-----------------------------------
36 Exposures
by Linda Mooney
-----------------------------------

Romance/Fantasy

Red Rose Publishing
www.redrosepublishing.com

Copyright ©2009 by Linda Mooney

First published in 2009, 2009

NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Author Bio

* * * *

36 Exposures

By

Linda Mooney

* * * *

* * * *

* * * *

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

36 Exposures by Linda Mooney

* * * *

Red RoseTM Publishing

Publishing with a touch of Class! TM

The symbol of the Red Rose and Red Rose is a trademark of Red RoseTM Publishing

Red RoseTM Publishing

Copyright(C) 2009 Eryn Grace

ISBN: 978-1-60435-491-1

Cover Artist: Ash Arceneaux

Editor: Lea Schizas

Line Editor: Michelle Ellis

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews. Due to copyright laws you cannot trade, sell or give any ebooks away.

This is a work of fiction. All references to real places, people, or events are coincidental, and if not coincidental, are used fictitiously. All trademarks, service marks, registered trademarks, and registered service marks are the property of their respective owners and are used herein for identification purposes only.

* * * *

Red RoseTM Publishing

www.redrosepublishing.com

Forestport, NY 13338

Thank you for purchasing a book from Red RoseTM Publishing where publishing

comes with a touch of Class!

* * * *

Chapter One

A familiar jangle interrupted their conversation. Jolee fumbled in her skirt pocket, looking for the cell phone while Ferra waved a fork in her direction. “Sixty gajillion ring tones and songs you could put on that thing, and you have it ring like a regular old phone. And you call yourself a marketing director?”

“Oh, hush. Ah, here it is.” Jolee pulled out the phone, but at the same time the forgotten canister came out with it. A glance at the window told her the number was unknown. What the hell, she shrugged and decided to answer it anyway. “Hello?”

“Miss Wiley? Stu Dovinsky. I witnessed your presentation today.” The voice was as polished as a freshly waxed car. Bet those two hundred dollar elocution lessons really paid off, didn't they?

“Yes, Mr. Dovinsky. I remember you. Was there something you needed to ask me about the promo?” Jolee turned sideways in her seat to avoid Ferra's inquisitive stare.

“Actually, yes, I do,” Dovinsky answered. “But I would prefer to ask over dinner tomorrow. Would that be a problem?”

Her breath caught in her throat. Images of the man with the light brown hair and Jonas Babbino suit rolled around in her mind. How the hell did he get her number? For that matter, why was he even wasting his time asking her out?

“Miss Wiley?”

“Uhh, fine! Yes! It's not a problem!”

“Excellent! Shall I pick you up around seven-ish?”

Already she could feel the hairs on her neck starting to rise. The man used terms like “seven-ish"? Not a good sign. Nuh-uh, not good at all. Put a tally mark in his negative column. “Works for me,” she somehow replied. “Seven, it is.”

“Excellent!” the man echoed. “Where shall I pick you up?”

She gave him the address of the little corner grocery at the end of her block. For some reason her instincts had begun flashing little warning lights, telling her not to give him her real address. The store was a five minute walk from her apartment and a safe place to rendezvous. Mr. Dovinsky hung up first, leaving Jolee to stare at the CALL ENDED.

“Well? Who?”

Jolee stuffed the phone back into her pocket but the canister remained in her other hand. “Uhh, it was one of the guys from the presentation.” Curiosity was getting the better of her again. She ignored Ferra's squeal of delight and demand for more information, and shook the can next to her ear again. Yep. It definitely rattled.

Her friend's attention was momentarily distracted. “What's that? Film?”

“The can, at least. Wonder what's in it?” She reached for the lid when another hand slapped hers down.

“You mean it's not yours?” Brown eyes stared her down. “What are you doing with a can of film that isn't yours?”

Jolee threw her a smile. “I found it on the street. I nearly broke my neck trying to avoid stepping on it.” She started to open it again, but Ferra stopped her a second time.

“You don't know what's inside, and you're going to open it? What, are you? Senile?”

“What could be inside that's so dangerous?”

“It could have drugs in it!” Ferra protested.

“Maybe. It rattles.”

“That's what I meant! Pills!”

“Ferra! Pills can only hurt me if I swallow them. And if it's drugs, I'll just flush them down the toilet.”

Okay, but what if it's a bomb?”

“In this itty bitty thing? You've been reading too much Ian Fleming,” Jolee protested, laughing, and quickly popped the lid. Inside was a metal roll of film, just as she'd suspected. Sliding it into her palm, she noticed one important thing. “It's been used.”

Ferra leaned over the table so far that the blouse stretched across her breasts almost found the ranch dressing. “How can you tell?”

“A fresh roll has a tab sticking out so it hooks into the loader. This one doesn't have a tab.”

“Where do you think it came from?”

Sliding the roll back into its container, Jolee shook her head. “Oh, anyone could have accidentally dropped it. Some tourist is probably looking for it right now.”

“What are you going to do with it? Put out an ad in the paper's lost and found? Put one of the pictures on a milk carton?” Ferra smirked at her own joke.

“Nope. I'm going right over there to the drugstore and have them develop the photos. Maybe there's something on them that'll give me a clue as to who lost the roll.”

“Yeah, and you'll probably end up paying a pretty penny for someone's bad shots of every tourist trap in town.”

Jolee shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. But in case there's more here than I think, I might email one of the pictures to the newspaper. Somebody's bound to recognize their work.”

“Ooo! What if they're dirty pictures? You know... porn shots?”

Jolee rolled her eyes. “Girl, you need to get laid. You've been lonely too long.” Getting to her feet, the ghost of a twinge reminded Jolee of her earlier misstep. She winced. “Look, I'm heading back to the office. Same place, same time tomorrow?”

“Are you seeing that guy tonight?”

Oh, yeah. She had a date. “No, tomorrow night. Don't’ worry. I'll give you all the juicy details over lunch Monday,” Jolee promised before her friend had the chance to beg.

They exchanged quick hugs, and then Jolee crossed the street to drop off the mysterious roll at the nearby drugstore. The technician promised to have the pictures ready by the time Jolee got off work, which suited her just fine. A not-half-bad presentation, a mysterious roll of film, and a bonus date all in one day. She found an extra spring in her step as she started back to work.

Jolee Wiley winced against a growing headache, knowing she had little chance of it going away any time soon. Pissed, tired, and pained, the original three stooges of marketing and research. You're definitely heading for a full meltdown if you're not careful, old girl!

She stopped at the light along with sixteen other assorted characters and waited for the green. Okay, I can add sweating like a pig. She grimaced and wiped away the beads of sweat popping out on her face. Underneath the blazer, her white silk blouse clung to her skin. She felt clammy and dirty on top of everything else, not to mention the fact she probably smelled to high heaven.

The light changed. The crowd of over-heated bodies surged forward. Jolee started to go with them when her knee inexplicably popped. The hard twinge made her gasp. She grabbed the light pole to keep from falling. Humanity flowed past her while she stood on one foot and fought the pain.

Damn shoes. She mentally kicked herself for wearing heels. If she'd worn her nice brown slings, something like this wouldn't have happened. But the browns didn't go with her navy suit, a little voice chided her. Well, hell.

