now he was outlined by the sun, his tee stretched across a sculpted body. Add to that what she already knew about his brilliant mind and great big heart, and she was halfway to love.
“No husband yet,” she rasped. Then she swallowed. “Notice that the list doesn’t have a timeline attached. That’s for some day. After my career is established.”
He nodded, his expression blank. Then he tapped the pad off and passed it back to her. “So three years ago, I ripped away your childhood innocence.”
“And I never thanked you for that. Thank you, Wyatt. And my brothers thank you, too.”
He took a deep breath, his expression still vaguely haunted. “So I’m forgiven?”
She laughed, the sound surprisingly light. In fact, it felt damn good. “Yes, I believe so. Assuming, of course, that I get that raise.”
“Twenty-five percent. Effective immediately.”
She blinked. “Twenty -five percent?”
“I just looked at your ERE. Clearly, I need to pay you more before someone else snatches you away.”
She grinned, loving the sound of that. Then his phone rang. He glanced down at it, flashed her a bright smile, and asked another question. “We’re agreed then, right? Promotion, raise, and a commitment for at least another three years’ work?”
She thought about it and nodded. It was exactly what she wanted. “Agreed.”
“Good. Because you’re about to earn every penny.” Then he answered the phone. Ten minutes later, they were headed back to Miranda’s Place.
Chapter Four
Wyatt was standing in a private graveyard on a stormy moonlit night. His head was bowed, his cape flapped about him, and in his hand he held a blood-red rose. The other hand crumpled a pristine sheet of linen paper.
He lifted his head and looked around. How could it be both stormy and moonlit? Mood lighting, he realized. And mood clothing, he added, absently noting he wasn’t wearing a shirt. Then he went back to the flow of his dream.
He looked at his hands. He lifted the red rose, seeing its sculpted perfection. He was about to toss it on one of the graves, but his attention turned to the sheet of white linen. Lifting it up, he read it, even though a few stray raindrops blurred the words.
PERSONAL GOALS
1. Marriage
2. Two children
3. Vacation in Australia
Megan’s list. He dropped his hand, feeling a sense of desolation fill him. Was he standing in front of her grave? Was that why—
“Aren’t you cold?”
He looked up to see her walking through a gate that he would swear hadn’t been there a moment ago. She was standing in a rainbow tie-dyed tank and light blue cut-offs, her smile and her whole demeanor at odds with the gray, barren landscape. She was so beautiful it made his heart lurch in his chest.
“I might ask you the same thing.”
She glanced down at herself and grimaced. “Oh God. My tie-dyed phase.”
“I like it.”
“I like seeing you without your shirt on, too, but…” She gestured at the stormy landscape. “Isn’t this a little impractical?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, his eyes went down to the gravestones. He couldn’t read the names on the markers, and he really wanted to.
“Who are they?” she asked as she came to his side.
He opened his mouth to answer, but he had none. Just an overwhelming sense of loneliness.
“Come on, Caped Crusader,” she said as she touched his hand. “Let’s take a walk.”
Her fingers were like a live wire on his skin. The shock was electric, jolting his breath from his body and freezing his limbs. He turned to look at her, feeling desperation consume him. Why couldn’t he move?
She stopped and frowned. First she studied his face, then his whole body. “Stuck?” she said, pointing to his feet.
He looked down. Somehow he had sunk knee deep into the mud and he hadn’t even noticed. “When did that happen?”
“Doesn’t matter. Just step out. I’m sure there’s a moonlit beach around here somewhere.”
“Why not go up toward the house?”
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