When You Close Your Eyes Read online

  Table of Contents

  When You Close Your Eyes

  Publication Page

  Dedication

  PRAISE FOR AUTHOR

  Author Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  About the Author

  Also Available

  Also Available

  Thank You

  When You Close Your Eyes

  by

  Roxanne D. Howard

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  When You Close Your Eyes

  COPYRIGHT © 2019 by Haley Cavanagh

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Diana Carlile

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewilderroses.com

  Publishing History

  First Scarlet Rose Edition, 2019

  Print ISBN 978-1-5092-2360-2

  Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-2361-9

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  For Luke

  PRAISE FOR AUTHOR

  Roxanne D. Howard

  WHEN YOU CLOSE YOUR EYES

  “Sexually erotic, emotionally compelling, and spiced with evolving passion, When You Close Your Eyes is recommended reading for anyone who likes their romance stories steamy and powerful.”

  ~Five Stars, Midwest Book Review

  Author Acknowledgments

  A profound thanks to Malinda and Marilyn, Holly and Patrick, Carole and Rod for their unfailing love, support, and good times throughout the years.

  A salute to Brandy Dixon, a dear lifelong friend, for copy editing the novel in its infancy, and a day spent together in Park City in 2007 that led to a spark of encouragement to believe in the book’s potential.

  A shout out to Drill Sergeant Dennis Davis, who once upon a time taught a young soldier what a Ducati was, and the value of never giving up hope. The world needs more people like you in it.

  I’m so thankful to the original editor of this novel, Ann M. Curtis, for her meticulous and loving care of the book’s editing when it was acquired with Loose Id Publishing. Ann is an incredible editor, gentle soul, and good friend, and she provided insightful feedback and tremendous inspiration throughout the initial editing process.

  Thank you to the management, artists, and editorial staff at The Wild Rose Press. I rest well at night knowing this book is cradled safely in your arms.

  To my husband and children, who are the joy of my life and the strength of my heart.

  Prologue

  The lucidness of the dream defied all logic. Despite how real it seemed, Lark knew it was still just a dream. On a rainy morning when she was twenty-five, she’d given her virginity to Charles. She recalled how the pale sunlight had streaked through the window of her London flat and washed over their bodies. Her American tan overshadowed Charles’s pale English skin, and his chest felt warm beneath her fingertips.

  This man entangled with her, with a firm grip on her hips as his long fingers dug into them and he thrust his hard cock into her, was not Charles.

  He whispered her name like a mantra.

  Lark couldn’t see him clearly, but the outline of thick hair fell across a smooth forehead. He slowed as he caught her stare. He trailed a finger down the side of her face, past her neck, over her breasts, and spread his fingers along her hip. Her nipples tightened, and she arched her back for more. His touch tormented her, soft as a whisper. He’d barely grazed her skin, but she lit on fire from that mere stroke.

  His hips swiveled into hers, slow and deliberate. He reversed the course of his hands and voyaged the length of her body, setting her sensitive skin alight as his palms skirted her flesh. She trembled with unabated desire.

  “What are you doing?”

  “What does it feel like?” he whispered with a hint of an Irish brogue.

  ****

  An alarm clock sounded and ripped her from her dream. She sat up and pushed sweaty hair away from her face. Charles’s heavy palm touched her lower back from where he lay beside her.

  “All right, love?” he murmured, his voice sleep-ridden.

  She reached to her right, pawed the snooze button, and turned the alarm off. She placed her hand over her heart and willed it to slow down. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine, babe. Go back to sleep. I’m going to go run.”

  Chapter One

  Flight

  Lark watched the fat pigeon’s head bobble as he scavenged along the pavement. He cocked his head to the side as she and Maisie Robertson sprinted toward him, spread his wings and flew a few feet away, then continued to forage in peace.

  The rising sun spread over Regent’s Park, and Lark pumped her arms for warmth. The brisk wind off the Thames River became more prominent, snuffing out the last vestiges of summer with cooler autumn days. Lark coughed and slowed to a walk. Wisps of hair escaped her ponytail and fell into her eyes. “Hang on. We’ll run again in a minute, Maisie,” she huffed. Yes, it was complete bullshit. They’d totally walk the rest of the way. She had no more umph in her. But it was nice to pretend and give it the old college try.

  “No, let’s stop. I’m done in,” Maisie said, panting, her London accent labored from their run. Taller than she, Maisie’s freckled, fawn-colored skin glistened with perspiration. She stretched her arms high above her curly black hair as they slowed their pace.

  A few coughs rattled Lark’s chest. She ignored the concern on Maisie’s face as she fished inside her black velour sweat-suit jacket for her cigarette and lighter. She flicked the lighter open and brought the cigarette tip to the flame. She puffed and took a long drag. The butt dangled from her cold fingers with an ashy glow. She did try e-cigs a while back, but the plastic against her lips held no appeal. She paused to admire the neat green hedgerows and rows of blue-marbled crocuses nearby.