The light turned. She'd missed the change. Gingerly, Jolee tried to place her weight back on the leg. It held without giving her any further trouble. A glance at her watch told her she was cutting it close—too close to suit her. Once she got to the office she would have to go straight into the meeting without a quick stop in the ladies’ room to freshen up. If there was any justice in the world, the building would be crisp-apple cold, eliminating any signs of perspiration before she entered the boardroom. Just remember to stay far enough away to keep people from smelling you, she reminded herself.

The red turned green. Jolee started to step off the curb when she nearly placed her foot directly on top of a small object lying in the street. A quick hop over it saved her from twisting her ankle, but feminine curiosity made her stop and look at what it was.

A film canister.

Immediately, a little voice inside her head started yelling at her. Don't touch it! Don't pick it up! Don't..

She bent to retrieve it in spite of the warning. Palming it, she hurried across the road, not slowing down until she was safely on the other side. As she continued on toward the Felter Building, she studied the canister, then gave it a shake. Something inside rattled.

Now she was definitely piqued. Unfortunately, she didn't have time to open it and see what was inside, but that didn't matter. The little black canister with its gray lid slid easily into her skirt pocket seconds before she reached her destination.

She was seven minutes late. By her standards that wasn't bad. However, Bristol Ackerman was not so lenient. “Christ, Wiley! What am I going to have to do to get you to our meetings on time? Tie a skateboard to your ass? Crain just sent me out to look for you!”

She ignored his tirade as she breezed past him and shoved open the huge double doors to the boardroom. The CEO was already present, as she expected, as well as the two representatives from Block, Daye, and Tripp. Pasting a smile on her face, Jolee took the first seat she came to. Bristol opted to take a chair closer to their CEO.

Mac Crain, CEO of Veldt, Inc., gave her one of those looks she'd only heard about, but had yet to experience for herself...until now. Jolee swallowed her fear and tried to appear more competent than she felt.

“Glad you decided to grace us with your presence,” Crain drawled, waving a hand in her direction. “Miss Wiley, this is Stuart Dovinsky and Ches Gorman of Block, Daye, and Tripp. Gentlemen, Miss Wiley.”

She eyed the pair, noting their impeccable clothes and three-figure haircuts. A hard sell? Nah. An impossible sell.

The introductions over, Crain gave her a nod. That was her signal. Taking a deep breath, Jolee stood and went over to where her presentation was already set up. As soon as the lights were dimmed, she opened the laptop and launched into her spiel.

* * * *

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Two

“Did they buy it?”

Jolee paused with a fork full of salad almost to her lips and shrugged. “I have no idea. It was like talking to statues. If those two play poker, they have to be grand champions. They didn't nod, didn't crack a smile, nothing the entire time I spoke.”

Her best friend, Ferra, wiggled in her seat. “Well, if I know you, you did an outstanding job. I know that if I saw that line of clothing in a store, I'd certainly buy it!”

Her remark made Jolee snort. Pencil-thin little Ferra wearing plus-size designer suits? It would be like hanging a parachute on a pipe cleaner. “That's sweet of you to say, girlfriend, but you don't wear the same size I do. Much less shop at the same stores.”

“Well, was there something you salvaged out of the promo?” the dark-haired waif continued as she dug into her shrimp Alfredo.

Jolee frowned. All she had to do was look at a dish like that and she could gain five pounds. Ferra packed it in like there was no tomorrow, and in the morning she might find out she'd lost another sixteen ounces.

“Were the two guys at least good looking? Enough to hunt down in a bar somewhere?”

Were they good looking? “Oh, yeah,” Jolee admitted. “But someone like me would never be on their ticket. No, they were more the runway model type. The kind of men who like their women obedient and vacant.”

A familiar jangle interrupted their conversation. Jolee fumbled in her skirt pocket, looking for the cell phone while Ferra waved a fork in her direction.

“Sixty gazillion ring tones and songs you could put on that thing, and you have it ring like a regular old phone. And you call yourself a marketing director?”

“Oh, hush. Ah, here it is.” Jolee pulled out the phone, but at the same time the forgotten canister came out with it. A glance at the window told her the number was unknown. What the hell, she shrugged and decided to answer it anyway. “Hello?”

“Miss Wiley? Stu Dovinsky. I witnessed your presentation today.” The voice was as polished as a freshly waxed car. Bet those two-hundred dollar elocution lessons really paid off, didn't they?

“Yes, Mr. Dovinsky. I remember you. Was there something you needed to ask me about the promo?” Jolee turned sideways in her seat to avoid Ferra's inquisitive stare.

“Actually, yes, I do,” Dovinsky answered. “But I would prefer to ask over dinner tomorrow. Would that be a problem?”

Her breath caught in her throat. Images of the man with the light brown hair and Jonas Babbino suit rolled around in her mind. How the hell did he get her number? For that matter, why was he even wasting his time asking her out?

“Miss Wiley?”

“Uhh, fine! Yes! It's not a problem!”

“Excellent! Shall I pick you up around seven-ish?”

Already she could feel the hairs on her neck starting to rise. The man used terms like ‘seven-ish'? Not a good sign. Nuh-uh, not good at all. Put a tally mark in his negative column. “Works for me,” she somehow replied. “Seven, it is.”

“Excellent!” the man echoed. “Where shall I pick you up?”

She gave him the address of the little corner grocery at the end of her block. For some reason her instincts had begun flashing little warning lights, telling her not to give him her real address. The store was a five-minute walk from her apartment and a safe place to rendezvous. Mr. Dovinsky hung up first, leaving Jolee to stare at the CALL ENDED.

“Well? Who?”

Jolee stuffed the phone back into her pocket, but the canister remained in her other hand. “Uhh, it was one of the guys from the presentation.” Curiosity was getting the better of her again. She ignored Ferra's squeal of delight and demand for more information, and shook the can next to her ear again. Yep. It definitely rattled.

Her friend's attention was momentarily distracted. “What's that? Film?”

“The can, at least. Wonder what's in it?” She reached for the lid when another hand slapped hers down.

“You mean it's not yours?” Brown eyes stared her down. “What are you doing with a can of film that isn't yours?”

Jolee threw her a smile. “I found it on the street. I nearly broke my neck trying to avoid stepping on it.” She started to open it again, but Ferra stopped her a second time.

“You don't know what's inside, and you're going to open it? What are you? Senile?”

“What could be inside that's so dangerous?”

“It could have drugs in it!” Ferra protested.

“Maybe. It rattles.”

“That's what I meant! Pills!”

“Ferra! Pills can only hurt me if I swallow them. And if it's drugs, I'll just flush them down the toilet.”

“Okay, but what if it's a bomb?”

“In this itty bitty thing? You've been reading too much Ian Fleming,” Jolee protested, laughing, and quickly popped the lid. Inside was a metal roll of film, just as she'd suspected. Sliding it into her palm, she noticed one important thing. “It's been used.”

Ferra leaned over the table so far that the blouse stretched across her breasts almost found the ranch dressing. “How can you tell?”

“A fresh roll has a tab sticking out so it hooks into the loader. This one doesn't have a tab.”

“Where do you think it came from?”

Sliding the roll back into its container, Jolee shook her head. “Oh, anyone could have accidentally dropped it. Some tourist is probably looking for it right now.”

