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tight black dress, pinning her arms at her sides. Free of a bra, Selena’s tantalizing breasts mesmerized him.
    "You’re so beautiful," he said as he lowered himself to his knees. His tongue circled one hardened nipple, then the other. He pulled the smooth fabric farther down, past her arms and over her hips until it pooled around her ankles. He held her hips possessively, planting wet kisses on her stomach and across the top of her black lace panties. With the fabric pushed aside, he flicked the tip of his tongue over her clitoris, drawing moans and trembling sighs from her lips.
    Her hands molded his shoulders as he stood and regained his balance. Leaning into him, she nestled her cheek into the curve of his neck. Her warm, ragged breaths traveled like waves across his skin, flaring his desire.
    "Baby…make love to me," she whispered.
    Oh, hell yes. Sweeping her into his arms, he headed down the hallway toward his king-size bed. No matter what tomorrow held in store for him, he’d make sure Selena knew how much he wanted her, how much he needed her, how much pleasure he was capable of giving her.
    Even if it took him all night.

Five

    Breathe! C’mon, breathe! Rachel’s panicked mind cried out as her lungs crumpled under the weight of the ocean. She was sinking fast. Inside, she screamed for help. A scream no one could hear. She scanned the milky water for something to cling to – a way to claw her way to the surface. Then she saw him. Her father dangling in the water. Head down, arms stretched out, a lifeless marionette puppet. He drifted closer and closer. The pounding in her head increased, the pain in her chest grew. She didn’t want to see the horror, the death in his eyes. If she didn’t breathe soon, she was going to drown and join him forever.
    "No!"
    Her voice rang in her own ears, jolting her back to reality. Vision clouded, she took in her surroundings. Ticking mantle clock, pale yellow walls, curved horseshoe chair, dragonflies on a linen shade. She was in her bedroom. In the cottage. Entrenched in a blue comforter. Perspiration dampened the navy tank top and boxers now twisted around her body. Through the screen of the second-story window drifted the sounds of waves crashing on the beach, like slaps from Neptune, bringing her to her senses.
    It was the dream. The gut-wrenching, recurring nightmare. Magnified tenfold by her exchange with Chase.
    Rachel took a deep, cleansing breath. She held tight to both sides of her neck, wishing she could simply squeeze away the images and dread each morning brought. If only she could end the horrific thoughts, perhaps she could regain control over her life.
    She climbed out of bed and tugged the covers back in place. Then she picked up a small box of fish food from the bureau and shook it once over the goldfish bowl before dragging herself into the bathroom.
    Once showered and dressed, she headed downstairs and swung open the door of her compact fridge. A quart of milk bordering expiration, half-empty bottle of Chardonnay, a few slices of individually wrapped cheddar cheese. Nothing appetizing, just items to fill empty space and failing.
    She flipped through the stacked mail on the white ceramic counter. Between the catalogues and utility bills appeared a postcard reminder for tomorrow’s foundation board meeting. A gathering guaranteed to be even less thrilling than the contents of her refrigerator. All conversations would undoubtedly center on highlights from tonight’s stuffy cocktail reception – Mayor Potter’s canned dedication, the ladies’ room gossip, and who should and, most vitally, shouldn’t have been wearing what. No question, she’d be wise to upgrade her usual single shot latte to a double today, just to prevent falling asleep mid-celebration.
    Scooping up her car keys, she forged toward the front door. She had just grabbed the knob, when the phone rang. Sorry folks, leave a message. Starbucks takes priority.
    Then again, it might be Devon.