Imogen crawled into her bed, bone tired after wrestling with Mr. Potter’s two bloodhounds. They were sweet enough, but they loved their baths, especially splashing her. Somehow, she’d managed to slip on her non-slip linoleum, tumbling to the floor. The dog in the sink had broken the lead securing him there and jumped out, shaking his ears, body, and tail, sending shampoo and water all over the interior of her van.

Her usual one-hour grooming time had turned into more than double that, but the look on Mr. Potter’s face when Imogen returned them to him had made putting up with their shenanigans worth it.

After she returned home, she decided to clean her vehicle the next morning. She went inside, drew some hot water, and added the luxurious bath bomb she’d splurged on at a boutique she’d seen on her commute. As the tub filled, she went to the kitchen and poured herself some wine, filling it to the lip of the glass. A romance novel she’d bought at the grocery store a few weeks prior was lying on the counter, and she picked it up, as she went back to the bath.

Setting them on the tile by the tub, she pulled her long hair up into a high ponytail and then shrugged out of her clothes. She went into her bedroom and flipped her stereo on to a smooth jazz station, and then she lit some scented candles that were in the corners of the tub.

Too bad, there’s not a man here to enjoy this romantic mood. Especially that guy I dreamed about last night. What a hottie!

Imogen rubbed her arms, thinking about the carnally delicious things they’d done to each other, as she wondered how her imagination had come up with the sexual acrobatics they’d performed together.

She shrugged and then glanced down, and when she saw that the water was close to the top, she quickly shut off the faucet.

“Aahhh,” she moaned, as she first dipped her toes in.

She then immersed her body up to her chin. Warmth engulfed her, helping her tired and tight muscles loosen, as strains of saxophones and piano keys filtered into the room. Reaching over the side, she dried her hands on a towel, before picking up the novel and her drink.

Several chapters later, the water had cooled, while her temperature had risen at what she’d read.

Only in romance stories. Never in real life.

She tossed the paperback onto the floor, drank the last of her wine, and placed the empty glass beside the book. After pulling the plug to drain the tub, she blew out the candles and then stood, with her hand on the wall. When she noticed how her fingers had pruned, it reminded her of growing old and being alone.

Just stop it. You’re only thinking about this because Lee found his mate. Your guy is out there somewhere. He could be looking for you right now. You don’t know. Maybe it’s the dream guy. Snorting, she thought, Yeah, right, and began drying her body.

Wrapping the towel around her, she padded into her bedroom and slipped a short nightgown over her head. Then she saw the novel lying there, calling to her to finish it.

She went to the kitchen, grabbed the wine bottle, and then returned to the bathroom, where she picked up the book and her glass and took them to bed with her.

Hours later, when she finished the romance, she closed it, set it on her side table, and turned off the lamp. The room was bathed in darkness, and soon she was in a deep sleep.

He was there again in her mind, making love to her throughout the night.

Imogen… Baby… he moaned, as he moved inside her with deep, strong undulations of his hips.

She tried to see his face. The prior dream had seemed like it was filled with fog, or a mist, and she hadn’t been able to discern anything other than his voice and body. Searching for more, she ran her hands over him, listening to his guttural groans of pleasure mixed with her own.

Her climax slammed into her with a shattering impact, and her arms fell to the mattress, as the only thing she could do at that point was feel. She was nothing but her senses, tasting his mouth, smelling his scent, being filled with him.

“Look at me,” he said.

In the dream, she opened her eyes, and then she was complete, seeing the face of her lover.

“Mine,” he growled.

The vision melted away to the sound of her alarm clock, as she awoke and slowly sat up, pushing her hair off her face. Glancing around the bed, she saw that it was a mess of twisted linens. Part of the blanket was dangling onto the floor, and her pillow was bunched up against the headboard.

The air conditioner came on, bringing a cold breeze, and she shivered, noticing her nudity, the wetness between her thighs, and her peaked nipples.

Stumbling over her feet to the shower, still half-asleep, she let the water hit her, as she recalled the dream and the man in it. Desire flooded her, and she removed the handheld showerhead from its base on the wall. Moments later, she erupted with his face emblazoned in her mind and his voice telling her to come for him.

After she dressed, she went to the kitchen. Fruit and yogurt didn’t sound as appetizing as it usually did. Instead, she wanted a juicy steak, rare and bloody. The thought troubled her, but she’d had similar experiences over the years that she’d always been able to subdue. That time, though, the urge was stronger than before. With the realization that the craving would not be denied, she grabbed her keys and headed to the diner down the street. She ordered a T-bone, topped with eggs, and a side of pancakes.