The Fantasy Factor by Kimberly Raye Read Free Book Online Page A

and so do you.”
    “I don’t—” she started, but then he pressed a fingertip to her lips.
    “Think about it.”
    He didn’t touch her again or kiss her. He merely turned and walked away.
    She expected to feel a rush of relief when the door shut behind him. Instead, she found herself walking to the door to stare out as he gunned the engine. The truck growled and spewed gravel as he pulled out of the parking lot. She caught his gaze as he glanced back, as if he knew she would be watching him.
    The same way he knew she would be thinking about him. Dreaming. Fantasizing.
    “I need to know, and so do you.”
    He was right. The need was there, fierce and gripping, and it was all she could do to turn away and finish the rest of her inventory.
    But she did. She had to because, as much as she needed to know, she didn’t want to know.
    He lived and breathed in her fantasies and that was okay, because they were her fantasies. He wasn’t real then. He didn’t show up at her work unannounced, or touch her in aisle three or set up a delivery she couldn’t possibly make without his help. The fantasies didn’t upset her life the way the real man did.
    She controlled the fantasies. She could think about him when and where she wanted, and those thoughts didn’t affect her real life.
    Even so, she couldn’t seem to shake the memory of their kiss or forget the fierce look in his eyes just before he’d left the nursery. He consumed her thoughts for the rest of the afternoon, so much so that she actually forgot the time.
    For the first time in twelve years, forever reliable and punctual Sarah Buchanan was late for her Sunday dinner with Grandma Willie.
     

    “E VEN IF IT AIN’T THE champion himself.” Hank Brister’s voice echoed through the old barn as the man rolled out of the small office located at the far end. His wheelchair crunched hay as he made his way over to Houston. “You’re looking good, boy. Mighty good. As damned good looking as your daddy ever was.”
    Houston ignored the rush of pride that went through him.
    Pride? Because he looked like his father?
    He felt many things where Bick Jericho was concerned, but pride wasn’t one of them. Hatred because the man had never done right by him or his brothers. Bitterness because he’d not only been neglectful, but cruel as well. Confusion because he couldn’t understand why. And anger with himself because he didn’t want to know why. He didn’t care. Because no reason was good enough for a man to deprive his kids of the love they’d needed so badly.
    Back then. But Houston had stopped longing for his father’s love a long time ago, well before the man had drunken himself into an early grave.
    “You’re looking good yourself,” he told Hank Brister, eager to change the subject. “Much better than the last time I saw you.” He’d visited Hank Brister in the hospital when the man had first lost his leg to a vicious bitch of a bull named Harpo. One stomp on the man’s thigh had ended his career several years back.
    “I’m feeling better, that’s for damned sure. Getting around pretty good, too, all things considered. So what brings you out here?”
    “A wedding yesterday and Miss Marshalyn’s party in two weeks. I thought I might as well hang around here rather than make another trip back.” He gave Hank the same story he’d given Sarah.
    Truthfully, he’d intended to leave last night after she’d walked away from him at the wedding. He’d gone back to the bed-and-breakfast and packed up his stuff. Then he’d pulled his T-shirt over his head and smelled her on the material. And his brain had short-circuited.
    He’d sunk to the edge of the bed, the material pressed to his nose, and all thoughts about the upcoming PBR finals had faded in a rush of heat. She’d been right there with him. The taste of her still potent on his lips. His fingertips still tingling from the feel of her soft skin.
    He’d stretched out on the bed and given himself over