Once Upon A Mattress

She listened as Dr. Tracy calmly explained to her caller that she was kidding herself about her new boyfriend. That he would never amount to anything and the caller should dump him.

Sage advice. So thrilling to be the dumper rather than the dumpee. So where had Dr. Tracy been when Hilary was in Atlanta?

In Dallas, of course.

That was Hilary’s home now, but it didn’t feel like it. Yet.

She loved her new house, she really did. It was situated in Kessler Park, a small suburb just south of Dallas. The house was small, like Mark’s house back in Atlanta. It had wooden floors that, when polished and disinfected, had a fresh, pine scent. Okay, perhaps it was a lot like Mark’s house, but this new and improved house had three little rooms rather than four. Living room, kitchen and, as soon as she moved all the boxes, she’d even have a bedroom. Of course, it did need a little work. But she was willing to do whatever it took to start over.

A new life, a new house.

Then she took a hard look at the ceiling and sighed. And a new roof.

She thought about calling the roofer, even went and picked up the phone, but then she thought of what repairmen charged these days. Her credit card was in a world of hurt. No, she thought as she put down the phone. She’d wait out the storm, wet spot and all. Again she studied her ceiling. Really, it didn’t look that bad. If she were lucky, the storm would pass soon.

Thunder boomed and she jumped, still a little nervous about being alone. What she needed was company. She went to her would-be bedroom, rummaged through the boxes until she found the old paper box that she had treasured since her childhood. She popped open the lid and at last pulled out her friend, her confidant, her constant. The storms raged around her, and Hilary held tight to her musty, yet still pristinely preserved, stuffed Benjamin Franklin doll.

When your father was in the air force, some guy in a red cape and the likes of Barbie just didn’t cut it. Thomas Jefferson, Betsy Ross, John Wayne—those were the stuff of legends.

She padded back to the living room, feeling a little better with Benjamin at her side. This was the first time she’d truly been on her own, and although she was off to a shaky start, things would work out.

She hoped.

Hilary stared at the wise man sitting in her lap. Of course they will, won’t they, Ben?

If only it would stop raining.

An ominous creaking sounded deep in the bowels of her roof.

She didn’t want to see this.

Crack.

That made her look. One truss jutted right through the middle of her ceiling, drywall drooping like a weeping willow. Above that, there was only the dark gray sky.

And of course, rain.

Her mother had always punished her for cussing—a lady never cusses—but this time Hilary swore up and down in a manner that her father, retired Air Force Colonel Douglas Sinclair, would have approved of.

Just for good measure, she swore again.

Benjamin stared back at her, his blue eyes laughing at her behind his wire-frame spectacles.

“You keep that up, I’ll put you back in the box.”

She found the first water-removal ad in the yellow pages and picked up the phone to dial.

But there was no dial tone.

Unbelievable.

BEN SHUFFLED through the papers on his desk, not that it helped. Nine at night, and he hadn’t made it through the first diagram yet. The internals of a bed. He had been an English major, not an engineer.

The Cowboys game on TV called to him. Ben, you don’t really want to read that, do you? Come watch me.

Why did football have to have such a seductive voice? He groaned and took another sip of his cola.

No, he was not going to accept defeat at the hands of an innerspring. He propped his elbows on his desk and tried to concentrate.

Not that it helped.

MacAllister Beds wasn’t about security, it was about a mattress. And if Ben was going to succeed here, he really needed to understand how a mattress was put together.

He blew out a breath, staring at the springs.

What the hell was a helical anyway?

AFTER A THOROUGH CHECK of her closets for ax murderers, Hilary knew the dead phone line was not a plan to kill her, merely another step to wrecking her new and improved life.

With half a tank of gas, she wasn’t going far, and gas stations open in Kessler this late at night were hard to find. She found a hotel nearby, a by-the-hour establishment, but decided against it.

At two in the morning, she found her way to the familiar confines of MacAllister Beds.

Thank God. Tired and exhausted, she was ready to discover if the company’s advertising claims were true.

The office was dark and gloomy, shadows creeping along the wall. Hilary clutched her herbal-extracts pillow to her chest, letting the scents of lavender and barley soothe her senses. Her backpack was filled with tomorrow’s clothes, toiletry bag, mini-alarm clock, one breakfast bar and a new tin of mints. Only two more days until the weekend. Thank God. Maybe she could spend the time waterproofing her house.

