I’d never been so over the moon in my entire life. Richard looked at me the way any woman would dream to have someone look at her. My toes curled just from the thought of having his strong arms around me again, to feel his fingers intertwined with mine, to feel those soft lips of his crushing against mine.

But, here I was, alone in a strange bed, without even my two pups to keep me company. And not him.

Protocol, he’d said. Which, on one level, I totally understood. I mean, he worked in a serious business, and he was in the middle of doing something serious: protecting me and keeping me from harm’s way. In situations like this, I figured, it was always best to follow protocol.

It didn’t mean it didn’t suck, though!

Here we were, locked away in the mountains in a cozy, warm cabin. Just the two of us. No one coming up here for days to check on us. This should be a lovebird’s nest, especially with the way we both clearly felt about one another.

Of course, sleeping in seperate rooms was the proper thing to do for more than one reason. I’d always been a good girl, not like Sheila or Karen. I’d never had a one night stand, hadn’t even thought about it. It wasn’t like I was pure as the driven snow or virginal or anything. My boyfriends and I had slept together. I wasn’t a total prude or saving myself for marriage, but I preferred to take things slow. A lot of baggage, from both parties, came along with sex. And, even at my relatively young age, I knew it wasn’t always casual.

Which made these feelings about Richard Murdoch even more maddening! I didn’t want to take it slow with him; I wanted to have him tear my clothes off, wanted to see how his muscles felt beneath the palms of my hand, the nails at the end of my fingers. There was just something animalistic in the need consuming me.

I grabbed my pillow, flipped it over to the cooler side, and plopped my head back down on it as I ran through the evening in my head, a frustrated smile playing over my lips. Had he really offered to become an investor of the Curious Turtle? Did he really understand what kind of money he was talking about or the commitment involved?

I didn’t know, but something about the idea rang true to me, rang as true as the feeling of his lips on mine for the first time. He seemed to be aware of what he was offering, of how huge it was. If he was, and if I could somehow get Wyatt to be willing to sell, my problems could be solved.

Who was I kidding? They wouldn’t be solved. Not just in one fell swoop. Richard’s investment would pull my ass completely out of the fire, though, and get me back into a position where I could think about how to build the gallery and make it more profitable.

Looking at it objectively as I lay there in bed tossing and turning, I realized the reason I’d never pushed myself was because I’d become comfortable. I knew that Blake Axelrod would bail me out if I got too deep. He’d had the money, and he’d had the desire to keep the gallery open. No matter what, even if Richard could invest in the Curious Turtle, I knew his money wasn’t infinite. I’d be forced to really buckle down, focus on making it a thriving business interest if I wanted him to get his money’s worth.

Then it hit me—the enormity of what I was considering. This was, in a weird way, a bigger concern than whether or not I liked the guy and found him attractive. I was thinking about whether or not I’d let him invest in my business. That was practically like getting married, wasn’t it? Or maybe even more serious! Look at what was happening with Wyatt Axelrod and his brood. I’d gotten into bed financially with his uncle, not him. That was like some kind of ancient biblical ruling, where a brother had to marry his sister-in-law if his brother passed away, and provide for his children.

Even with this little thought ricocheting inside my brain, somehow, none of it bothered me. I couldn’t explain why, but somehow the idea just felt right. Could it have been because of some sort of post-kiss hormonal booster shot I’d received? Was that why I was so excited about the prospect of sharing a business with Richard Murdoch?

I flipped onto my back.

Was he like this, too? Tossing and turning in the night, as frustrated as I was that we couldn’t be together? That our bodies couldn’t find one another in the darkness? I liked to imagine he was. That way he’d be sharing the same attraction as me.

Eventually, though, I did drift off, visions of Richard dancing in my head. Visions of what we could make the Curious Turtle into, given enough time and will. They were good dreams, encouraging dreams, empowering dreams. And, I won’t lie, one of them was a little naughty.

That dream, though, certainly didn’t involve an art gallery.