This being a dream - which I knew somehow, even as I sighed and parted my legs for him - he knew exactly how to touch me, knew all of the secret places that made me shudder and bite my lip. I could feel my n**ples pucker and tighten as two of his fingers travelled down the valley between my br**sts, pausing to dip into my navel before sliding down my lower stomach and stopping, teasingly, just above my mound.
He smiled.
He leaned over me, resting his elbow on the desk and brushing his lips against mine - an almost-but-not-quite kiss. I could feel my face burning, my chest heaving with every breath; I'd completely fallen to pieces and he'd hardly touched me at all. Yet.
The part of my brain that was aware I was dreaming drifted further and further away, allowing me to lose myself in the fantasy. No one in real life, not even Daniel himself, could possibly live up to this. But I might as well enjoy it while it lasted.
I arched my back, signaling that I was more than ready for him. Then and only then, he grabbed me by the h*ps and pulled me to the edge of the desk, pulling my legs apart further until my skirt was bunched up around my waist. He leaned down and pressed a burning kiss on the inside of my thigh -
Bzzt! Bzzt! Bzzt! Bzzt!
My arm flailed vaguely in the direction of my bedside table, grasping for my vibrating phone, my spastic movements sending it flying across the room. It sat on the carpet, still buzzing away, until I dragged myself out from under the covers to shut the alarm up.
Oh, God. How was I going to look Daniel in the eye now?
Chapter Three
The memory of the dream was still vivid in the back of my mind as I walked through the doors into the office. I kept my head down, hurrying to my desk to settle in before anyone tried to strike up a conversation with me. And God forbid I should run into Daniel. Come to think of it, though, I'd never actually witnessed him coming or going. As far as I knew, he slept here.
Okay, no, that wasn’t the ideal way to take my mind off of my dream. I forced myself to focus on the work that was on my screen, blocking out any thoughts or feelings that weren't directly related to this booklet design. It didn't have a firm deadline, so I'd been tinkering around with it for weeks. I wondered what would happen to it, after I "quit." As mind-numbing as my work could sometimes be, I still took a tiny bit of creative pride in what I did for the company. It felt strange to know that I'd be saying goodbye to all of that.
"Maddy."
I felt a hot flush spread across the back of my neck at the sound of his voice. Turning around slowly, I forced myself to meet his gaze. He was standing there casually, like it was the most natural thing in the world, his arm resting on the top of the cubicle wall.
"Good morning, sir," I said. Everyone in neighborhood cubicles had slowly rotated their chairs around to stare at us, and anyone passing through the vicinity had stopped a little distance away, pretending to be interested in a yellowed newspaper cartoon pinned to someone's wall while they listened to our conversation.
I knew this was exactly what Daniel wanted, but I still couldn't stop myself from blushing. "I'm glad to see you here so early," he said. "Do you have any plans for lunch today?"
I swallowed hard and shook my head.
"Excellent," he said. "I hope you'll join me in my office at eleven-thirty. We'll order in. Whatever you like. I want to discuss some new ideas I have about the project."
"Of course," I said, a little louder than necessary. "I'll see you then."
"Very good." He nodded, smiled, hesitated for a moment, and then walked away. Everyone's eyes followed him until he disappeared behind his office door, and then they all turned to me.
I hunched over my keyboard, pretending I couldn't feel their eyes drilling holes in my back. I spent the next half hour nudging the same block of text back and forth, and when I finally looked up, everyone had returned to their rightful places. But I knew what they were thinking.
Now, I had to spend my whole lunch break sitting across the desk from him. How was I going to avoid blushing and giggling the whole time? Or worse, just staring at him like a deer in the headlights? I hated being reduced to an airheaded schoolgirl by one stupid dream, but it felt so real.
The next few hours flew by. Before long, I found myself walking down the thickly carpeted hallway that led to Daniel's office. His door was open a crack, and his assistant was standing by his desk with a notepad open.
"Ah, Ms. Wainright," he said, gesturing for me to sit. "I was just about to give Alice my lunch order. I was thinking of takeout from Vivian's - how does that sound?"
"Great, it sounds great," I replied, after I managed to find my voice. Vivian's was one of the most expensive steak houses in town. I'd never dreamed of setting foot in the place. But to Daniel, it was probably like going to a sub shop for lunch. No big deal. This lifestyle was going to take some adjusting-to.
"Alice, I'll have a twelve-ounce Porterhouse with mashed potatoes and grilled asparagus. Medium rare. Ms. Wainright, what about you?"
"Oh, I don't really…I don't really know what they have." Daniel and Alice were both staring at my expectantly, and I felt like I was being tested somehow.
"All the usual," said Daniel, waving his hand vaguely. "They'll make you anything. What do you like, steak? Chicken? Seafood? I think I've had everything there at least once, I could recommend you something."
"I'm not picky," I said, truthfully. "I was going to have mostly-smashed energy bar from the bottom of my purse, so pretty much anything would be a step up from that."