The rain pounded, but there were no drip-drip-whoosh sounds of a roof about to collapse, merely the rather loud whirring of the ancient air-conditioning system.

The Future Products and Research Testing area was on the third floor, and she was relieved to see the old metal elevator waiting for her. They had said she could have after-hours access—anything to keep their workers happy and productive. Right now, Hilary was too exhausted to think about work. Just a few hours of sleep was all she needed, and the research testing area was the perfect place.

The elevator shuddered to a halt, and she slid back the iron gate. First she looked to make sure the hallway was empty, and then she crept toward the open glass doorway that housed the next generation of MacAllister Beds.

At last.

Inside was another long hallway lined with eight doors. Each room housed a bed, a small television set, a nightstand, and a small hospital-style bathroom. Not quite the comforts of home, but there were no leaks, no standing water, and best of all, no room charges.

Hilary wandered from room to room, examining each bed closely. Over the years, she’d learned the power of a good mattress.

Five years ago she had graduated from the University of Tampa with a degree in industrial engineering. First job out, and she started in the sleep products industry. Twelve months later, she’d discovered she loved it, even with the uninvited remarks from the occasional yuckster: sleeping on the job, or sleeping with her boss. Everyone thought they were comedians.

She finally settled on the last room at the end of the hallway, number eight. First, she set her alarm for five o’clock—didn’t want to get caught. Next, she bounced on the mattress for a moment, then kicked off her shoes and sank onto the bed.

Ah. Bliss.

For a long time, she stared at the ceiling, wondering about her roof, wondering about her job, wondering about her $9,337 Visa balance, but gradually the lavender did its job, the barley cleared her worries away, and Hilary fell into a deep sleep.

BEN LIFTED HIS HEAD off his desk and opened one eye, the morning light way too bright in his office. Immediately the hammer in his head pounded with a vengeance. Ouch. Why in a building full of beds had he chosen to fall asleep at his desk?

“Mr. MacAllister!” It was the voice of a drill sergeant.

And now he was wide-awake. His latest temporary secretary, Helga Von Schmidt, was punctual, efficient and possessed no visible sense of humor. He hated her.

“Security registered motion detection in the testing center last evening and no trials were scheduled. I thought you might want to know, as security is your job.” She lifted one dark eyebrow as if he were completely inept. James Bond he wasn’t, but for God’s sake, it was a mattress factory. What were they going to steal?

“I’m on the case, Helga. You can relax now.”

She humphed and stalked out the door without so much as a cheerful smile to start the day. Ben wondered if the temporary agency would be annoyed if he called and requested a new secretary.

Probably. He seemed to be annoying a lot of people lately.

Still, security was his job. Or at least his latest job.

And it was time to check out the facts. Down at the research center, Ben looked into each room, wondering if he should test for fingerprints.

Nah. By the time he entered room number eight, he knew that no fingerprints were necessary.

There was a new smell that permeated this room. Pleasant, comforting. Not at all what they normally used in the testing lab, where antiseptic deodorizer was de rigueur.

The bed looked completely unused, and yet…

He sat down on the bed, a new test unit for the Dreamscape line. The innersprings gave way just as they’d been designed. He leaned back, letting the warm smell wash over him. Without thinking, he rested his head on the pillow, the scent of, what was that smell? Something with flowers and something else. It was soothing, relaxing, yet oddly elusive.

Something sharp poked his spine and he reached behind him, looking for a clue. But there was nothing.

Someone had lain here, he was sure of it. But why? A little catnapping on the job, or a little catnapping on the side?

What a perfect setup for an affair. No hotels necessary, just use the company’s product.

Ben sat up. For the first time the weight of responsibility was resting on his shoulders. With a scowl that would have made Helga proud, he strode out of the room.

Tonight he would discover just exactly what was being researched in the testing center.

Or who.

3

BEN WANDERED through the hallways late into the night, hoping he looked like the proprietary owner rather than a paranoid Director of Security. No one seemed to think it strange that Ben, who never worked more than thirty hours a week before, was now stalking the halls like a man bent on worldwide domination.

That was a laugh. All he wanted was his family back together.

Worldwide domination was probably easier. Actually, getting his family back together looked pretty much impossible. His mom acted too accepting of the divorce, his father was ready to audition for Fear Factor. MacAllister Beds was all that was left.