  A bright blanket of sun lit the dewy grass. Lark blew the smoke out the side of her mouth and grinned as she joined Maisie and walked along the concrete path. “I should have run while you were on holiday, but I wasn’t motivated enough on my own. Watch the sparks fly off my thighs.”

  “And mine. I ate way too much over there.” Maisie laughed. “How did the temp do?”

  The daft, nineteen-year-old London girl spent more time making updates to her Twitter account and flirting with the FedEx delivery guy than producing any actual work. “Christina wasn’t you,” she said lightly. “I’m glad you’re back, though I’m sure you’d rather be in Goa.”

  Maisie scrunched her nose. “Why on earth would I want to lie on a warm, sunny beach and watch hot men walk by when I can stand here and freeze my ass off?”

  Lark laughed. “No clue. Were there a
lot of cute guys?”

  “I didn’t notice, mate. My job on this holiday was to keep the kids in line and yell at Thomas not to wreck his sister’s sand castles.”

  “Did it work?”

  “No. He’s in a terrorize-his-sister phase. He wrecked them anyway. And time out at the hotel room isn’t much of a punishment.” Maisie chuckled. “Bless his naughty little heart. But enough about my demonic children. What’s new here?”

  Lark licked her lips against the cool air. “I had another dream last night.”

  “Same guy?”

  “Yeah.” A shiver which had nothing to do with the autumn wind spread through her.

  “Was it any good?”

  Lark gave her a pointed look. “Maisie.”

  Maisie laughed and held up her hands. “Hey, girl, I’m just asking! It’s a sign you’re overworked or something. Freud would say it’s a manifestation you’re not happy in the sack or because Charles has yet to make a decent woman out of you.”

  “And he’d be right.” Lark nodded, then cringed as they walked toward the front gate. “We’ve been sort of…well, not fighting, but sort of distant with each other. We went to the Registrar’s office three weeks ago.”

  Maisie froze, wide-eyed. She seized Lark’s arm and stopped them in their tracks. “Get out.”

  Lark shrugged.

  “You’re serious?”

  “I know. I was as shocked as you are,” Lark confessed with a lopsided grin.

  Maisie frowned. “He actually took you there? What happened?”

  “I had no idea where we were going. He said he wanted to get our names in the books for when we do set a date.” Maisie’s face brimmed with doubt.

  “Let me get this straight. You’ve registered legally, but you still have no idea when you want to get married? Kind of odd he’d take you there but not tell you, isn’t it?”

  “Well, that’s why it’s been weird lately,” Lark said as they continued walking. “But I suppose it’s no odder than staying engaged to him for the last five years.” Lark shrugged. “Hey, it’s a step somewhere. Better than limbo, which is all we’ve been in for the duration of our relationship. There you have it.” Her friend’s unspoken desire to say more lingered in the air like exhaust fumes. Lark crushed her cigarette under the heel of her sneaker and drew a shaky breath. She clapped her hands and mustered what enthusiasm she could without a caffeine fix. “Well now, big day ahead of us, hmm?”

  “It is,” Maisie affirmed.

  They turned out of the park and walked toward Lark’s silver Lexus parked a few yards away. The London traffic was light for six-thirty as they crossed the street. Lark turned on the lights and pulled into traffic.

  A few blocks later, she pulled to the curb in front of Maisie’s modern Tudor-style, semidetached house. “Here we are. The kids awake?”

  “I hope not,” Maisie muttered darkly. “Mummy needs a long shower. Anyway, it’s Graham’s turn to get the darlings ready this morning.”

  Lark laughed. “Have a nice break. I’ll see you at work.”

  ****

  When she returned home, the flat echoed with a male tenor voice singing an indistinct West End tune in the shower. It rang out through their fair-size flat—deep, pleasant, and English. Lark laid her keys on the travertine kitchen counter. A small smile tugged at her lips. They had niggling problems, and he wasn’t her favorite person these days, but the man could certainly sing. She unlaced her shoes and padded across the clean hardwood floor, past the sectional suede sofa and German floor lamps, to the bedroom. The low Japanese bed was unmade, the dark blue-and-silver duvet peeled back to reveal an indent in the Egyptian-cotton sheet from where Charles sat at the edge upon waking. Lark undressed and threw her sweaty clothes into the nearby hamper. She reached for her terrycloth robe and tied it around her waist as she headed for the bathroom.

  Steam emitted from the bathroom door as she pushed it open, and the hot air blew toward her like she’d stepped into a sauna. Through the gummed glass of the shower door, the tall, muscular outline of Charles worked his hands through his short and spiky, light-brown hair as he sang.

  Lark grabbed a towel off the rack and stepped forward with it draped over her arm. She applauded on the last quavering note.

  He opened the door, grinned, and wiped water from his eye as the shower poured on him. “Thank you.” He bowed, and wet droplets slid the length of his chest. “I do weddings.” He paused before he stepped out, and his dark eyes scanned her frame. “And I take special kinds of gratuities.” He tugged at the knot on her robe, pulled her to the shower mat, and slid his fingers into the knot. “Come in with me.”