“What are you going to do with it? Put out an ad in the paper's lost and found? Put one of the pictures on a milk carton?” Ferra smirked at her own joke.

“Nope. I'm going right over there to the drugstore and have them develop the photos. Maybe there's something on them that'll give me a clue as to who lost the roll.”

“Yeah, and you'll probably end up paying a pretty penny for someone's bad shots of every tourist trap in town.”

Jolee shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. But in case there's more here than I think, I might email one of the pictures to the newspaper. Somebody's bound to recognize their work.”

“Ooo! What if they're dirty pictures? You know...porn shots?”

Jolee rolled her eyes. “Girl, you need to get laid. You've been lonely too long.” Getting to her feet, the ghost of a twinge reminded Jolee of her earlier misstep. She winced. “Look, I'm heading back to the office. Same place, same time tomorrow?”

“Are you seeing that guy tonight?”

Oh, yeah. She had a date. “No, tomorrow night. Don't worry. I'll give you all the juicy details over lunch Monday,” Jolee promised before her friend had the chance to beg.

They exchanged quick hugs, and then Jolee crossed the street to drop off the mysterious roll at the nearby drugstore. The technician promised to have the pictures ready by the time Jolee got off work, which suited her just fine. A not-half-bad presentation, a mysterious roll of film, and a bonus date all in one day. She found an extra spring in her step as she started back to work.

* * * *

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Three

This is impossible.

“So...what are you?” The clerk leaned over the counter. “I really like the one with the purple unicorn.”

“Huh?” Jolee tore herself away from the proof sheet to give the camera clerk a questioning stare.

“Are you one of those models? Like for those romance novels?” The young woman gave her a conspiratorial grin. “You're lucky they weren't more explicit. Those shots are hot!"

Jolee dropped her eyes back to the proof sheet. She could easily see why the clerk would ask such a question. “Uhh, no. We were just goofing around.” She flashed an embarrassed grin at the woman, which wasn't too difficult considering what was on the photos.

She quickly paid for the developing and went straight home. As soon as she was inside her apartment, she went right to her computer and booted it up. While she waited, she treated herself to a rare glass of wine and took it over to the desk. The photo disk loaded, and Jolee took a swallow of the Merlot to steady her nerves.

DO YOU WISH TO OPEN THIS FILE?

“God, yes.”

Jolee clicked the OPEN button and watched with apprehension as the first image filled the screen.

It was her.

With a man.

And—Lord have mercy on her soul—what a man!

He was holding her face between his hands and leaning down as if to kiss her. Her eyes were closed, her lips slightly parted in breathless anticipation. Jolee could almost feel the impatient need to have his mouth cover hers. To breathe in his virile male scent when he—

Get a grip, Wiley! Another gulp of wine, and she clicked the mouse.

The second shot was more sedate. She was resting her head on his shoulder. His cheek caressed her forehead. Their eyes were closed. They almost appeared...

Sated.

A shiver ran through her. Come to think of it, was there any hint or sign of clothing in any of these shots?

Jolee felt her thighs clench, and warmth oozed into her panties. Questions tumbled around inside her head like clothes in a dryer.

Who was he? More importantly, who was the woman in the snapshot?

There was no way the female in the photos could be her. Didn't someone once say everybody in the world had an exact double? That's who the woman had to be. Her twin, just not related by blood. But an identical twin, nonetheless. Damn!

As Jolee stared at the woman, she had to admit the resemblance was almost perfect. Almost. The only difference she could see was that the woman in the shot had a lover straight out of dreamland, and Jolee...well...

Oh, but what she wouldn't give to be that woman snuggling in his embrace.

Staring at the computer, Jolee could see a lot more detail in the high-resolution monitor than what she'd noticed in the tiny thumbnail proofs. There was a close-up of the man, and this one revealed a tiny scar on the bridge of his nose. He also had mesmerizing brown eyes.

These photos were raw and real. Pre-touchup. What was in each picture was one hundred percent genuine, warts and pimples and all. The man's appearance wasn't perfect, but those imperfections made him that much more alluring. Whoever had taken these shots was damn good at his job.

“You... are...the man of my dreams,” she murmured aloud, then chuckled and mentally slapped herself. You're losing it, Wiley. You've gone ga-ga over a man's picture, and for all you know he could already be married. Or taken. Maybe to the woman who could be your identical twin. No one that devastatingly handsome stays single for long.

She continued to click through the collection, all thirty-six exposures. Each shot was a different pose of the two of them. Correction. Of the guy and the girl who looked like her. They were sensuously photographed, captured in romantic clutches. In some they appeared either half-naked or totally nude, but tastefully arranged so that the naughty bits weren't exposed. A blanket here, a bud vase there. A three-quarter view from the waist up in several, or a headshot or close-up.

But in every one of them the man and woman, although they knew they were in front of a camera, seemed oblivious to it. Their whole attention, their sole focus, remained on each other. Every touch, every look, every bend in their bodies spoke of devotion and love. These weren't two people modeling. They were lovers caught in the midst of a romantic interlude.

She took her time studying each shot. Over and over she had to keep telling herself that the woman making love to that undeniably handsome man was not her, but she looked real enough to fool even her parents. The woman even had a little rose tattoo on her right hip, exactly where Jolee had one!

There were a couple of head-and-shoulder poses of just the man. Shots that didn't feature herself...her twin, rather. If she placed one of them in the Lost and Found section of the paper, surely someone who knew the guy would be able to identify him. And that would lead to whoever lost the roll of film. Hopefully.

Jolee shook her head. This was all too freaky for words. Technically, these were professional shots, although they were just this side of being called porn. No wonder the camera clerk thought they were poses for romance novel covers. Tasteful, yes. Hot, oh, hell, yes!

She clicked through the disk until she reached exposure number thirty-four. It was faded, like it was under-exposed. Number thirty-five was black but outlined in red. Ditto for thirty-six.

She backed up. Thirty-three was a clear picture of the man and woman reclining in a tub filled with bubbles. Of course. Show me any posed shot of someone in a bathtub where there aren't any bubbles. Just as she'd expected, suds covered strategic areas of the couple's bodies. The man's hands also helped to keep the photos rated PG.

Jolee felt her nipples tightening. The man had his palms cupping the woman's generous breasts. It almost appeared as though he was teasing the tips with his fingers. His mouth was most certainly teasing the woman's neck.

Involuntarily, Jolee reached up with one hand and squeezed her breast through her silk blouse and bra. Sweet heavens, she could almost feel his hands! She could almost sense the warm water swirling sensuously around their bodies as she pressed her back against his chest. His erection lay on the bottom of the tub, where her butt cheeks nestled against his pubic hair and his ultra-hard dick slid between her folds

Jolee sat up in shock. This is crazy!

A mouse click forward didn't change the outcome of the last three photos. They were still dark or almost dark. On the other hand, maybe the photographer was finished at number thirty-four and didn't want the last two shots on the roll, so he'd exposed the rest of the film and accidentally damaged number thirty-four in the process. Oh, well, she mentally shrugged. What did it matter, anyway

She saved the entire disk to her hard drive. Her hard-earned money had paid for the developing. Might as well benefit by keeping copies for her own personal lusting. And, boy, there was no way the images of Mr. Man of Her Dreams were going to go to waste! Not if she could help it! Every woman needs her fantasy man, especially when the real ones are too few and far between.

