Are You Lonesome Tonight?

“I didn’t realize dreams literally came true.”

Her heart thudded. “What?”

“One minute I’m dreaming about us, and the next… I’m not dreaming, but living.”

She turned toward him as he leaned one shoulder against the doorframe. He’d put on his black pants and white shirt, though he’d left the shirt unbuttoned. The trim muscles on his chest peeked tantalizingly through the opening. “Me, too,” she said quietly.

He cocked his head. “Weird, huh?”

She sighed—with relief or disappointment, she wasn’t sure. “Oh, yeah.”

“How do you feel about what just…what just almost happened?”

She groaned. How was a woman supposed to resist a man concerned about how she felt? “I’m not sure,” she said. “How about you?”

“I look at you, and I see my good buddy Ches, but—” his gaze flicked toward the bed “—then I remember….”

“Yeah.” At least he wouldn’t have to sleep in that bed every night.

They stared at each other from across the room. Most people might assume Tony was relaxed, as he was propped against the doorway and smiling. But Francesca knew him better than probably anybody—his moods, his gestures, his dreams, even his lies.

Tony was troubled.

His smile was forced. His posture stiff. His erection unabated.

He straightened suddenly. “Well, this is damned awkward.”

Just what she’d feared. Every time she’d thought about admitting she desired him as more than a friend, this is what she pictured—laughing, teasing, charming Tony replaced by a pensive, awkward stranger.

“Yeah” was all she said.

“Maybe it will be different in the morning.”

“Maybe.” Though she didn’t see how. She knew his touch now. Imagining the sparks they’d create was a great deal different than actually experiencing them. She knew she’d never be able to look at him the same way, and she doubted he would either.

The idea filled her with sadness. They’d weathered many crises in the past. They had to find a way past this, too.

“I think I’ll go back to bed,” he said. “In my own room this time.”

She nodded. “That’s probably best.”

He walked toward the door, and she followed him, wondering what she could say to change things, to go back, to make him comfortable with her again, but she felt as though she was hanging on an emotional precipice, and she was fresh out of rational, practical ideas.

As he pulled open the door, he looked back at her. “You know what this means, don’t you?”

Oh, God. They couldn’t be friends anymore? They couldn’t be business partners?

“We chose the same access number—the day we met.” He paused. “Weird, huh?”

Knowing she couldn’t take much more upheaval, she let go of the breath she’d been holding. “Definitely.”

He yanked her to him, laying a quick, hard kiss on her forehead. And, somehow, she felt passion, regret and strength all in that one gesture. “Night, Ches.”

“Night.” She closed the door, then banged her head lightly against the hard metal surface.

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