Gradually, the plant had emptied, the parking lot vacated. Now it was time.

He went to the research center and picked his spot carefully. The bed across from room number eight.

It sounded like a bad cable movie. Typical Thursday night fare.

He shook his head, tossing the thought aside, then he shut off the lights. Instantly, the room turned black as pitch, empty. He settled himself on the bed, crossing his arms across his chest.

Eleven…midnight. Still nothing. He tossed on the mattress, wishing for the familiar bed in his apartment. Another storm raged outside, the cooling masses pressing against the heated air. Nothing to worry about.

Finally, convinced he was paranoid and all was actually right with the world, Ben fell asleep, dreaming of lavender and the green eyes of a cat.

DETERMINED TO HAVE a solid alibi, Hilary decided to work in her office until midnight, or until her body quit, whichever came first. To be honest, the world was getting a little hazy and she wasn’t exactly sure what was what.

Could be the early onset of a cold. She should have stocked up on Vitamin C.

She made due with two cold tablets sans water. Her throat had expanded and she wasn’t sure that the water would have gone down. Her voice had dropped two octaves since this afternoon and soon it would be gone altogether. She liked talking to herself as her voice disintegrated—pretending she was Mae West. After all, a woman needed role models.

Feeling a little giddy, she did a short bump and grind to get into her sleep shirt and shorts.

By the time she reached the third floor, she was pretty well wiped. Walking like the zombie she was, she thought she’d returned to the room she’d been in the night before. Pulling her pillow from her backpack, she inhaled the soothing barley with a heavy sigh. At least she could still breathe.

She collapsed on the bed and then climbed under the crisp sheets. Her eyes felt so heavy, sleep was so close. Thank God for MacAllister Beds.

THERE WAS A HAND on her breast. A possessive hand. Hilary smiled drowsily at the familiar warmth. Mark always did have a perfect sense of timing.

The alarm began to beep, and Hilary reached over to shut it off.

Then she rolled closer to him, basking in the heat that radiated from him. Ah…he felt so good. Slowly her fingers crept underneath his pajama shirt to find hard muscles beneath.

It must be the gym. She had told him it would pay off.

His lips trailed over her neck, and she could smell his new cologne. It was milder than what he usually wore, but underneath she could smell him. Strong, bold, masculine.

She tried to open her eyes, but she felt too lazy, too adored. Diving into this warm pool of hedonism, Hilary simply let him dally at her neck. Never had she felt so hot. It was like fire everywhere his lips touched.

She wrapped her arms around him, bringing him fully on top of her. With a contented sigh, she absorbed his weight, his strength. Her hands splayed over his back, over his butt. There she lingered, wondering why she had never noticed exactly how built he was.

Tomorrow she would tell him. Or today. Maybe she could tell him yesterday. Oh, she was getting silly.

Then his lips took hers in a kiss that gave no quarter. She had never let him kiss her before she had brushed her teeth, but today she didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to leave this marvelous world where kissing was so much fun.

And soon she was responding to his kiss and forgot all about her morning breath. It felt amazing to just live in the moment.

He pushed up her shirt, and she felt cool air against her overheated flesh. But soon his hands were there, hard and daring.

Everywhere they touched her, she responded. It was as if she was new, unfamiliar.

His hands cupped her breasts, and his fingers stroked her eager nipples. She arched her back, wanting more of his ardent attention. The air felt thick and heavy, the blackness like a balm. All was quiet, except for the sound of his breath. Steady and strong.

She felt detached from her body, the sensations so intense that she could no longer separate each new touch.

His hips pressed against her and she moaned. A heavy ache beat like a pulse between her thighs. Feeling very Mae, she wrapped her legs around him and ground her hips tight.

THE LINE BETWEEN reality and his dream was getting all blurred now. Ben’s logical brain was shouting for him to wake up. His primordial brain had abandoned all principles and just wanted more.

Her hands were not shy at all, exploring his chest and his stomach with a sureness that made him burn. She was a flame that he held in his arms; everywhere she touched, his skin turned to fire.

And against his neck, her lips whispered a promise of paradise.

He could smell her, smell the lavender, the barley, the musky arousal that even her perfume could not mask.

Her magic fingers unbuttoned his fly and then slid beneath his briefs, and she laughed, low and husky. “Mark,” she whispered against his neck, as if just his name delighted her.