A jump onto the Internet and over to the newspaper's website, and Jolee uploaded photo number sixteen to the Lost and Found department, paid for the added expense with a credit card, then went back to the kitchen for a refill from the half-empty wine bottle.

Hopefully, by this time tomorrow someone would contact her about his missing roll of film. She would inquire politely about the name of the man and the woman in the pictures, then try not to appear too eager to find out if the man was already spoken for, even though she already knew it was useless to assume otherwise. But she could dream. As long as she had those snapshots, she could dream and pretend the woman in his loving embrace really was her. That wouldn't be too difficult.

Admit it, Wiley, she bitterly told herself as she trudged back into the kitchen. The closest you'll ever come to a Happily Ever After is a jpeg file entitled “36 Exposures".

* * * *

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Four

Just to be on the safe side, when she got to the office the next morning, Jolee checked the newspaper's classified ads on her computer. Yep, there it was, and reproduction in black and white did nothing to dampen the draw she felt for the man in the picture.

Found: a roll of 36-exposure film on the corner of Breedluff and Merceyd. 901-555-7865 or JWiley@cambellmarketing.com.

Good. Short and to the point. Nodding, Jolee closed her browser and tried to concentrate on her next project. To be on the safe side she opened her email and left it open, hidden behind her current document in case someone popped into her office unexpectedly. Every time the little mail icon dinged for her attention, she rushed to see who it was.

By lunchtime when she hadn't gotten any response to her ad, she was beginning to feel disappointed no one responded to the ad. Why, she didn't have the foggiest idea.

“What were you expecting, Wiley? For the man in the photo to come striding into the building, take the elevator up to the fifth floor, turn right at Missy's cubicle, and come straight into your office so he can scoop you up into his arms? You are so pathetic!”

Despite her self-condemnation, Jolee opted out of lunch with Ferra and remained at her desk with a ham and cheese sandwich and a bag of baked potato chips from the deli in the lobby. By five o'clock she gave up.

The taxi ride home was quiet, thank goodness. The driver was self-absorbed and kept his radio off, for which Jolee was grateful. She didn't want to listen to any music on the way. She was in no mood for the latest trend in screeching. Nor did she want to listen to any oldies, on the off-chance the station would play some heart-wrenching ballad that would leave her in tears.

You are so pathetic. Boy, was she right about that observation. Twenty-seven, unattached, and the last time she had entertained a member of the opposite sex was... Jolee had to dig deep to even remember the guy she'd shared dinner with many months before.

The taxi pulled up to the curb next to her brownstone. Grabbing her purse and briefcase, she paid the man an extra fiver and thanked him for the quiet. Walking the short flight of steps up to the door, she let herself in and opted for the elevator to take her up to her floor.

The message light was blinking on her phone when she entered her apartment. A glance at the machine read “3". Jolee slapped the PLAY button on her way to hang up her jacket in the entryway closet.

“Hi, Jo! Ferra. Well, did you ever solve the mystery of the lost roll of film? Missed our lunch date. How about dinner? There's a new Italian place opening up over on Knox. Give me a call by six if you're interested. Ta!”

“Ta,” Jolee parroted, adding a snicker. That woman ate more pasta than anyone she knew. Kicking off her heels near the sofa, she strode over to the phone to listen to the rest of the messages.

“Miss Wiley, this is Bristol Ackerman. We need your first edits for the Manchester account ASAP. I went by your office but you were already gone for the day. Call me to let me know where they are. You have my number.”

She threw a mock salute at the machine. Screw him. He could wait until morning for those edits.

“Hello. My name is Mike Owensby.”

Jolee froze. The voice was deep. Warm. It immediately threw her body into a surprising state of awareness. Hell, it practically swam in sex.

“You placed a lost and found ad in the paper. You found a roll of film? Is there any way I can meet you to get the roll back? I've been sick with worry it might be permanently lost.” The voice sighed, and she could hear the man's despair. “My number is 901-555-8228. Please call me at your earliest convenience. Thank you.”

She jumped for the machine to catch the time on the readout. 4:58 p.m. A look at her watch told her it was just past six. Trembling, she grabbed the receiver and punched in the number. It was a local call, which meant he was here in town. While she waited for the connection, her eyes slid over to the dark computer monitor.

“Hello.”

Oh, God. It was that voice again. She had to sit down on the arm of the sofa before her legs went out from under her. “Uh, Mr. Mike Owensby, please.”

“This is him.” His breath caught. “Are you the person who found my film?”

A little giggle escaped her before she could answer. The man sounded like the cavalry were rescuing him. “Yes. I found it on the street. I'm sorry I had to develop the film, but it was the only way I could think of to find its owner,” she apologized.

The man laughed back. It was a relieved laugh. A de-stressing laugh. “Hey, not a problem. That was very smart of you. Look, is there a place where we can meet? I hate to rush you, but it's urgent I get the roll back as soon as possible.”

“Sure. But please forgive me. I have to ask you first—”

“What's on the roll?” the man finished for her. “They're some candid shots of a man and a woman. Very loving shots. Would you like more detail?”

More detail? Her mind went blank. “Uhh...”

“There should be about a dozen shots where the man and woman are growing...closer.” He gave a little embarrassed chuckle. “There are a few shots in a bubble bath and a few more in bed. A couple of head shots of the man alone, and a couple of the woman. Is that enough description?”

“Yes!” she hurried to assure him. “Look, do you know where Sinclair Avenue is?”

“Sure.”

“There's a little market at the corner of Sinclair and Faust. I can meet you there.”

“Perfect. I need a loaf of bread, anyway,” the man chuckled again. Its vibrations rattled through her, all the way down to her toes. “What time?”

“Umm, seven? Or do you need longer to get there?”

“I can make it by seven. How will I know you?” the man asked.

How will I know you? Oh, sweet heaven, should she tell him? “Trust me, Mr. Owensby. When you see me, you'll know it's me.”

“Pardon?”

She couldn't help but give a nervous laugh. “I'll meet you at Fosatti and Sons Market at seven. I'll be the one holding a disk of photos.”

“Great! See you soon.”

The man hung up, leaving Jolee to stare at the receiver in her hand. Mike Owensby sounded like a wet dream come to life, with a voice warm enough to melt the panties off every female within a fifty-mile range.

A strange thought came to her, making her smile wistfully. Wouldn't it be funny if Mr. Owensby was the guy in the photos? But, of course, that would be impossible. From the sincerity in his plea, he was probably the photographer. Maybe he shot photos for use on romance novels like those that Ferra had suggested. Maybe he had a deadline, but because he'd lost the roll, his boss was eating his butt out for being careless. It was very likely his job was on the line, and she was his stroke of good fortune for finding the roll.

Slipping on a pair of old, no-tie canvas sneakers, Jolee grabbed her keys and the disk, and left her apartment for the short walk to the corner grocer. With any sort of luck the guy would offer her a token reward. If she was really lucky, he would treat her to dinner.

But if she was truly blessed...

Jolee smiled. Who knew? Stranger things had happened.

