A Winter Dream - By Richard Paul Evans Page 0,32

be more than just physical beauty. It was the unique space she held in the universe. She had an indefinable sweetness and femininity and maternal nature that made me want to cling to her and never let go.

From the look in her eyes, I knew she too was feeling something powerful—the two of us drawn together by feelings stronger than either of us. I leaned forward and gently pressed my lips against hers. At first she just stood there, awkwardly, unsure, then she surrendered, returning my kisses. I put my arms around her and pulled her tightly into me, our kisses growing still deeper.

We kissed for several minutes, then suddenly she pushed me away. “Stop.”

“What?” I said.

“I’m sorry,” she said, looking down. “I’m so sorry.” She didn’t sound angry. She sounded frustrated. Like me. She looked back up at me as her eyes welled up with tears. “I’m really sorry.”

She leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek. Then she opened her door and went inside, leaving me standing in the hallway, wondering what had just happened.

CHAPTER

Sixteen

I dreamed that I was at a ritzy party held in a swanky mansion. I had just taken an hors d’oeuvre from a server when I noticed a beautiful woman standing alone across the room staring at me. With one finger she gestured for me to come to her. Something about her eyes frightened me, but still I obeyed. As I stepped forward I saw she was standing in the middle of a giant spider web. The web behind her was lined with silk cocoons, most of which were still, though some of them were moving as the occupant struggled hopelessly to escape. I turned to run from her when I too found myself ensnared in her web. I looked back to see her coming toward me. I woke screaming, tangled in my sheets.

Joseph Jacobson’s Diary

I called April three times the next day, Thursday, but she didn’t answer. With each unanswered call I grew more frustrated. What was going on? What had I done wrong? Was she ever going to talk to me again? The idea of another rejection was too much to consider. I needed to know what had gone wrong. I needed to see her again. Friday morning I decided I would leave work early and catch her at the diner.

A half-hour before noon there was a knock on my door. Before I could get up, the door opened and Potts’s fiancée, Brandi, stuck her head in. “Anyone home?”

I hadn’t seen her since my first day at the agency. I was surprised to see her. “Hi,” I said.

“May I come in?”

“Things are a mess. We’ve been so busy . . .”

“I know,” she said, shutting the door behind her. “Peter told me that he had promoted you.” She walked up to my desk and reached out her perfectly manicured hand. “We were never properly introduced. My name is Brandi.”

“I’m Joseph. Or J.J.”

“J.J.,” she said, smiling. She was still holding my hand. “Sounds like a rapper.”

I casually withdrew my hand. “I’ve heard that.”

“What does your mother call you?”

“Joseph.”

“I’ll call you that,” she said. “So, Joseph, Peter said you saved an account your first day at work.”

“I got lucky.”

“It’s good to get lucky,” she said, looking me in the eyes. She sat on my desk. “Then again, maybe it’s not so lucky.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re setting the expectations too high. What do you do for an encore, save the world?”

I grinned. “You might be right.”

“I usually am,” she said wryly. “So where in the world are you from?”

“Denver.”

“Mile-High City,” she said. “So, what do you think of the Windy City?”

“It’s big,” I said. “I’m still learning my way around.”

“I can point you to all the hot spots,” she said. “What do you do for fun?”

“Not much, lately,” I said.

“I can help with that. We should get together for a drink sometime.” She hesitated just a moment before adding, “. . . Or something.”

I pretended not to hear her addendum. She just gazed at me like she was reading a magazine. When the silence started to get uncomfortable, she said, “So what do you think of the big agency life?”

“It’s exciting,” I said.

“You’ll get over it,” she said. “You know, you still have that deer-in-the-headlamps look about you. But it’s kind of cute. I like that in a man. It’s very sexy.”

“You like what in a man?” I asked.

“Vulnerability.”

“Peter doesn’t strike me as the vulnerable type.”

She bit her lower lip, then leaned forward toward me,