Sex And The Sleepwalker

He had to be. No way was Brynn creeping into his bedroom, wearing nothing but a soft, sheer nightgown.

But there she stood, her beautiful face barely visible in the moonlight.

“You want me to keep you occupied, Cade?” Her sexy whisper shot shivers down his spine.

Before he could gather his wits enough to reply, she sank a knee into the mattress and knelt beside him. Her eyes, oddly shining, seemed to look straight through him. “Don’t think for a minute that I can’t ‘keep you occupied.’”

He sat up, stunned beyond words. After all this time, was Brynn trying to seduce him?

“You don’t think I’m up to it?” Her words teased him as he thought of all the ways she could occupy him.

“Let’s give it a go, Romeo.” And with a suddenness that startled him, she yanked her nightgown over her head.

It was all the invitation he needed….

Dear Reader,

Life is complicated enough without having your subconscious mind play tricks on you…such as sending you dreams so vivid and lifelike you can’t help but rise out of bed to participate. I’m talking about sleepwalking. It’s been a curse to me for as long as I can remember. Many times I’ve woken up in places other than my bed with only jumbled, nonsensical memories of how I’d gotten there.

These occasional nighttime adventures inspired me to write Sex and the Sleepwalker. Imagine the complications that could arise when the owner of a bed-and-breakfast inn wanders the halls in her sleep…and wakes up in bed with a sexy male guest.

I hope you enjoy Brynn’s misadventures—and her resulting relationship with a macho U.S. marshal, Cade Hunter. Happy reading, dear readers. And always follow your dreams…but only when you’re awake.

Feel free to e-mail me at donnasterling@mindspring.com. And don’t forget to check out www.tryblaze.com.

Sincerely,

Donna Sterling

Sex and the Sleepwalker

Donna Sterling

To my parents, my husband and my conference roommates—for all the times your sleep was disrupted by my sleepwalking adventures. Feel free to “seize the day.” I’ve got the nights covered.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Epilogue

1

SHE SPOTTED HIM the moment she stepped onstage.

There he sat in the front row of the crowded auditorium, his muscular arms crossed, his long legs comfortably extended, his mouth slanted in that slight but infuriating smirk she remembered so well from their college days. Cade Hunter. Of all the rotten luck, why did Cade Hunter have to show up at the most important award ceremony of her life?

“It’s my pleasure to present this award to the incredible, incomparable, one-and-only Ms. Brynn Sutherland,” the president of the United States had just announced, a woman who bore a striking resemblance to Brynn’s softball coach in seventh grade, “for running the best bed-and-breakfast in the history of the free world!”

The auditorium had exploded with applause and the audience had risen to their feet. It was Brynn’s shining moment—success beyond her wildest imagining. But as she tried to cross the stage to accept the huge gold trophy—which looked exactly like an Oscar—she found herself moving in slow motion, as if she were walking through dense, soupy muck. And it was all his fault. He was the only one not clapping, the only one not standing and smiling in admiration.

She tried not to scowl at him. She was supposed to be smiling and approaching the podium to accept her award, not fuming over Cade Hunter’s insolent attitude.

Before she managed to tear her gaze away from his rugged but oddly appealing face, she saw his lips move. And though she couldn’t hear his voice, she knew what he said. “Prude.”

Prude! Oh, he knew how to push her buttons! This was an important occasion for her. A business function. A public affirmation of her talent as an innkeeper—not to mention great promo for the Three Sisters Bed & Breakfast Inn. Yet Cade Hunter had taken it upon himself to show up, uninvited, just to rehash old arguments.

Balling her hands into fists, Brynn pivoted away from him and resumed her slow motion trek toward the podium. The president, she noticed, had morphed into Candice Bergen, and the trophy now looked like a mermaid from a tuna can label. Brynn didn’t mind that too much, though.

