KENSINGTON BOOKS

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      Contents

      Prologue

      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

      Chapter 15

      Chapter 16

      Chapter 17

      Chapter 18

      Chapter 19

      Chapter 20

      Chapter 21

      Chapter 22

      Chapter 23

      Chapter 24

      Chapter 25

      Chapter 26

      Chapter 27

      Prologue

      Logan Cortez had paid quite a tidy sum to have this fantasy of his fulfilled, and as he stepped into the backyard of the magnificent house on Maple Court, in Westchester County, New York, he had high hopes. He’d been warned to let go of his preconceived notions, but it would seem that he’d really lucked out, at least with the weather. It was midafternoon on a Tuesday, and although it was early April, the weather was unseasonably warm, the sky crystal clear and the sun bright, heating his skin. Had the people he’d paid all that money to been able to order such a perfect day? He almost believed so. He grinned. Yes, his fantasy was about to become reality. Could reality possibly live up to his dreams?

      He’d been interviewed by a woman named Marcy at a coffee shop near Club Fantasy’s Manhattan location. “She won’t be the woman of your dreams,” she had said. “We can try to match height, weight, and hair and eye color, but even if we’re totally successful she won’t be the person you’ve fantasized about for all these years. Please understand that.”

      He’d considered and nodded. It was sad that this wouldn’t be his ideal woman but, of course, she couldn’t be. His ideal woman lived only in his dreams. “I’ll be content with whomever you come up with,” he’d said. “I do want her to be very petite, however. That’s a must.”

      “No problem,” the woman had replied, smiling. “I’ve got the perfect woman in mind. You said on the phone that you want everything to happen outdoors and I have just the place. I know you’ll be pleased, but, of course, your satisfaction is guaranteed.”

      He knew he could demand a refund if things didn’t work out. “Your service comes very highly recommended, so I’m sure there will be no problems on that score.” At three thousand dollars for the afternoon, there better not be. So many of his friends had told him about their fabulous experiences with Club Fantasy that he’d finally decided to give it a try. He and Marcy spent half an hour more in an extensive conversation about his desires, then he’d been given an address in Westchester, on a cul-de-sac called Maple Court. He arrived right on time.

      He’d been told to walk around the garage. His dream woman would be waiting on the rear lawn of the large house. He barely noticed the house as he arrived in the yard, and then he’d seen her. She looked almost exactly as he pictured her every night. How they had managed to find his fantasy woman he neither knew nor cared.

      Now he gazed at her as she extended her tiny hand to welcome him. She was exotic looking with stick-straight coal-black hair that hung almost to her waist and eyes that were almost as black, accented by long, black lashes and perfectly arching brows. Her complexion was dark, as if she’d spent time in the sun, and, in contrast, her lips were full and brilliant scarlet. All exactly as he’d wished. Beneath the soft robe she wore he could tell that she had a lush figure. Her breasts were obviously unfettered and they swayed as she moved, making his palms itch to feel the weight of them. And he would. In due time, but not just yet. He wanted to live this out to its fullest.

      He felt a tingling in his groin and smiled his approval. No, she wasn’t his fantasy woman—she was better because she was real, breathing and smiling at him. Without a word, she guided him toward a bright plaid woolen blanket that had been spread on the deep green lawn, among baskets and pots of brightly colored flowers. Splashes of the early afternoon sun illuminated her filmy gold caftan, gold bracelets and large, dangling gold earrings. She was barefoot and as she walked her full-length gown swayed just enough for him to see that her toes were polished bright red and she had an ankle bracelet joined to a ring on her center toe by a slender chain. She even smelled exotic, spicy and foreign.

      “You look like some Middle Eastern princess from an Arabian Nights tale,” he said, unable to believe his good fortune.

      “Isn’t that what you wanted?” she said softly, her voice a melody to his ears.

      “Oh yes,” he said, sighing at how right she was for him. “You’re exactly what I ordered.”

      “Then let’s have some wine.”

      A large hamper had been placed on the edge of the blanket and now Aisha—that was the name he’d given her years ago when his fantasy first materialized in his mind—settled gracefully beside it. From the basket she withdrew a bottle of red wine, two glasses and an opener. “Shall I serve you?” she asked with proper deference.

      “Please,” he said, settling beside her, stretching out and leaning on one elbow. She showed him the label and he saw that it was an exceptionally fine vintage from a grand cru vineyard he knew well. “A very good selection,” he said, nodding for her to open it.

      She was quick and deft, opening the bottle with smooth, sure movements, then pouring a small amount into a glass that she passed to him. He sipped, filling his senses with the rich, full flavor, and again nodded. He held out his glass and she filled it, then her own. “Would you care for something to eat?” she asked, her voice soft and sultry.

      “Let’s make this last,” he said, nodding.

      From the hamper she took a plate of hors d’oeuvres. “I have prepared a few delicacies I think you will like.” He saw small slices of pâté on tiny crackers, surrounded by several kinds of black olives and cornichons, small sour pickles. She also had a fine triple crème blue cheese, neatly arranged toast points, intermingled with small green and red grapes. Marcy had obviously heard every word he’d said. “I hope this pleases you.”

      He loved the deference with which she spoke to him. It fit right