Page 12 of Key Of Dreams

“That man has demons. You need to know that, Maya. It doesn’t mean he’s not a good man, because he’s one of the best I’ve ever met, but his past haunts him,” she says. “A relationship with Bull is a commitment. He needs a woman with patience, who isn’t afraid of the brick wall he’s built up around himself.”

“We’re taking it slow,” I say in a quiet tone. “Bull said that.”

“That’s nice, lovie.” She pats my hand. “He’s going to try to push you away,” she warns.

“He already tried that,” I confess. She raises her brows, and I say, “I like him a lot. There’s something about him that makes me feel safe. He was so sweet last night. He held my hand, and when I fell asleep, he carried me to bed and tucked me in. Then he went home and promised to come back and take me out tonight.”

“He held your hand?” she asks with a surprised expression.

I giggle and nod. Gertie releases my hand and reaches for a sandwich. “Well, then, we have a reason to celebrate.” She laughs and takes a bite of a ham and Swiss on rye. Then, I laugh.

* * *

The air is chilly tonight. Autumn is on its way. I love the colors of the season, but I’ve never been a fan of the cold. I don’t ski, and with my lack of coordination, I won’t attempt it. With my luck, I’d break my leg, but I’ve gone sledding with my nieces and nephews, and that was fun.

One year, I decided it was high time I tried skating. The results were far from brilliant. I couldn’t sit down for a week. I spent more time down on the ice than I did upright. Even when I was standing, I looked like a newborn foal with shaky legs and awkward balance. It gave my family a good chuckle. I decided I could knock it off my “give it a shot” list.

My closet is empty, mainly because everything I own is lying on my bed because I can’t decide what to wear for my first official date with Bull. My wall clock tells me I’m running out of time, and if Bull is anything like I think he is, he’ll be punctual. That leaves me with twenty minutes to pick an outfit and do my hair and makeup. I’ve narrowed it down to three choices. An indigo-blue sweater dress, a V-neck with a pleated skirt, or tapered black pants with a crimson shirt with bell sleeves.

I quickly toss everything back in the closet and race to the bathroom, dabbing on some blush and eyeshadow, and, of course, mascara. I choose a light pink lipstick and shimmery gloss. I pull my hair up off the sides and pin it back, leaving the back down with big curls.

With seven minutes left, I reach for the indigo sweater dress and slip it on, and tug on low heels to finish my outfit. After one last look in the mirror, and before I can decide if I like it, the doorbell rings.

I swing open the door to find a yummy-looking Bull standing on the other side in a pair of dark chino pants and a lightweight, long-sleeve, fitted, light-gray Henley, showing off his toned body. His leather jacket makes him look like a sexy badass. He’s trimmed his beard. I think I must be drooling.

Then I see that Bull is doing a head-to-toe sweep of my outfit.

“Do you like my dress?” I ask. His eyes say it all far better than words, and when he hauls me into his arms, raising me onto my tiptoes and kisses me passionately, I feel my toes curl and my belly warm. I wrap my arms around his neck, pressing myself into him.

One of his hands is firmly on my ass, squeezing tightly, while the other moves upward along my spine and into my hair, threading into my curls to hold me to him. His mouth devours mine. Suddenly, he rips his lips from mine, breathing heavily.

“Yeah, baby. I like your dress. And your hair and everything else about you,” he says. “Jesus Christ, you’re enough to tempt the devil himself.”

I don’t know what he’s talking about. I know I’m not ugly. I’d even consider myself pretty, but tempting the devil, not likely. But it’s a sweet compliment, and I’ll take it.

“You look very handsome too,” I reply, resting my hand on his chest. I don’t know what comes over me, but I feel compelled to stroke his strong jawline, feeling his soft whiskers. “I like your beard. You’re very hot.” It just comes out, and I instantly regret it. I pull my lower lip between my teeth and lower my gaze, peering at him through my lashes.

His fingers tilt my chin up, and he brushes his mouth over mine. He rubs the lower half of his body against mine so I can feel his hardness.

“That’s what you do to me. I come in and see you looking this good, I want to forget dinner, tear your clothes off, and slide inside you. But I promised you dinner, so grab your coat, because if we stay here much longer, we’re going to be horizontal on your couch,” he says with a growl.

I’m dumbfounded until he gives me a little nudge. “Jacket, babe.” I hastily reach into the small coat closet and grab a short camel-colored jacket. He takes it from my hand and helps me on with it. He pulls my hair to one side, his fingers grazing my neck, causing a delicious shiver.

As we walk to the elevator, he reaches out to hold my hand. He does this all the way to his truck and as he helps me inside. Bull pulls out onto the main road, but once we’re on our way, he takes my hand from my lap and continues to keep hold until we reach the restaurant.

When he tries to let go, I grip harder. His eyes lock with mine. “Thank you.”

* * *

Bull

“Conall Phillips. That’s my name,” I tell her. Hardly anyone calls me Conall. It’s my legal name, but it’s never used. The last time I used my signature was when I bought the farmhouse just outside town. When I’m not at work, I’m rebuilding the place room by room. I got it for a song because it was abandoned, and the bank couldn’t off-load it. Where some see a run-down house, I see peace and quiet.

“That’s a cool name,” Maya says with a grin.

“Can’t take credit for it. It’s the only ‘cool’ thing my parents gave me.”

“Maya Marie Randell. Maya because my parents loved the name. Marie after my grandmother on my father’s side. Pa said she was a spitfire. I have her smile. Well, that’s what Pa used to tell me.”

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