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Carrie jolted out of her dream as very real pain shot up from her throbbing shin and into her knee. Confused and disoriented, she looked around and tried to understand what had happened. As her gaze landed on Billy, she watched as he lowered his sight and raised it again. Had he known what she’d been doing? But how? Stop kicking me!

He understood her silent command and replied with an arched brow. “Then stop zoning out.”

Irritated at how well Billy knew her, she shifted and focused on Michael again, knowing he’d never notice her overtly daydreaming about him. Although she knew she’d never have a chance with Michael—especially since her roommate, Shiloh, had latched onto him the first day she’d seen him—Carrie couldn’t let her hope die. Even though the guilt of lusting after her friend’s boyfriend made her keep her feelings hidden, she couldn’t give up her dreams. How could she when she spent half her work day following him, playing assistant to him as he strutted around the office and wishing she could be the one he’d stop and chat up. How could she give up hope when she lived for the day when he’d casually stroll by her desk, stop and tell her how much he liked her new hairstyle? How could she let her fairy tale fade when she dreamed of him every night and fantasized about him every day? Her dreams of Michael kept her spirit alive. She imagined him seeing her for the terrific woman she was and, after professing his undying devotion, he’d carry—okay, insert a little reality here—he’d lead her into his bedroom and make wild passionate, set-the-bed-on-fire love.

She sighed, letting her mind wander into the fantasy again.

The dream version of Carrie raised her head, turning toward the opening bedroom door with a coy smile of greeting. “Oh, Michael, it’s you. I’m glad you’re home.”

“Where else would I be?” He strode to her side, touching his palm to her cheek in the familiar gesture of tenderness. “I can’t stay away from you. Every moment, every second, all I want is to hold you, kiss you and take you as my own.”

She leaned into him as he slid his hands over the curves of her body, skirting over her rounded hips to cup her ample bottom. How many times had he said he loved her full-figured form? Sighing into her ear, he nibbled her earlobe and sent tingles racing through her body. “Make me the happiest man alive. Please, my love, marry me.”

“But, Michael, what about the others?” She began unbuttoning his shirt, letting her fingertips brush over the golden hairs of his strong, toned chest. “What about the women who believe you love them? What about poor Shiloh?”

“Ah, sweet Shiloh. She’s a great girl and a wonderful friend which is how she and I came to an agreement. She realizes I never had any real feelings for her and she doesn’t want to stand in the way of our happiness. As for the others? Well, I’m sorry for them, but I told them to leave me alone. I told them I’m yours. Please, Carrie, make me yours.” Removing her shirt and bra, he bent his mouth to suck on her taut bud. She arched her spine, pushing her breasts to him and dropping her panties to the floor. He groaned with delight, going down on his knees to rub his face in her curls. “Carrie, my Carrie. Let me make love to you. I want to give you pleasure.”

“Then make love to me, Michael. Pleasure me.”

She sighed again, allowing her fantasy to wrap her in warmth—wet, steamy heat. Granted, sometimes the dialogue was a bit corny, but she varied the setting often, at times imagining Michael to be a hero from one of her mother’s older romance novels. At other times, she’d update the story and Michael’s personality, warping her dream into the raunchier novels of today.

Either way, she held onto the hope that one day he would notice her and realize how wonderfully sexy she was. Surely Shiloh wouldn’t stand in their way once she saw how true their love was. She’d see their happiness and bow out gracefully—just like in her daydream—and move on to find her own soul mate. Until that day, however, Carrie would keep quiet, wait and dream.

One day she knew she and Michael would make love and live happily ever after. Whew! Just thinking about Michael in bed, sleeping in the buff, made her squirm in the leather chair. She wiggled again, unable to stop herself.

Squart.

Carrie gasped as the obnoxious sound echoed around the room. She tucked her chin to her chest and stayed absolutely motionless. Please, God, don’t let anyone notice. Or, if they did, let them ignore it. Silently, she wished that every ounce of her being—over three thousand ounces of “being”—would drop through the floor and fall all the way to the nearest weight loss center on the other side of the world. Did they have Weight Watchers in China?

A snicker, however, confirmed her worst fear. Why do these things always happen to me? Open sesame, floor!