Daniel laughed, but Alice shot me a haughty look. "Would you rather have something light, then?" said Daniel. "A salad, maybe? Their Caesar with grilled shrimp is really excellent; the dressing is a special in-house recipe."
"Sure, that sounds fantastic." I cleared my throat as Alice hurried out of the room with her notepad. "Do you get lunch at Vivian's often?"
"Just a few times a week." He was smiling at me, knowingly. "I promise you, my life isn't all that strange. You'll get used to it. Which brings me to my next point - I feel we ought to go out on our first official dinner date sooner rather than later. I'm sure the office gossip mill is going to start soon."
"My cube-mate asked me yesterday why I was spending so much time in your office," I supplied, trying not to fidget in my seat. But I couldn't stop myself from staring at his lips, trying to remember if the recreation from my dream was accurate to real life. I could feel a prickling heat travel up the skin on my chest as my eyes travelled along the sleek, polished surface of his desk, remembering how it had "felt" under my body. Almost subconsciously, I had worn a knee-length skirt and blouse very similar to the outfit my brain had conjured up. I still couldn't really explain why. Did I think it was going to make him notice me? Did I want him to notice me?
The last thing I needed was to harbor a one-sided crush on my fake husband.
"Is it going to be somewhere fancy?" I blurted out, trying to disrupt my very dangerous thought patterns. He blinked at me. "I mean, the dinner date. I don't really think I have anything to wear."
"Yes, I was about to ask…" he dug out his wallet and pulled out a crisp off-white business card, handing it to me across the desk. "If you go to this boutique, you should find the staff very accommodating. They have my credit card on file. I'll call ahead and let them know to expect you. Buy whatever you like. Don't hold yourself back; you'll certainly find occasion to wear all of it in the next year."
I stared at the card. "Thank you."
He steered the conversation to small talk for the next few minutes, covering everything from the unseasonably warm weather to a funny news article he'd seen that morning. I'd never known him to be this talkative, or this casual, and I found myself growing quieter and quieter. I was still trying to digest the strangeness of it all; trying to picture myself walking into the boutique. I felt like the mere act of shopping there required nicer clothes than I had in my closet.
Alice returned with our food in record time. Daniel was right. The salad was delicious, but I could barely taste it. My eyes kept drifting to his mouth, watching the way it closed around each bite, the way his tongue flicked out to lick his lips clean -
Okay, I had a serious problem on my hands. I just had to hope it would wear off once the memory of the dream faded. Because if this was permanent, the next year of my life was going to be an elaborate form of torture.
I was relieved to escape from his office, hurrying back to my desk. I buried myself in meaningless busy work for the rest of the day. I survived the rest of the week that way, and to my surprise, I fielded exactly zero questions about the nature of my relationship with Daniel. I really expected someone to say something; a few times I swore someone was about to, but then they clammed up and retreated. Maybe Daniel intimidated them. He certainly did me. Being perfectly honest with myself, I was terrified of disappointing him in some way. He obviously thought I was more than capable of pretending to be his wife for legal purposes, but I had my doubts. What if I made some terrible blunder, or revealed something incriminating to the INS? What if I just did something horribly embarrassing - something that would force him to stand up for me as if I were really his wife?
I went to the boutique on Saturday, slipping into the newest jeans I had and a pretty decent blouse that didn't have a single stain on it. Still, the moment the bell jingled above my head as I walked through the door, I was painfully aware of being out of my element. I ought to have worn high heels, or gotten my hair done, or something. One of the sales girls came over to me, and I felt like her smile was a little bit forced.
"Can I help you?" she asked, looking me up and down.
"I need a dress," I said. "I'm sure you can tell I'm out of my element. Daniel Thorne told me to come here, he said -"
"Oh, of course." Her demeanor instantly thawed. "Right over here, Ms. Wainright. It's a pleasure to meet you. My name's Emma. I've pulled a few pieces for you. Let me know what you think. Mr. Thorne wasn't sure of your size, but I'm sure we can find it if you like any of them."
"To be perfectly honest, I'm not sure I know my size either. It's been so long since I've bought a dress." I looked up at what she'd chosen for me; there was something black and slinky and something else in a deep purple, and more behind those that I couldn't really see.
"Let's take your measurements, then. Step into a fitting room." She was already unwinding a tailor's tape.
Once she'd wrapped it around my waist, hips, and bust, she scribbled a few things on a notepad I hadn't even noticed she had. "All right," she said. "A few of these will probably fit you just fine, but we can work with the others as well. Why don't you try the black one on first?"
I stepped out of my clothes and slipped it over my head, spinning around in the mirror as the folds of fabric settled on the curves and contours of my body. I had to admit I liked the way it clung to my chest, but I wasn't happy with the overall shape of it. I looked to Emma for guidance.
She shook her head. "It's not quite right for you. I had a feeling it wouldn't be. Try the purple."