“Vivid dreams. Heated dreams. Dreams that left her damp and aching and feeling oh, so desperately alone. She awoke in the early morning hours, flushed and fevered, with her fragile white silk nightgown twisted around her thighs and her pillow clutched to her breasts. There were tears on her cheeks. It had been years since she'd dreamed about him. Years longer since she'd cried over his memory. So many years that she'd thought... hoped... prayed she was finally, completely over him for good. And ...then, with just one look, one touch, one whispered exchange in a room full of people, and she was on that emotional roller coaster ride all over again. Aching for him again. Crying for him again. With a strangled moan of denial and rage, Ariel threw back the white satin Porthault sheet that covered her. If she couldn't sleep without dreaming about him, then she wouldn't sleep at all. She'd done it before. And survived. She'd survive it again. She slid across the big empty bed and got up, automatically reaching for the silk robe that lay across the tufted white velvet fainting couch at the foot, automatically stepping into the quilted white satin mules that sat, side by side, beneath it.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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