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of the pen before writing, “Audrey’s Goals” at the top. It helped to have goals. She’d always had a focus for her life.
    When she was younger it had been all about design and fabric and furniture. Then her mother had gotten ill and life had become all about survival, which is why she’d ended up where she was.
    But what did she want now?
    Good question. She was a thirty-three year old, single workaholic who’d just had a physical collapse and possibly a panic attack. She still wouldn’t admit to that. To say she had a panic attack made her sound weak and she prided herself on being strong. Better to chalk it up to a combination of too much caffeine, not enough food or sleep and overwork.
    She had a vague memory of wanting a family of her own. It had been her and her mother for so long, Audrey had always thought she’d like to have a big family. As a child, she’d lain awake in her bed at night and fantasized what it would be like to have huge family dinners and holiday celebrations like the ones she saw on television. But reality was so different from a one-hour television show and many people lived alone.
    She shoved her notepad aside. “I’ll work on it later.” Thinking about it was only depressing her. She’d managed to eat half the bagel but was no longer hungry. She really should sit down and look at the list the dietician at the hospital had given her. “Later. I’ll do it later.”
    Audrey couldn’t work up the motivation to do much of anything this morning. She had no idea how much time had passed with her simply sitting here, staring off into space. She glanced at the digital clock on the microwave, surprised to see it was almost half-past nine. By now she’d usually have at least two hours put in at her desk.
    She pushed aside her plate and rested her head on the table. The thought of work made her stomach roil and her chest ache. “Stop it.” She pushed herself upright and swiped away a tear. She hated leaking like this. It was a sign of weakness.
    Maybe you’ve been strong for too long .
    She ignored the voice in the back of her head. She had to be strong. There was no one else for her to depend on. She certainly couldn’t count on her friends. She didn’t have any. And who was going to pay her bills if she didn’t work? No one, that’s who.
    “Enough.” Audrey shoved away from the table, dumped the remains of her breakfast into the garbage and shoved the few dishes she’d used into the dishwasher. “What you need is a shower.” It helped to talk out loud to herself. And since she lived alone there was no one around to criticize her for it.
    She went straight to the bathroom and turned on the taps, making sure the water wasn’t too hot. She slipped out of her robe and stepped beneath the warm spray, letting it cascade over her body. It was heavenly, sliding over her skin, caressing her breasts.
    A shudder racked her body and a bolt of desire shot through her. It was that darn dream she’d had last night. It had woken something deep inside her. Her breasts were sensitive this morning, the water almost too harsh against them.
    Swearing under her breath, she grabbed her shower gel, squeezed some onto a puff and began to wash. She was quick, not wanting to linger. Her body no longer felt like her own, the sensations coursing through it alien to her.
    It didn’t take her long to wash her hair. The curly mass needed some deep conditioning, though, so she took the time to do it, enjoying the fact that she didn’t have to rush.
    It was only when she was doing the final rinsing that she noticed the slight bruising, little smudges of black, on the tops of her arms. They were faint but they were there. Her mind immediately flashed back to a large man gripping her arms and shaking her lightly. Abrah.
    She shook her head and let the spray wash all the soap from her hair and skin. She’d probably bruised herself when she’d fallen. The dream was only a coincidence, brought on by stress and