Warm hands turned me onto my back. Fingers lightly drifted down my chest, over my abs, and straight to my dick.

"You want me, don't you?"

I gazed into the eyes the color of sapphires. "I do. So fucking much." I didn't know why I wanted Grace more than any other woman I'd ever had, but I did. She didn't even have to touch me, and I was entranced.

Ruby-colored lips smiled as the hand stroked me into a full erection. "Please," I gasped, nearly overcome with need.

I closed my eyes as those fingers fisted and slid up and down my hard length, drawing me closer to release. "You have to touch me, too. Make me ready for you."

My hands reached out. But instead of finding the warmth I was seeking, they latched onto cold skin. Startled, I opened my eyes and looked into the face. The eyes were now gleaming with victory rather than tenderness. Hands groped more than caressed. The smile was wicked instead of sweet.

"No!" I tried to shout, but I choked on the words.

"Shh. Just relax and enjoy. You know you want it."

My head rolled on the pillow. "No! No, I don't! This isn't right."

A hand covered my mouth. "You know what'll happen if you tell. But don't worry. I'll make it good. You know I will. Just like I know you like it. You’ll love it, just like you love me."

Silent tears filled my eyes even as my pleasure heightened. No. No, no, no...

"No!"

I sat up, breathing rapidly and clawing at the sheets to push them away as if they were the enemy. Many nights I didn't bother crawling into my bed. I fell asleep on the couch or my desk chair, wherever I happened to be when my body decided it'd had enough and shut down.

I hated going to bed, or more accurately, to sleep. It was the playground for nightmares. Memories snuck into innocent slumber, then became the wicked merry-go-round I couldn't jump off of. It didn't happen every night. I never knew when or if the dreams would come, but they'd trained me to be wary and dread the possibility.

Last night I'd been lured into bed, distracted by thoughts of Grace. Her sweet vanilla scent and silky skin were permanently etched into my memory. Without any known seduction on her part, she'd made me want her with a fierceness I hadn't felt in a long time. For a short time, she'd made me forget about work; made me forget about anything but the moment we were in.

But I was certain she had been raised to be a good girl and taught to stay away from men like me who would take what she had to offer yet give nothing in return. She was the girl you took home, the one you presented a diamond ring before turning back the bedsheets, not the kind you fucked out of your system and moved on from.

Everything I avoided.

I'd spent the past week trying to lose myself in meetings and work to force her from my mind, but my brain seemed hard-wired to remember her. I glanced at the clock next to my bed. Four in the morning. My dick was still hard, but I fought against wanting to chase my release since the dreams of Grace had turned into something much less pure. I trudged toward my shower, making sure the dial stayed in the blue section until the stiffness went away and my balls sought refuge from the freezing spray.

Refreshed, if not quite recovered from my nightmare, I grabbed a light breakfast and settled at my desk in my home office. It wasn't uncommon for me to spend my weekends working, either here or in my actual workplace.

Hours later, I still hadn't made much progress.

I gave up and yielded to the cause of my distraction. I stared at the edge of the envelope that I'd snapped up at the last second before I left for my trip. Even the stacks of files and plans that I'd spread across my desk hadn't hidden it, as if it had a mind of its own and kept sneaking out from under them. My original intention was to copy the address sitting in my inbox, stick a stamp on it and be done, once and for all.

But I hadn't. Like some lovesick puppy, I couldn't break the only connection I had to Grace. Not even a real connection, like a letter or picture, but a bribe to hear something dirty come from her mouth.

I was a sick bastard.

I sat several minutes, tapping the envelope on my desk, debating what to do. A few innocent clicks on the computer, and I was staring at Grace's image on Facebook. It was with some relief that I didn't see any pictures of her with other men, just what appeared to be friends or family. She was quite the little chatterer, posting at least once daily about her day, usually with dry humor or a positive anecdote.

She really should check her privacy tabs.

Thirty minutes later, I found myself doing something I hadn't done in a long time—driving to church. I wasn't looking for absolution or salvation. I wasn’t sure if I was trying to dirty her up or have her bring light into my world. But I was seeking Grace, literally and maybe even a little figuratively.

She might not be thrilled to see me, but if Grace Hart could push my rules, I was going to push hers.