Sighing, she walked over to the bed and sat on the edge of it. But she didn’t lie down right away . . . mostly because she wanted to. She wanted to throw herself under the covers, close her eyes, and sink into sleep in the hopes that she had more of those amazing erotic dreams about Justin. And there lay the problem. Her enjoyment of and desire to have those dreams made her feel as guilty as hell.
Shaking her head, Holly peered around the room. She had no idea where these dreams were coming from. She hadn’t thought she was that attracted to the man before them. Well, okay, not before the kiss, really. That kiss in the kitchen had been the first temptation she’d encountered with the man. He really knew his business in that area. But that wasn’t the point, the point was Holly didn’t want to be attracted to Justin, and if she went to sleep and had more dreams, would her attraction to him grow? Because she didn’t want that either. Although she had enjoyed the dreams themselves, which was making her crazy with guilt.
Realizing she’d gone full circle, Holly cursed and picked up the bedside phone to dial the one person she had always gone to for advice . . . James’s mother.
“Hello?”
“Mom?” Holly breathed with confusion, sure she’d dialed James’s parents’ number.
“Holly,” her mother said happily. “James told us all about your internship in New York.”
“Oh, God,” Holly muttered, and then grimaced. “I’m sorry. I should have called and—”
“Don’t be silly. James told us it was all very sudden. I’m sure it was all a whirlwind affair. We’re very proud of you, darling.”
“Thanks,” Holly muttered, wishing she hadn’t used the term affair, and wondering what her mother would think if she knew the truth of things. “What are you doing at the Bosleys?”
“Well, right now I’m helping Joyce pack. You know how useless she is at it,” she said with a laugh. “We’re staying here tonight because it’s closer to the airport. We’re all flying out on our own little adventure tomorrow.”
“Are you? What’s up?” Holly asked.
“They’ve dug up some seven-hundred-year-old latrines in Denmark. The poop still stinks apparently!” she said with delight. “Your father wants to . . .”
Holly stared at the wall, listening to what sounded like blah, blah, blah to her. She’d sort of cut out after the first part. Really, only her parents could get excited about seven-hundred-year-old poop.
“Anyway, you don’t want to hear about this,” her mother said suddenly. “And I’m really a bit crushed here, so if you called for a reason, darling . . .”
“Get to it?” Holly suggested wryly, quite used to getting the bum’s rush. She suspected if she hadn’t been “accidentally” conceived, her parents wouldn’t have had any children at all. It wasn’t that they were horrible people, it was just that their careers filled up so much of their thoughts and time, there really wasn’t room for anything else.
“Yes, dear,” her mother said unapologetically.
“Actually, I was calling Mrs. Bosley,” Holly said after a hesitation. “I wanted her opinion on something.”
“And you called Joyce instead of your own mother?”
Holly grimaced, thinking, here comes the guilt trip. While her parents didn’t have a lot of time for her, they did want to think they were good parents.
“Mom, it’s kind of an ethical question type thing, so I didn’t think you’d be interested,” she said soothingly.
“Well, I am,” her mother said firmly. “Spill, and do it quickly. I really am busy.”
Holly sighed, but then decided maybe she didn’t want to ask this particular question of James’s mother anyway and just went with it. “Fine. Is having wet dreams about a man other than your husband like cheating on him?”
“What?” she asked with amazement and then burst out laughing. “Of course not, darling. It’s not like you actually did the dirty, it’s just a dream. Saying it’s wrong or bad is . . . well, really, they can’t arrest you for dreaming about robbing a bank, can they? They can’t even arrest you for thinking about it. Heck, I’ve had loads of wet dreams about men who weren’t your father. It’s normal,” she assured her. “Besides, dreams are just your subconscious mind’s way of working out issues you have. Perhaps you find this man attractive. Or, perhaps you just wish James was more like him. Whatever the case, just relax and enjoy them. I know I do.” She gave a chuckle that sounded decidedly dirty and Holly closed her eyes. She really could have done without knowing her mother ever had wet dreams, let alone loads of them about other men. Really.
“Now,” her mother said sounding businesslike. “If we’ve handled your little situation, I really need to get back to helping Joyce. Bye, darling.”
Holly heard the click and listened to the dial tone for a moment, then slowly hung up on her end. She then sat for a moment, trying not to resent the fact that her mother hadn’t even waited to see if they had indeed handled her “little situation.” The woman was . . . well, she was who she was, and whining about it and wishing she’d had a mother more like Joyce or Matild really wasn’t going to get her anywhere.
Shaking her head, Holly slid under the covers and reached out to turn off the lamp. It seemed she could go gently into sleep and enjoy her dreams without guilt. It was just her subconscious working out her issues.
At least they weren’t slasher nightmares, she thought and smiled faintly as she closed her eyes.
“Her.”
Holly shifted in her seat to peer across the food court at the woman Justin had gestured to, a middle-aged woman pushing a baby carriage. She was to be her first read. Well, her first mortal one. She’d been working with Dante and Tomasso for the past two days to learn to read. Now Justin had brought her out to the mall to see if she could translate what she’d learned to real situations.
Swallowing nervously, she concentrated on the woman. For a moment, she was afraid that all her work had been for nothing, she wasn’t picking up a single thing. But then suddenly it was as if a door opened. “Her name is Melanie Jones. The baby is her granddaughter.”
“Good,” Justin said. “Now him.”
He was pointing at an elderly man with a cane just sitting down at a table on the other side of the food court. Holly turned her concentration to him, a slow smile blooming on her face. “He’s a retired bus driver. His wife died recently. He comes here to avoid feeling lonely.”
“Her,” Justin shot out and she turned her gaze to a harried looking woman, rushing into a yogurt store.
“A businesswoman on her lunch. Linda Jenk—”
“Her.”
Holly blinked and shifted her attention to the teenager he was now pointing to. Her eyes widened incredulously. The kid looked like she was twelve, but . . . “She’s a drug dealer,” she said with amazement. “She’s here to meet a kid from her science class to—”
“Him,” Justin said and Holly automatically shifted her attention again, and again, and again. Justin shot out “him” or “her” like bullets, one after the other for the rest of the afternoon. By the time he called it quits and led her back out to the SUV, Holly was exhausted, and her head was pounding. She was sure she would also be proud of herself, except that she was too busy feeling extremely confused. It was the way Justin was acting.
Actually, it was the way Justin had been acting for the past couple of days, she acknowledged. This was the first time she’d seen him since they’d gone to visit his parents. That in itself had seemed strange to her. What had seemed stranger was that she had not only noticed, but she’d kind of missed him. Holly blamed it on the dreams. After that first night, the dreams were no longer all about sex. Yes, there was sex, but there was so much more . . . In a way, the dreams had turned into something like dating. They’d gone bowling, laughing and joking as they’d competed against each other, although neither of them had won in the end; they’d gotten distracted halfway through the game and ended up making love against the ball return. In another dream he’d taken her to an amusement park. They’d ridden the rides, he’d won her a stuffed animal, and then they’d finished off the evening by having sex on the roller coaster. In last night’s dreams they’d gone to a water park, a zoo, and then Paris, where they’d made love under the Arc de Triomphe.