She was still too ticked over Cade Hunter’s gall. Prude, he’d called her. Didn’t he see that she’d changed? Couldn’t he tell she was no longer the virginal teenager he’d known, but a sultry urban adventuress with more notches on her bedpost than the gals on Sex and the City?

“Prick tease,” he taunted.

That stopped her dead in her tracks, not three feet from the podium. How dare he? Nine years ago, he might have had grounds to call her such a thing—though he never had, to her knowledge. No, he’d never called her anything worse than a prude, which had been bad enough. But now he seemed determined to publicly humiliate her.

And he was succeeding. For some inexplicable reason, another man in the audience repeated the accusation. “Prick tease.” Then someone else said it.

Soon the entire audience took up a chant: “Prick tease. Prick tease. Prick tease.”

“That’s not fair,” Brynn yelled over the commotion. “I had good reasons not to go all the way with him. I was only eighteen. I wasn’t ready!”

The audience didn’t listen. Their chanting had grown thunderous. With that cocky gleam in his honey-gold eyes, Cade Hunter uttered, “She’s probably frigid, anyway.”

“Frigid! Me?” That was more than any self-respecting urban adventuress could take. Shaking with outrage, Brynn stalked past Candice Bergen to the side of the stage and descended a flight of stairs, glaring all the while at the despicable Cade Hunter. “You think I’m frigid, Cade? And a prude? A ‘prick tease’? Well, let’s just see about that, why don’t we?” With every step she took, she jerked open her silk blouse a bit more, popping off the mother-of-pearl buttons like microwave popcorn. “Come on, big boy.” She yanked the blouse off her shoulders and reached for the zipper of her designer slacks. “You want a piece of me? Let’s give it a go, Romeo….”

She never saw it coming. Out of nowhere, a long, hard protrusion sprang up and hit her in the jaw, knocking her into a wall. Metal clanged around her. Something damp and limp folded over her face. The lights went out, plunging her into darkness, and pain shot through her body.

It took a moment—a long, agonizing moment of stunned bewilderment—before her eyes adjusted to the dark, her senses fully returned and she recognized where she was.

In the broom closet. More specifically, on the cold tile floor of the broom closet, with a broom handle lying across her throat, a mop hanging in her face, her bare breasts jutting free of her torn pajama top and one bare foot wedged painfully in a metal bucket.

And though she hadn’t seen him in nine years and hoped to never see him again, it was all Cade Hunter’s fault.

STRESS. Simple stress. That’s what had caused her nighttime wandering, Brynn had deduced by the next morning. Football season was beginning—her busiest time of year, with alumni flocking back to cheer on the Georgia Bulldogs. Fun, but hectic for local inns, especially for the Three Sisters Bed & Breakfast Inn, a former sorority house that she and two of her sorority sisters had bought and refurbished. Turning a decent profit during football season could make the difference between success and failure. And unlike the previous three years, they were not booked to capacity for the first game. The state of the economy had clearly taken its toll. Brynn had good reason to be stressed.

And it wasn’t much of a mystery why Cade Hunter starred in the dream, either. Trish Howell Hightower, her gorgeous blond business partner, had mentioned running into him yesterday at a local café. He was in town on business, it seemed. The thought of having Cade Hunter anywhere nearby was enough to give Brynn nightmares. Nine years ago, he’d broken her heart and, as the saying went, “stomped that sucker flat.”

She’d gotten over it, of course. She didn’t care in the least about Cade Hunter anymore. But unless he’d changed greatly, he was a menace to any vulnerable woman who caught his eye. Brynn hated to think of the emotional carnage he could wreak upon their small town. Or, God forbid, on Trish. Newly divorced and on the rebound, she’d be ripe for the picking.

“What’s wrong, Brynn? Don’t tell me you’re siding with Trish on the barbecue sauce issue!” Lexi Dupree’s anxious question brought Brynn back to the present. They were sitting in wicker rockers on the columned front porch of the antebellum mansion, taking full advantage of the mild August morning, lounging with virgin Bloody Marys—it was too early for mint juleps—and discussing the food they would serve during the tailgating parties this weekend.

