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hard against him. Her hips
pressed tightly against his hard bulge. She could feel the heat
through his pants. There was no denying it: He wanted her as much
as she wanted him. His lips now trailed kisses across her jaw, then
her neck. Wanting more, she pulled the strap down even farther
until it revealed her bare breast. His lips eagerly replaced what
the fabric once covered. His kisses continued from her neck to her
breast to rest upon her nipple. He gently traced it with his
tongue, licking and sucking until her legs began to quake. Only the
support of his strong hands kept her standing. Loving what his lips
were doing, she wanted even more. Her left thumb unhooked her
dress’s other strap, revealing both breasts. His hands cupped them
possessively, eagerly, bringing her to the brink of climax as his
tongue began to trace its way lower. He removed his hands from her
breasts to grasp the gown that now hung loosely around her full
hips. In one fluid movement he slid it to the floor, leaving her
standing in front of him in, wearing only her lace panties. Hands
on her hips, he pulled her closer as his tongue quickly made its
way to the only barrier left between them. He slipped a finger
inside her panties and stroked her, slowly at first, then circling
her clit, bringing her over the edge as she began a shuddering
climax. She wanted more as she pulled him closer. As she did, the
music that had been playing changed. It became louder, more
annoying . . . like a buzzing . . . or a beeping . . . so
distracting . . .
    Slowly, reluctantly, Lizette opened her eyes
to the sound of her cell phone ringing. It had only been a dream. A
sweet, wonderful dream, but a dream nonetheless.
    The clock on her nightstand read 8:00 a.m. Not answering you today, she silently informed the phone. It’s Saturday.
    The ringing continued. Who could be so
cruel as to call so early after the night I had? Still, she
didn’t reach for the phone; it would eventually go to voice mail.
She would deal with it later. Much later. She rolled over and
pulled the sheets back up around her neck, fully intending to sleep
the morning away, and maybe continue the dream where it had left
off. Then the annoying sound started again. Must be
important, she thought, and then said out loud, “This had
better be important.” Grabbing the phone, she checked the caller
ID. She didn’t recognize the number. Fumbling with the buttons, she
answered, “Hello?”
    An unfamiliar male voice said, “Good
morning. May I speak with Miss Lizette Burke?”
    “This is Miss Burke,” she said with a yawn.
This better not be a political poll or sales call, because they
were going to get an earful if it was.
    “Hello, Miss Burke, my name is Matt
Phillips. I am calling to schedule the Date of Your Dreams.”
    “The date of my dreams?” she asked. “I think
you have the wrong number.” If she was still dreaming, then this
dream took a wrong turn and was fast approaching her worst
nightmare.
    She was about to hang up when the man said,
“No, I have the correct number. Miss Burke, Mr. Vinchi asked me to
contact you this morning to schedule your dream date. Will you be
available today at noon?”
    Had he said Mr. Vinchi? “Who are you again?”
she asked.
    “My name is Matt Phillips. I am Mr. Jonathan
Vinchi’s personal assistant.”
    Ah, of course, his personal
assistant . “Mr. Phillips, do you know what time it is?”
    “Yes, Miss Burke. I do apologize for calling
so early. However, Mr. Vinchi asked me to update you on the
scheduled plans for today.”
    “Plans for today? What are you talking
about, Mr. Phillips? I have no plans with Mr. Vinchi today or any
other day, for that matter.”
    He cleared his throat and continued, “I was
informed you were the winner of the raffle last night. I am calling
to finalize the arrangements regarding the Date of Your Dreams with
Mr. Vinchi.”
    Lizette was fully awake now, trying to
process what she had just heard. Jon couldn’t even be