Imperfect Dream ~ Perfect Reality
When Cindy's dream man literally climbs out of her bed and into her life, her mediocre existence suddenly becomes extraordinary.
But sometimes, dreams are just dreams. And sometimes, reality holds the true promise of tomorrow.
Cindy almost had the coffee lid in place when someone bumped her arm.
“Oh! Excuse me,” said a deep baritone voice.
The apology barely penetrated as hot mocha latte spilled onto Cindy’s business casual slacks. Oblivious to the cacophony of chatter in the crowded coffee shop, she stared at the milky brown stain spreading down her pant legs.
A zillion voices in her head told her how stupid she was to wear light colored slacks. Hitting the snooze button three times this morning had been a huge mistake. She didn’t have time to change before the meeting. And why couldn’t he have picked a better way to make an introduction?
Mr. French roast—no cream—turned and offered a polite smile to go with his apology. His dark eyes widened at the mishap his little “bump” had caused. “Did I do that?” he asked, sounding more like Sam Elliot than any mere mortal had a right to.
A sensation of rich, dark chocolate melting over her tongue filled her mind. If he continued speaking, she’d join the puddle of coffee spreading over the top of her shoe.
“I’m sure it was my fault,” Cindy answered. Her breath stalled when he leaned closer to survey the damage, providing her with a whiff of spicy aftershave that mingled with coffee and man.
Frozen between basking under his gaze and running from the shop screaming with embarrassment, she licked her lips and swallowed the dryness no amount of coffee would ease. “I…I’ve been rushing all morning. It was probably bad Karma—in the stars.”
In the stars?
She squeezed her eyes shut. What on earth made her say that? Within the space of three whole minutes, she not only looked like a walking laundry commercial, she sounded like a call to 1-900-Madam-X for the daily astrology reading. Now would be a good time for the floor to swallow her up.
She opened her eyes. He was talking to her again. To her. In that voice. Looking at her with those fathomless, dark brown eyes.
She swallowed a lump the size of four sugar cubes. The man she’d lusted over for weeks was more than sexy. He was indecently gorgeous. A face and body like Gregory Peck reincarnate—not to mention that voice—simply had to be illegal.
“Let me pay to have—”
“Sorry,” she said. And she was—so sorry the timing couldn’t have been better. Of all the days for Mr. French-Roast to finally notice her, Cindy didn’t have time today to listen. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m running late.” If she missed today’s meeting, she’d lose her job.
The decision ping-ponged through her brain. Job or Mr. French Roast?
She grabbed a fist full of napkins out of his hand. Her fingers brushed his palm, sending a shock up her arm. As she turned, she nearly slipped on the coffee-covered tiles. It wasn’t the zing of electricity shooting through her that caused her to lose traction. Honest, it wasn’t.
Regaining her footing, she rushed out of the coffee shop onto the busy sidewalk all the while dabbing at her slacks. The light turned green just as she stepped to the curb. She’d almost pushed the incident from her mind as she dashed across the street and into her office building.
What a perfectly awful a way to start the rest of her life. Thank goodness, it was Friday.