Sex And The Sleepwalker. Donna Sterling
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Cade wondered if he was dreaming
He had to be. No way was Brynn creeping into his bedroom, wearing nothing but a soft, sheer nightgown.
But there she stood, her beautiful face barely visible in the moonlight.
“You want me to keep you occupied, Cade?” Her sexy whisper shot shivers down his spine.
Before he could gather his wits enough to reply, she sank a knee into the mattress and knelt beside him. Her eyes, oddly shining, seemed to look straight through him. “Don’t think for a minute that I can’t ‘keep you occupied.’”
He sat up, stunned beyond words. After all this time, was Brynn trying to seduce him?
“You don’t think I’m up to it?” Her words teased him as he thought of all the ways she could occupy him.
“Let’s give it a go, Romeo.” And with a suddenness that startled him, she yanked her nightgown over her head.
It was all the invitation he needed….
Dear Reader,
Life is complicated enough without having your subconscious mind play tricks on you…such as sending you dreams so vivid and lifelike you can’t help but rise out of bed to participate. I’m talking about sleepwalking. It’s been a curse to me for as long as I can remember. Many times I’ve woken up in places other than my bed with only jumbled, nonsensical memories of how I’d gotten there.
These occasional nighttime adventures inspired me to write Sex and the Sleepwalker. Imagine the complications that could arise when the owner of a bed-and-breakfast inn wanders the halls in her sleep…and wakes up in bed with a sexy male guest.
I hope you enjoy Brynn’s misadventures—and her resulting relationship with a macho U.S. marshal, Cade Hunter. Happy reading, dear readers. And always follow your dreams…but only when you’re awake.
Feel free to e-mail me at [email protected]. And don’t forget to check out www.tryblaze.com.
Sincerely,
Donna Sterling
Sex and the Sleepwalker
Donna Sterling
To my parents, my husband and my conference roommates—for all the times your sleep was disrupted by my sleepwalking adventures. Feel free to “seize the day.” I’ve got the nights covered.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Epilogue
1
SHE SPOTTED HIM the moment she stepped onstage.
There he sat in the front row of the crowded auditorium, his muscular arms crossed, his long legs comfortably extended, his mouth slanted in that slight but infuriating smirk she remembered so well from their college days. Cade Hunter. Of all the rotten luck, why did Cade Hunter have to show up at the most important award ceremony of her life?
“It’s my pleasure to present this award to the incredible, incomparable, one-and-only Ms. Brynn Sutherland,” the president of the United States had just announced, a woman who bore a striking resemblance to Brynn’s softball coach in seventh grade, “for running the best bed-and-breakfast in the history of the free world!”
The auditorium had exploded with applause and the audience had risen to their feet. It was Brynn’s shining moment—success beyond her wildest imagining. But as she tried to cross the stage to accept the huge gold trophy—which looked exactly like an Oscar—she found herself moving in slow motion, as if she were walking through dense, soupy muck. And it was all his fault. He was the only one not clapping, the only one not standing and smiling in admiration.
She tried not to scowl at him. She was supposed to be smiling and approaching the podium to accept her award, not fuming over Cade Hunter’s insolent attitude.
Before she managed to tear her gaze away from his rugged but oddly appealing face, she saw his lips move. And though she couldn’t hear his voice, she knew what he said. “Prude.”
Prude! Oh, he knew how to push her buttons! This was an important occasion for her. A business function. A public affirmation of her talent as an innkeeper—not to mention great promo for the Three Sisters Bed & Breakfast Inn. Yet Cade Hunter had taken it upon himself to show up, uninvited, just to rehash old arguments.
Balling her hands into fists, Brynn pivoted away from him and resumed her slow motion trek toward the podium. The president, she noticed, had morphed into Candice Bergen, and the trophy now looked like a mermaid from a tuna can label. Brynn didn’t mind that too much, though.
She was still too ticked over Cade Hunter’s gall. Prude, he’d called her. Didn’t he see that she’d changed? Couldn’t he tell she was no longer the virginal teenager he’d known, but a sultry urban adventuress with more notches on her bedpost than the gals on Sex and the City?
“Prick tease,” he taunted.
That stopped her dead in her tracks, not three feet from the podium. How dare he? Nine years ago, he might have had grounds to call her such a thing—though he never had, to her knowledge. No, he’d never called her anything worse than a prude, which had been bad enough. But now he seemed determined to publicly humiliate her.
And he was succeeding. For some inexplicable reason, another man in the audience repeated the accusation. “Prick tease.” Then someone else said it.
Soon the entire audience took up a chant: “Prick tease. Prick tease. Prick tease.”
“That’s not fair,” Brynn yelled over the commotion. “I had good reasons not to go all the way with him. I was only eighteen. I wasn’t ready!”
The audience didn’t listen. Their chanting had grown thunderous. With that cocky gleam in his honey-gold eyes, Cade Hunter uttered, “She’s probably frigid, anyway.”
“Frigid! Me?” That was more than any self-respecting urban adventuress could take. Shaking with outrage, Brynn stalked past Candice Bergen to the side of the stage and descended a flight of stairs, glaring all the while at the despicable Cade Hunter. “You think I’m frigid, Cade? And a prude? A ‘prick tease’? Well, let’s just see about that, why don’t we?” With every step she took, she jerked open her silk blouse a bit more, popping off the mother-of-pearl buttons like microwave popcorn. “Come on, big boy.” She yanked the blouse off her shoulders and reached for the zipper of her designer slacks. “You want a piece of me? Let’s give it a go, Romeo….”
She never saw it coming. Out of nowhere, a long, hard protrusion sprang up and hit her in the jaw, knocking her into a wall. Metal clanged around her. Something damp and limp folded over her face. The lights went out, plunging her into darkness, and pain shot through her body.
It took a moment—a long, agonizing moment of stunned bewilderment—before her eyes adjusted to the dark, her senses fully returned and she recognized where she was.
In the broom closet. More specifically, on the