needy. But her limbs were heavy and lethargic.
“Please,” she murmured, her fingers sliding over her taut nipple. “Please.”
She could almost feel the warm breath of her fantasy man on her skin there, right where she wanted him. His scent, clean and salty like an ocean breeze, teased her nose.
Needing him, she drew her hand from her blouse and flung her arm forward. The movement jarred her, causing an ache in her neck. Her head fell off her pillow onto a cold, hard surface that wasn’t her bed.
Confused, Josie struggled to return to a comfortable spot. To the sweet lure of her fantasy man and a dream that felt incredibly real.
“Are you okay?” the deep bass voice asked.
Damn it. Why wasn’t he asking her to unbutton her blouse? To slide beneath silk sheets with him and tear off all their clothes?
She waited for her consciousness to return to that sexy, dreamy place. Instead, the ache in her neck increased.
“Wake up, beautiful,” the man in her dreams said.
But oddly, his voice seemed clearer now. Closer, somehow.
Wrenching her heavy eyelids open, Josie forced herself to take stock of her surroundings. To figure out why her pillow was so hard. To see why her alarm hadn’t gone off and why she was lazing around in the dark….
“Oh, my God,” she whispered.
A real, live, hot-looking man sat beside her in a room lit by a green, wavering night-light. He wore a light-colored dress shirt unbuttoned to the middle of his chest, exposing strong, well-defined pecs beneath. A silver saint’s medallion hung around his neck.
She didn’t recognize him. Could never have met him before this moment or she would have remembered. His chiseled jaw was covered with a shadow of late-night bristles. Full, sculpted lips; a straight Roman nose. Eyes an uncommon color, though it was too dark to tell the shade for sure. Green, maybe? Dark eyelashes framed them and heavy eyebrows topped them. An old scar ran across his forehead.
Details that were way too real for a dream.
“What are you doing here?” She straightened quickly, making herself dizzy. A spike of adrenaline pierced the sensual awareness that had held her captive a moment ago. “Where am I?”
Her pulse raced as she tried to absorb her surroundings. The stranger with her. Just because he was absurdly handsome didn’t exclude the possibility that he meant her harm.
“You’re on my brother’s boat. The Vesta.” He spoke slowly and calmly, his tone soothing her where it had once stoked a fire inside her. “You must have boarded it last night when it was still docked in Chatham.”
“Chatham?” Her heart rate slowed a little at his reasonable tone of voice. His presence wasn’t threatening even though he sat close beside her inside… “A boat?”
Realization hit her like a cartoon anvil to the head.
“The boat!” she exclaimed, remembering her trip to Chatham. She latched on to the swatch book on the table in front of her. “I boarded the boat to discuss some new designs for my cousin Chase…” The horror of the moment began to dawn on her. “Oh, God. You’re not Chase Freeman.”
“No.” The sexy stranger shook his head as he took a document out of his wallet and passed it to her. “I’m Keith Murphy, and my boat was docked beside his.” The document proved to be his driver’s license, which confirmed his claim and his residence in Chatham. “Maybe you wandered onto the wrong vessel?”
She’d completely missed her appointment with Chase the night before.
“Oh no.” Her stomach sank as full alertness returned. She remembered being exhausted and worried about getting seasick. “The numbering on the slips was so confusing. I thought this was the right boat because the lights were on. Then I took some motion sickness medicine and it must have knocked me out. What time is it?”
Maybe she could still meet Chase. Rising to her feet, she tried to pull herself together until the man—Keith—gently grasped her wrist.
“It’s four in the morning and we’re not in Chatham anymore. I didn’t know you were on board and I set sail about one o’clock.”
She found it tough to focus on his words when he squeezed, then released her. How could a total stranger’s touch feel so familiar? So incredibly good?
Snippets of her sexy dream returned to her and she wondered…
“Did anything else happen while I was sleeping?” Sinking back onto the seat beside him, she tried to process the situation. Her skin buzzed with a palpable, electric hum. “That is, did we…”
She had no idea where she was going with that question. But her nerve endings vibrated with keen awareness. He had said things to her, sexy things, hadn’t he? Her heartbeat quickened at the blur of steamy memories.
Mr. Fantasy smiled a thousand-watt grin that was sexy and shameless. “You were out of it when I got down here, but you didn’t talk in your sleep or anything, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Not really. I…” How could she explain that she felt as turned on as if he’d touched her? That she was kind of worried she’d thrown herself at him in her half-dreaming state?
She smoothed a hand over her hair, trying to restore some order and some self control. This wasn’t like her at all.
“Look, Miss…” He seemed to be waiting for her to fill in the blank.
“Oh. Josie Passano.” She extended her hand. “I apologize for boarding the wrong boat. If we could just turn around, I could try to salvage my meeting. I really needed that account.”
“Josie.” He tested the name and seemed to like it, if his slow nod was any indication. “Can I get you something to drink first?”
Rising, he flicked on a low light over the galley cook-top, making her realize they’d been sitting in the green glow of a night-light all that time. Good heavens, she was out of it. The medicine must have done a number on her.
“That would be great. Cold water, if you have any.”
As he moved toward the small icebox, she noticed his shirttails were untucked and his feet were bare. He’d rolled up his trousers like a man who’d just waded in the ocean. She liked that he’d kept some distance as she woke up, his smooth, deep voice and relaxed body language all putting her at ease when she had every right to be scared to death to find herself on a stranger’s boat in the middle of the night.
He turned and caught her staring.
“Here you go.” Offering her a clear plastic cup, he filled a second for himself and sat