* * * *

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Five

It was a little past six-thirty when she got to the market. Other than Mrs. Fosatti, who was running the register, and two kids squabbling in the candy aisle, there was no one else in the store. Jolee gave the woman a quick wave and a smile, then headed over to the magazine rack to kill some time perusing the covers.

Every time the door jingled to signal someone entering or leaving the store, she glanced up. Her heart had picked up its pace. Now it was beating out a little staccato rhythm to match her nerves.

She had to ask Mr. Owensby who the man in the picture was. She had to find out his name and, at the very least, if he was single. That's all. That's what her “reward” could be. Just tell me who he is, and if there's any way on earth I can meet him. That would be more than enough compensation for my trouble

The cover of a film noir magazine caught her eye. She picked it up, but she was too wrapped up in her thoughts to thumb through it. What if Mr. Owensby didn't show? What if he sent one of his assistants over to pick up the disk? No. She mentally shook her head. The guy sounded like he was the hands-on type. It was obvious the man did his own work, right down to the dirty fingernails jobs. Maybe one of the bigger book or magazine publishers employed him.

The door jingled. Jolee started to place the ‘zine back into its slot when she heard a gasp of surprise.

“No.”

She looked up.

“Oh, God. It's you!”

The words hadn't come from her mouth, but they could have. Her eyes widened as she stared at the man standing not a dozen feet away.

It was the man in the pictures.

She felt the blood drain from her face. At the same time she could see his face growing paler by the second. He took a step toward her, then another. Were those tears in his eyes?

“You said I would know you when I saw you...” His voice cracked as he approached her. One hand lifted in her direction. “It's you. It's you.”

She felt she was being overcome by a wall of pure male perfection. He walked up to her, and the outstretched hand dove into her hair behind her head. His mouth descended over hers, and all sense of place and time dissolved into little bits of nothing.

Strong arms enveloped her. His body slid against hers, forcing her to clutch his shirt to keep herself steady. It was a kiss so demanding she lost herself in it. Nothing in her life had prepared her for the way he drank of her, drawing her tongue into his mouth to suck and fondle it with his.

The light scent of musk filled her nostrils. The man had sprayed himself before coming. The cologne...his warmth...the way he cradled her as his mouth almost devoured her...

It was too much too soon. As much as she hated doing it, she almost had to shove him away. “Wait. Wait! I-I think you've mistaken me for someone else!”

“No, I haven't,” he insisted, pulling her back against him.

“Yes, you have! I'm not the woman in the pictures!”

“Yes, you are,” he breathed across her cheek. “You're the woman I've been searching for these past eight years.”

She was melting, becoming totally pliable in his arms. She could feel the hard bulge of his erection rubbing along her thigh. The thought of him shoving it inside her was nearly her undoing, and it took her last effort to try and make sense of this whole encounter. Placing her hands to his chest, she pushed him away again.

“That's impossible. How is it...possible?” She was completely overwhelmed, but she didn't care. Even when his five o'clock shadow scraped across her skin.

The heated length of petrified wood pressed harder between her legs. Unconsciously, she parted her thighs to let it rest in the indentation made by her skirt, but it wasn't enough. If this man swept her up in his arms and took her away with him, could she resist him? Would she?

As unexpected as his kiss, he lifted his face to stare down at her. A foolish grin spread over his lips. “Uhh, not quite the welcome we both were expecting, was it? Hi. I'm Mike Owensby.”

He had stopped playing havoc with her head when he'd broken off the kiss, but he still held her. The rapid thudding of his heart underneath her palms continued to keep her off-kilter.

“J-Jolee. Wiley. Nice to, uhh, meet you?”

Mike stepped back, releasing her, much to her disappointment. The disk was still in her hand. She held it out to him. He took it silently.

“What did you mean? How can I be the woman in those photos?” she asked, to keep the conversation going. Suddenly, she didn't want him to leave her, or leave here without her.

He glanced around to see how much of a spectacle they'd created. “Not here. Do you live nearby?” he whispered in that dark, panty-melting voice.

There was no hesitancy in her reply. “Just down the block.”

A titter in the aisle over brought her back to reality. They were making out in the middle of a Mom and Pop grocery store. Not exactly the place for the kind of encounter they'd just had.

“Come on.” He grabbed her hand and started for the door.

Jolee was right behind him.

She was able to catch her breath once they hit fresher air. “Third building on the right. The one with the cornflower blue door.”

He nodded mutely, never releasing her hand as he led the way. She noticed finally what the photos couldn't show. He was tall but not gangly. His shoulders were wide and nicely developed without any of those over-pumped muscles. Long legs ate the ground, taking one stride for every two of hers. Thank goodness they didn't have far to go.

“This it?”

She broke her gaze away to see they were at the front door. “Already?”

“Yeah.”

“Where's the key?”

She handed it over and watched him climb the steps to unlock the door. A flush of heat suddenly washed over her as she realized what was about to happen.

They were going to make love. Oh, dear Lord, she was getting her reward!

The door swung open. Mike ushered her in first. Jolee mentally added that fact to the list that was piling up checks in his plus column faster than she could tally.

“309. Elevator's over there.”

He practically dragged her into the lift. Before the doors were completely shut he pulled her back into his embrace for another all-encompassing kiss. The pole of petrified wood was still there, trying to penetrate the cloth barrier separating them. This time when he pulled away he murmured, “I'm sorry. I couldn't wait to do that again.”

“S'okay.” Geez, she sounded lame, but it was a miracle she could say anything at all during this whirlwind seduction. Somehow she managed to take the keys from him so she could find the one to her apartment. Again he opened the door and let her go in first. He'd barely closed it behind them when they came together with the force of two tornados merging.

Her body was frying, her skin sizzling when she felt his hands slipping her blouse over her head. His lips were everywhere; his tongue danced across her flesh, mouth, cheek, then her neck and shoulder. She let him undress her as she relished the feel of his hands roaming over her breasts and hips before stopping to cup her buttocks. The sweet slickness between her thighs evidenced her growing need.

“Jolee...” He moaned into her mouth. It sounded like a loving declaration.

She shivered, and the walls of her vagina clenched in anticipation.

She gasped as he lifted her into his arms and carried her down the short hallway to the bedroom. He didn't even bother with pulling back the bedspread. Jolee felt the cool coverlet at her back and turned her head to watch him strip. Just as she'd suspected, his chest was a wall worth exploring, all the way down to the crop of chocolate-colored curls between his legs.

Sweet Mother of God, you're even more wonderful up close!

That pole of petrified wood definitely got her attention, too. She started to reach for it when he ditched his pants then climbed on top of her.

Foreplay was over. She was starving for him as much as he was her. Jolee lifted her knees to accept him, and nearly cried out when he pressed himself into her deep and hard. Never stopping until his whole length was shoved inside her. A puff of hot air seared her neck, and Mike groaned beside her ear.

“My Jolee...beautiful Jo...”

This is insane! a little voice inside her head kept repeating. Okay, it was insane, she agreed. Insane or delusional. Either way, she wasn't going to argue or attempt to stop this torment until she was damn good and ready.