Mark?

Mark?

Ben opened his eyes and stared into wanton green eyes that glowed fever-bright with desire.

He had tasted the heat of her lips. He had felt her breasts heavy in his hands. Still, her voice played in his head.

Mark?

With legs slightly unsteady, Ben ignored all his instincts, climbed out of the bed and turned on the lights. The sight of her bare golden skin was mesmerizing. His stubble had left red streaks on her skin. Marks of possession.

Ben wasn’t a man who thought in terms of possession, hell, he prided himself on having as few as possible, but this morning there it was. His mark.

He could do nothing but stare, his body protesting the space between them. He was a fool.

The fog lifted from her gaze and her face froze in horror. “Mr. MacAllister,” she gasped, pulling her shirt down and gathering the covers around her. She looked the picture of naive innocence. Ben remembered the way she had stroked him earlier and thought the Victorian modesty bit was way overdone.

“I think you can call me Ben,” he said with what he hoped was a reassuring smile. Unfortunately, her eyes flashed sexual harassment. What was the law, anyway?

She pulled the sheet tight around her, an extra layer of protection over her shirt and shorts. “Let’s just forget this moment ever happened. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll get dressed.”

Oh, please. “You are dressed,” he said in a calm, non-threatening voice. “Look, this was nothing more than a case of mistaken identity.”

She tried to climb out of the bed, but the sheet kept coming untucked, and she wouldn’t let go. He held a hand, but she scooted away from him. “Don’t touch me.”

As if he were some sort of monster. Jeez, who had climbed into bed with whom here? And why was she here? “Look, I’m sorry. Okay? But this isn’t that big a deal.”

She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood. Then she braced a hand behind her on the bed and closed her eyes. For a second he thought she was going to faint. But not Miss Hilary Sinclair. She opened her eyes again, emerald sharp, and took a deep breath. “Not a big deal? You are such a man.”

He jammed his hands into his pockets. “A fact you were perfectly happy with about fifteen minutes ago.”

Direct hit. Her faced flushed fire-engine red. “I expect a co-worker to behave with a bit more decorum, but obviously in your case, that’s too much to ask. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m leaving.”

She shuffled out the door with quite a bit of dignity for a woman sporting humidity hair, dragging a sheet behind her.

BEN SPENT the early-morning hours locked in his office, waiting for a decent hour to make a call. Tonight, when he had a cold beer in his hand and a cold shower nearby, he would linger over the surprising aggressiveness of Miss Hilary Sinclair and her bodacious breasts, but right now he needed to put MacAllister Beds first. He picked up the phone and dialed, hoping he hadn’t screwed up too badly.

“Danny, this is Ben. Listen, I need to ask you a lawyer question.”

“Shoot.”

“It’s about sexual harassment laws.”

“Did you get yourself in trouble?” Danny asked quietly.

“God, I hope not. I don’t think so. It’s Dad’s company, not mine. Last thing I want is to mess it up.”

“Um, this a consensual situation?”

Now that was the million-dollar question. He had no idea. Ben told Danny what had happened and then sighed as he wrapped up the sorry tale. “Could I get her to sign a waiver or something?” he asked, and immediately thought of her nonexistent sense of humor, and figured it’d be easier to herd cats than get a signature from her, but he’d do whatever he had to.

“A waiver? Ben, relax. You’re fine. If she starts making noises, call me back. But I don’t see a case there.”

Ben let out a long sigh of relief. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. Haven’t seen you since you got back in town. What are you up for next?”

“Cowboy.”

“Rodeo? Whoa, dogies.”

“Nope. Just roping and stuff.”

“Still, pretty cool. Hey, what are you doing tomorrow? The guys are going to OutdoorLand to check out their hiking gear. Got a big trip planned in a couple of weeks. You gotta come.”

Ben leaned back in his chair and put his feet up on the desk. Hiking, now that he could handle. “Sounds like fun.”

“See you on Saturday,” Danny said, and then hung up.

One bullet dodged.

Ben put down the phone and swiveled his chair to face the window. What was he doing here? Downtown Dallas. Rain. Buildings everywhere.

Being a businessman really was the pits so far. Out on the range, there was only the wind and the sky. And the last thing a cowboy had to worry about was sexual harassment.

Damn.

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