  She covered his fingers with hers, peeled them away, and shook her head.

  “Oh, come on, don’t be prudish. We’ve got a bit of extra time.” His eyes gleamed.

  Charles, ever the opportunist, solicited any off moment to break their dry spell. As much as she loved him, it rubbed her the wrong way. She wasn’t in the mood. It had been over three weeks since they’d last been intimate, and she believed their problems were, on some level, related to the dreams she had of the other man. Charles’s reluctance to commit had never truly bothered her, but since his promotion in the last year, he spent less time at home. She’d come to understand through trial and error that life wasn’t all about shooting straight to the top of the corporate ladder. Lark wished she’d procured stability with him earlier and had known for certain he didn’t want anyone else when she’d given herself to him.

  Lark held the towel out and smirked. “I can’t say I’m not tempted. But I need these next few minutes to rehearse the presentation.”

  “No, you don’t.” He took the towel from her and left the water on.

  She slipped past him, eager to step beneath the warm spray. “I mean it, Charles. Don’t distract me. We don’t all have the gift of magically owning the room without working on our topics.”

  He shrugged and wrapped the towel around his hips. “Fine. But don’t blame me if you’re stiff, babe. Enjoy the shower.”

  She slid the glass door closed.

  ****

  Perched on the kitchen stool a while later, Lark speared her fork into a bowl of chopped melon and wished it were a chocolate croissant. She watched the news on the TV and half worked on a crossword puzzle, not really into either as she replayed the dream from the night before in her mind.

  She was dressed for power today in a sharply cut black-and-white Armani suit, her long hair curled at the ends and layered around her face. As she’d put her makeup on, it hit her when she’d woken from the dream, she’d been aroused, her panties damp. It troubled her. The man in her dreams had paid her nightly visits off and on for the past six months, but though the touches and feelings seemed real, they’d never manifested themselves in her real life.

  Until now.

  Charles walked out of the bedroom in a three-piece navy-blue suit. His tie laid around his white collar, ready for assembly. An arresting man in his thirties, he watched her with his dark, penetrating eyes as he continued to fasten his left cuff link. He was handsome and crisp, ready for action.

  “Did you have a nice time running?” he asked civilly, as though she hadn’t snubbed him.

  She ate another forkful of melon. “Mmm, I did. I’m glad Maisie’s back. I’ve missed her while she’s been away.”

  Charles strode over and bent to kiss her. He finagled the remote from her hand and turned off the TV. “I’m glad you have a workout buddy again, though why you chose your PA is beyond me.” He opened the fridge and extracted an apple croissant in a clear plastic box.

  “Hey you,” Lark brandished her fruit at him. “Whenever I run with you, you go ahead of me and holler to keep up. Maisie helps keep the pace, and she likes to talk. Give her a break, would you? She’s married with three kids, and still finds time to work and finish dental school. She’s a superwoman. You’re just jealous because she worked for you for a year and moved on. I can’t help it if I’m a cooler
boss.” She took a bite.

  He lifted a little white china pitcher full of fresh milk over his coffee mug and eyed her as he poured, then stirred it with a small silver spoon. “Touché. Well, in a few years, she can give you Hollywood teeth. What I mean, Lark, is you can find many other women in our company much higher up who would be better to fellowship in a lucrative sense. You never know what you might get to talking about.” He gave her a pointed glare above the brim of his cup and ignored her annoyed expression. She hated it when he did that. “Before I forget, there was a number on the Caller ID this morning. It said Unknown Name, and they didn’t leave a message, but it came from the States.”

  Lark rose, rinsed her empty bowl in the sink, and stacked it in the dishwasher. She frowned. “The States? I didn’t know my mom had our number. I haven’t talked to anyone there in years, and as far as I’m aware, I closed my bank account. Are you sure they didn’t leave a message?”

  “Yeah, I’m positive. I checked. I’m sure they’ll call back if it’s important. Don’t stress it.” An old-fashioned ringtone dinged, and they both looked around. Charles tightened his tie as he headed for the coat rack. “Mine,” he hollered, as he retrieved his Blackberry from a coat pocket.

  Lark watched him go into the next room to speak to a client. She collected her briefcase and keys.

  It seemed far-fetched the missed caller would be someone from her family. She hadn’t spoken to her mother or brother, or anyone in Oregon almost as long as she’d been engaged to Charles. But what if… Something didn’t feel right. She tried to shake it off as she fixed her fall coat and put on a soft red scarf. Pre-presentation nerves tended to get the best of her. She needed to push it to the back of her mind, at least for now.

  Charles met her at the front door. “Are those the earrings I gave you last Christmas?”

  Lark touched the white diamond studs on her ears. “Yeah. Why? Are they okay?” She waited as he scrutinized her. He was brutally honest, and it worked for her.

  “They’re all right. You’d be better off with the long silver ones, though. Less sheepish. Are you all set?”