His thickness pulled through her, shredding sanity and taking away every thought as he adjusted himself over her and began stroking harder. Almost pounding himself until she could hear their flesh slapping together. The bed rocked with their motion. His mouth lifted away long enough to say her name again.

Jolee could feel the tenseness rising. Beneath her hands the muscles in his back also tightened, and she hooked her heels around his waist.

The build-up came over her fierce and demanding, wiping out all thought. Everything flew out the window as her orgasm hit her without warning. Arching her back, she was faintly aware of Mike crying out when her inner walls gripped him. He tried to continue his thrusts, but the strength of her muscles locking him in place was too much. In the next instant he poured himself into her. His groan filled the room as their bodies trembled with the aftershocks of their orgasms.

* * * *

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Six

Time passed unobserved. At some point he collapsed on the bed next to her, but his arms continued to hold her. Touching her. Caressing her with gentle movements. One hand pressed against her buttocks, keeping himself trapped within her.

Slowly, inevitably, Jolee opened her eyes to see him watching her. She wearily smiled. “You have lots of ‘splaining to do.”

Another one of those sexy chuckles vibrated under her fingers. “How well can you suspend belief?”

She blinked. “Like, in fairy tales?”

“Something like that.”

Rolling over, Jolee propped herself up on her elbows. “I've just had the best sex of my life with a man I've only drooled over in photos, and you want me to suspend my beliefs? Mike, we didn't use protection!”

Mike smiled and ran a hand through her hair, smoothing it back across her shoulders. “What I'm about to tell you is going to sound like something out of the ‘Twilight Zone', but you have to trust me. It's the truth. As for the absence of a condom, you have nothing to be afraid of.”

“Yeah, I bet. How many women have you used that line with?” she asked, but without the touch of sarcasm she normally would have used. The man was being sincere with her, and she knew it. How she knew, she couldn't explain. No more than she could explain why this hunk of male perfection was hers and hers alone.

He gave another chuckle. “Jolee, I'm a Dream Seeker. More specifically, a Dream Keeper. An Archivist, to be more specific.”

“I'm still lost,” she drawled, grinning.

“I take pictures of people's dreams, then keep them for future reference.”

Jolee frowned down at the man whom she knew was being totally honest with her, and damn if she could figure out why she was so certain. “Which people? How would they know to contact you? And why would you do such a thing? You can't photograph dreams.” Giving a nod in the direction of her living room, she added, “How come you're on that roll of film I found?”

“Those photos are of my dreams, Jolee. They're my dreams of the one woman I love with all my heart.” Now he was dead serious. His dark eyes stared straight into hers.

“Who was the woman who looks like me, then?”

“It was you.”

It took a moment for her to accept what he was saying. But before she could open her mouth to retort, Mike laid a finger across her lips. “Let me explain. Please.”

He pulled himself out of her before moving up and leaning against the headboard. Lifting her, he waited for her to get comfortable lying against him. From the corner of her eye, Jolee could see his manhood beginning to stir. The sight of it was enough to fire up her interest.

“There's a lot on this world that can't be explained,” Mike began.

“Like ghosts and stuff like that?”

“Yeah. Well, there are some people in this world who are known as Dream SeekersOLELINK62. There's quite a few of us around.”

“I thought you said you were a Dream Keeper.”

“A Dream Keeper is responsible for holding safe the dreams of other Dream Seekers. A Keeper is the Archivist for the Seekers.”

“Are you from another world, or something like that?”

She felt him shrug.

“Something like that,” he admitted. “We have legends that tell of a race of humans like us who were seeded on this world. Actually, we have no real idea how we're able to do what we do.”

“Do what?”

“We can dream of our future loves. We can envision the man or woman who is meant to be our perfect soul mate, right down to the minutest detail.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“Then that really was me in the pictures?”

“Uh-huh. If you looked closely you might have recognized some details that would prove it to you.”

The image of the rose tattoo came to mind, along with the comment made by the camera department clerk. “I like the one with the purple unicorn." Jolee turned slightly to look at the little plastic toy sitting in her bookcase near the door. She'd won it at a carnival when she was in high school. Although it was a childish thing, it was her most cherished possession.

Then it struck her. Photo number seventeen. It was a shot of them lying exactly as they were now, naked and replete, with her head tucked against his shoulder. The purple unicorn could clearly be seen sitting on the bookshelf in the background.

“What happens after you take the pictures?”

“That's where the Archivist comes in. When we finally have those dreams, and we take pictures of them, we keep them in storage.”

“In storage? Why? How?”

He sighed. “Okay, how do I explain this? Like I said earlier, I'm an Archivist. I can take pictures of another Dream Seeker who's having visions of the person meant for him. When I develop the shots, the Seeker has a complete set of photos of that person. That way, in the future, when the Seeker finally discovers his fated other half, he can prove to her that they were meant for one another.”

“How do you take a snapshot of something like that?” Jolee whispered. She felt deliciously happy, not to mention well-loved.

Mike ran a hand over her back, and she noticed he paid particularly close attention to her lower back where she tended to have spasms. He pressed his knuckles into the muscle, massaging that area. Another check went into his plus column.

“The same way you take a photograph of anything. I use a regular camera and film, except something very wonderful happens once the film is developed. I'm sorry. I can't explain it any better than that. Personally, I have no idea how I'm able to do it.”

“Can't anyone take pictures of these Seekers and get the same results?” she wondered aloud.

He slowly shook his head. “It doesn't seem to work that way. Apparently, you have to be an Archivist for the special developing to work.”

Jolee mulled over the information. “How did you know you were an Archivist? Why do you have to be the one who keeps their dreams on file?”

“There's a network of us who find each other. There's a way of knowing when you meet another Dream Seeker. And those of us who are aware know I'm an Archivist because I wear the symbol around my neck.”

Her eyes were drawn to the small metal circlet he wore on a leather strap. She looked up at him. “So you took pictures of yourself so you could find me?”

The smile she got in return had her stomach doing cartwheels.

“I started dreaming of you two months ago. That's when I took the photos.”

“Then why didn't you develop the roll?”

“Why? I already knew what you looked like,” Mike told her softly. “I didn't need to Archive the photos.” He kissed her forehead again, right at the hairline. “You have no idea how important it was for me to retrieve that roll. I can never explain enough what it means to finally find you.” By silent mutual consent they both readjusted their bodies into another comfortable position.

“Mike, before you go any further, explain something to me.”

“I'll try.”

“Why did you need to get the roll back? I mean, if you weren't planning on developing the pictures, why did you need to find the roll?”

“For one thing, it was my only proof of you,” Mike admitted.

Jolee watched as his fingers traced invisible designs on her abdomen, then gradually moved upward toward her breasts.

“More importantly, I had to get the roll back before it disintegrated.”

“Huh?” She glanced up at him.

“Think of...think of the photos as a time bomb. When I discovered that I was a Dream Keeper and understood what that meant... Hold on. Let me start again. I found out eight years ago I was a Dream Seeker. That's when I also discovered I was an Archivist. A Keeper. I knew that one day I would dream of the woman who was my whole world. And once I did, I had to take those pictures as soon as possible.”

“Why?”

“Because the dreams don't last.”

“You're not making sense. You mean you would forget me?”

“Worse. Once a Dream Seeker starts having those dreams, they only last for a couple of weeks. Then the dreams are gone. We don't get them back,” Mike answered sadly.

“Oh! I get it now. You take the pictures so that when you forget the dreams, you still have a record of what your love looks like.”

“Eh...in a way. Jolee, the photos will only last for two months. Tops. At the end of two months the photos begin to disintegrate.” He wrapped his arms more firmly around her. “When the pictures are gone, so is the chance a Dream Seeker will ever have to find the other half of his soul.”

She blinked. “You don't remember her? At all?”

“No. Nothing. If and when that happens, the Seeker has lost his chance at true happiness.” Mike reached for one of her hands and lifted it to his lips. “My two months is up. Losing my canister on top of that was...I can't begin to explain how terrified I was.”

“You mean you'll never find the woman you love?”

“Not the one I was meant to. Oh, yeah, there have been Dream Seekers who've gone on to marry. If they're lucky, or blessed, or both, they remain with that person for the rest of their lives. But they're just as certain to divorce or have bad marriages as the rest of humankind.”

Jolee slowly digested that bit of information. She also remembered his warning about the film disintegrating. “Mike, I had the film developed at the camera store. Is the store in any danger?”

“No. Not after the roll is developed. But that disk is a danger. I'll have to get rid of it.”

“One more thing,” she asked as she watched him crawl out of bed. Mike paused to listen, giving her his undivided attention. Add another check, she mentally smiled. “Okay, tell me if I have this straight. You find out you're a Dream Seeker, and someone like you becomes an Archivist, which makes you one of their Dream Keepers. What's so great about being a Dream Seeker?”

“Because at some point you find out who your true soul mate is,” he answered. “Jolee, do you know how many millions of people spend their entire lives searching for that one special person they can spend the rest of their lives with? Who they can be truly happy with? Even though the window is brief between the time we finally discover who they are, and when we lose that chance forever, we still have that chance! I give the Seeker copies of his pictures so he can physically seek her through ads and the Internet.” He started pulling on his pants. “We have a lot more success at finding our true mates than it sounds.”

“But I barely know you,” she protested without conviction.

He appeared to realize that as well. “That's okay. We have the rest of our lives to get to know each other.” Leaning over the bed, he brushed the hair away from her face and gave her a soft kiss. “Get some rest, Jolee. I'll be back soon.”

“Where are you going?”

He turned around in the doorway as he continued buttoning his shirt. “Out for some Chinese, and to get rid of that disk before it melts.” A quick smile, and he was gone. Jolee heard the front door open and close.

Hunching down in the bed, she lay there, listening to the sound of the air conditioner turn itself on. He had gone out for Chinese. How did he know she liked Chinese? Her gaze shifted to the little plastic purple unicorn. Maybe he knew about her food preferences the same way he probably knew about a hundred other little things she was still unaware of.

One thing was very, very clear, though. She had fallen hard for the man in the photos. And there was no way she could deny she was now in love with the picture that had come to life.

Get some rest, Jolee.

Pretty sound advice, she admitted to herself, closing her eyes. She had a hunch it was going to be a long night when he returned. A smile crept onto her face. Oh, yeah. Definitely a long night.

* * * *

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Seven

The smell of smoke woke her. Jolee lay in bed half-dazed as the pungent scent of something burning filled the air. Her throat seized up, forcing her to sit up and cough.

A hissing sound came from the living room. Hurrying over to the closet, she grabbed a simple shirt she normally wore to lounge around in and threw it on.

The air was quickly turning grayer. Halfway down the hall, a thickening cloud of smoke obliterated all sight of the living room. Jolee ran into the bathroom where she snatched up a washcloth, wet it, and placed it over her nose and mouth.

The shrill beep of the smoke detector going off startled her. She tried once more to go back into the living room, but the acrid cloud filling the apartment burned her eyes, and she was forced to follow along the wall with her hands. The front door was somewhere ahead, although she couldn't see it through her tears.

Over the sound of the detector she thought she heard someone pounding on the door.

“Jolee! Open up!”

Mike!

Something popped, sending a bright flare of light toward the ceiling. Jolee realized it was the computer. Her computer was on fire. Her computer was...

Exploding.

She'd downloaded copies of the photos onto her hard drive. Now they were disintegrating just as he'd said they would. Melting. Burning. Taking the computer and ultimately her whole apartment with it.

Vaguely, she remembered the last two pictures on the roll. The ones that were already black and rimmed with a reddish light. The photos had already started to burn when she'd gotten the roll developed. When she transferred them to her computer, their immolation had continued.

“Jolee! Open the door!”

Her hand encountered the side table behind the couch. The table where she always dropped her purse and mail whenever she got home. Her fingers felt something hard and with rough edges. The keys. Mike hadn't taken the keys with him when he left because he expected her to open the door for him when he returned. She tried to call back to him, but her throat closed up. Tears poured down her face. Her eyes burned.

She backed up until she felt the wall. The door was at the end of the short entryway, but how far was she from there? The computer was on the desk facing the wall leading into the hallway. To get to the door, she would have to pass right by it.

Dropping to the floor, Jolee started crawling. She could hear more popping noises. The smell of boiling paint and fabric was everywhere. Suddenly, a giant whoosh! of heat and sound washed over her. The sick stench of burning hair warned her she was on fire. Holding her breath, she frantically used the washcloth to beat out the embers.

The entire living room was in flames. The source of the fire directly blocked her path, preventing her from reaching her only exit. She heard Mike beating again on the door. He had to be aware of the fire by now. He had to know she was trapped inside.

Jolee retreated to the bedroom, but the air was filled with billowing, thick, grayish plumes around the ceiling. She had coughed so much, her lungs ached.

The only window in the room was divided into thirds. The two panes on opposite sides could be cranked open to let in air, but the middle one was fixed in place. There was no way she could squeeze through them. She could try to break them and climb out, but it was a straight three-story drop to concrete.

More coughing overcame her. Breathing was painful, even with the rag. A movement of light caught her attention. She looked out the door and down the hallway, and watched in horror as a line of flames slowly ate through the carpeting as it advanced toward the bedroom.

She rushed into the bathroom and shut the door. Grabbing some towels, she soaked them in the toilet bowl before stuffing them in the crack at the bottom of the door. Fortunately, the bathroom was tiled, not carpeted. If she was lucky she could keep the fire at bay long enough for the firefighters to arrive. She just hoped she outlasted the toxic smoke sifting into the tiny room.

The bathroom quickly grew warmer. Jolee sat in the tub shower and intermittently splashed water on her face while keeping the washcloth over her nose. No sound from outside permeated her safety zone.

She had no idea how long she remained crouched in the tub. She'd lost all sense of time. If the walls started going up in flames, her last resort would be to turn on the shower full blast. And pray.

* * * *

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Eight

A sudden banging on the door surprised her. A second later it flew open, letting in a huge gust of billowing heat and ash, along with a firefighter whose appearance was more alien than human.

“Jolee Wiley?” the man inquired through his breathing apparatus. She nodded as he produced an extra breathing mask and handed it to her. “Put this on. Close your eyes and don't open them until I say so. Are you all right?”

She nodded again as she placed the mask over her face. Cool, fresh oxygen squirted up her nose, forcing her to cough the tainted air out of her lungs.

The firefighter rose to his feet, picking her up in his arms as if she weighed nothing. Jolee pulled herself into as tight a ball as possible and kept her eyes shut during the trip out of the apartment. Heat and smoke were everywhere, but the damage meant nothing to her. The man carried her down the flights of stairs and finally out into the night.

The sound of commotion assailed her as the firefighter directed, “Now you can open them.”

He was placing her on her feet when she heard her name called out. Mike rushed over to gather her into his arms as he tenderly dropped kisses over her smudged face. “Oh, God, Jolee. After all this time having to wait to find you, and then to almost lose you... What happened?”

“It was the photos,” she managed to say. The mask remained on her face, but her throat continued to burn. Her voice sounded strangled, hoarse. There were flashing lights everywhere. The street was clogged with police vehicles, fire trucks, and ambulances, not to mention a crowd of curious onlookers.

She started to say more when an EMS technician approached and asked to examine her in a no-nonsense tone that told her she'd better agree. She followed him to the wagon where Mike continued to hold her hand.

“The photos? I don't understand, Jolee. How could they have anything to do with this? I destroyed the disk.”

She managed a guilty grin. Already she could feel the burns tightening the skin on her face and arms. Her legs and feet were just as bad. The early evening breeze chilled her skin, and she shivered as she lifted the mask enough to be heard. “I downloaded a copy of the photos to my hard drive before I placed the ad in the paper. I guess when they started to destroy themselves, they took my computer with them. Ouch!”

The EMS tech jerked back his hand that had been applying a salve to her face. “Sorry. Keep holding out your arm so I can take your blood pressure.”

Sighing loudly, Jolee obeyed. “You know, I should have thought of it sooner. I remember when I first looked at the disk that there were only thirty-four pictures on that thirty-six exposure roll. The last two shots were black and rimmed with a reddish tint.” She shook her head. “At the time I just assumed the last two shots were either overexposed or wasted shots.”

He gave her hand a squeeze. “I shot the whole roll,” he told her. “Apparently the photos had already begun to disintegrate when you had the film developed. I'm sorry, Jolee. Your apartment is destroyed.” Dropping another kiss to her palm, Mike shuddered. “But you're alive, and that's all that matters.”

She managed to smile at him without too much pain. “Well, you know what this means, don't you? It means you're going to have to take me home with you tonight. Uhh...” She looked at the EMS tech for his approval. “I can go to his place, right? I don't have to go to the hospital for observation or anything, do I?”

“As far as I can tell, you're in pretty good shape for nearly being barbequed,” the tech grinned. “You want my opinion? An overnight stay at the hospital and a couple of x-rays of your lungs would be the wise thing to do.”

“I'm all right,” Jolee insisted.

“Until I see your degree telling me you're a physician, I would listen to the man,” Mike said.

She turned to the EMS tech. “What if I come in tomorrow for my x-rays? First thing in the morning?”

The tech thought it over. “Tomorrow? Well, if you sure you're okay, but you might have a little difficulty tonight breathing and swallowing,” he told her as he relieved her of her mask and tank. “Better to take care and get those x-rays as soon as possible.”

Mike promised to take her first thing in the morning, then helped her out of the EMS wagon as a man wearing firefighter gear strode up to them. The man gave the couple a nod.

“Miss Wiley? I'm Captain Westfall. We've managed to extinguish the blaze, but I'm afraid the place is a total loss. My men are still up there sifting through the debris and putting out any embers they find, to make certain it doesn't start up again. We're also looking for the fire's point of origin. Would you have any idea how it might have started?”

She gave a little nod. Although she knew it was wrong to lie, Jolee also knew she couldn't tell him the whole truth. “I think my computer shorted out. I remember seeing smoke and flames coming out of it before I retreated to the bathroom.”

The man rubbed his chin. “Thanks. I'll make note of that. Is there a number where I can reach you if we have any more questions?”

“Yeah. Here's my card,” Mike said, producing his wallet from his back pocket and handing one over. “The address on it is both my residence and work address.”

“Thanks. Try to have a good rest of the evening,” the firefighter said.

Jolee watched him leave.

“Damn.”

Surprised by the irritation in his voice, she glanced back at the man she had no compunction about staying with for the next sixty or so years. “What?”

“The Chinese food. I left it in the hallway when I called 911.”

“Guess it's inedible by now,” she commented.

Mark burst out laughing. “Yeah. You're probably right. Are you still hungry?”

“Is the Pope Catholic?”

“Great. My place is about a half-mile from here. I'm parked on the other side of that market. What do you say we head over to Dum Sing and stuff ourselves with the best moo shoo pork in town before heading home?”

Home. With the man of my dreams. “Sounds wonderful. What are your plans after we get home?” she asked as he took her hand and started to lead her down the block toward the corner market.

“Well, considering I've spent the last eight years of my life being celibate, waiting for you, and nearly going out of my mind searching for you these last two months...”

She stopped to turn and stare up at him. “No way! Are you telling me you haven't had sex for eight years?”

Mike let out a loud sigh. “That's one of the few drawbacks of being a Dream Seeker. Sex with anyone else isn't fun or worthwhile. Not until you find your match.” Gingerly touching her lips with the tip of his finger, he added, “As for later, I can safely say that a night of restful sleep is the last thing you can expect.” He grinned at her as he slipped an arm around her shoulders and they continued walking.

“And tomorrow?”

“Hell, Jolee, we have a lifetime of tomorrows. Let's just take it one night at a time right now and get to know each other better. Any objections?”

In the past twenty-four hours her life had gone from hopeless to incredible, with a dash of being nearly barbecued to death thrown in for good measure. Did she have any objections?

“None, Mr. Owensby. None whatsoever,” she assured him and drew an arm around his waist.

She suddenly remembered she had made a date with one of Block, Daye, and Tripp's stuffed shirts. Too bad she wouldn't be able to make it. She thought about calling the guy back to cancel when she realized her phone was in her purse, upstairs and incinerated like the rest of her things. Yeah, the guy would be pissed when she didn't show, but Jolee no longer cared.

Mike dropped a kiss to her singed hair but didn't mention the smell. Add another mark in his favor.

Oh, to hell with it. Jolee wadded up her mental checklist and threw it away. She no longer needed the damn thing anyway.

The End

* * * *

[Back to Table of Contents]

Author Bio

www.LindaMooney.com

Linda loves to write romance with a fantasy or science fiction flair. Her technique is often described as being as visual as a motion picture or graphic novel. By day she is a Kindergarten teacher, wife, and mother who lives in a small south Texas town near the Gulf coast. But at night she delves into worlds filled with daring exploits and sensuous, erotic romance.

With New Concepts Publishing:

The Gifted (Top Ten Bestseller)

With Whiskey Creek Press:

Runner's Moon: Jebaral (#1 Bestseller)

Runner's Moon: Tiron (#1 Bestseller)

Runner's Moon: Simolif (#1 Bestseller)

Runner's Moon Megabook (#1 Bestseller)

Sandeflay (#1 Bestseller)

HeartFast (#1 Bestseller)

HeartCrystal (#1 Bestseller)

My Strength, My Power, My Love

Visit www.redrosepublishing.com for information on additional titles by this and other authors.