“Barbecue sauce?” Brynn repeated, struggling to comprehend what Lexi had been saying.

“I thought you loved my barbecue sauce. Guests rave about it. Just because some gourmet guru gave Trish a new recipe doesn’t mean we have to stop using mine.”

“Oh…right. I agree. We won’t make any changes without a taste test.”

“A taste test!” Lexi crossed her pale, rounded arms and frowned. “I thought I was in charge of the food…and I like the sauce we’ve been using. Why should I change it for Trish? She already messed around with the breakfast buffet, the evening dessert and my weekend schedule. She’s supposed to be a silent partner, remember? Silent.”

“Yes, but she did put up most of the money. She owns fifty-one percent. We can’t ignore her suggestions.”

“She put up most of the cash, but you and I invested pretty heavily, too—with the agreement that you’d manage the inn and I’d take care of the food and activities. Trish shouldn’t be interfering.”

Brynn sensed that Lexi’s annoyance with Trish was rising to a dangerous level. And she understood why. Trish had a tendency to dominate. They probably should have known when she offered to help finance their venture that she wouldn’t be able to stay hands-off forever. Now that she’d gotten involved in the day-to-day running of the inn, it was only a matter of time before she drove them both whacko. Lexi seemed near the breaking point already, and Trish had only moved in two weeks ago. Brynn hated conflict between her friends. Or anywhere, for that matter.

“I’ll talk to her,” she promised, not looking forward to the task. It wasn’t the first time she’d be negotiating peace between her business partners. Although the three of them had been friends since their sorority-house days, business concerns had put a strain on their sisterhood. “But, Lex, try to be patient with Trish. She does have good ideas, and she knows what’s popular in society circles. If we plan to cater to sorority alumni, we need to know that. Besides, she’s going through a hard time, trying to adjust to the single lifestyle and map out a new route for her life.”

“Yeah, well, I’d be happy to tell her which route to take,” Lexi mumbled, though the sulky expression in her large dark eyes was softened somewhat. With her hair bleached platinum and cropped in spiky wisps around her cute, plump face, she looked like a baby doll whose tresses had been shorn by some exuberant little girl. The multitude of silver hoops and studs lining her ears, the guitar tattooed on her shoulder and the skimpy half-T she wore showed her for the hip, sexy musician she really was—a persona that had fully emerged only in the last couple of years.

Trish, a classical purist in both music and fashion, disapproved of Lexi’s tattoo and platinum bleach job. If Lex had tried either of those innovations during their sorority days, she would have caught hell; Trish had been the queen bee at the sorority house, too.

Brynn, on the other hand, thought the changes in Lexi were refreshing. The image fit Lexi’s character perfectly. In a way, Brynn envied her for her metamorphosis. Back in college, she and Lexi had been the quiet brunettes in a sorority full of vivacious blondes and redheads. Brynn had always suspected that she and Lex had been recruited for their grade point averages.

“Hey,” Lexi said in a tone of realization, “with her fifty-one percent ownership, Trish can fire me, can’t she?”

“I suppose, but she’d never do that. She’s a pain in the butt at times, but Trish loves you, Lex. We started this business together, and we’ll make a success of it together.”

Looking troubled, Lexi shrugged and turned her attention to the menus she had planned for their weekend guests.

Just as the discussion was coming to a close, a sporty red Porsche jetted into the circular drive and squealed to a halt at the bottom of the garden steps. Trish popped out.

“’Morning, y’all,” she called, ascending the stairs in a short tennis dress, her blond hair cut in a classic chin-length bob, swaying. Tall and slender with wide blue eyes, a Mediterranean-acquired tan and the easy poise of those born to great wealth, Trish looked exactly like the coed she’d once been. “Lexi, have you mixed up a batch of that barbecue sauce yet? Can’t wait for you to try it. It’s all the rage in Manhattan. I begged the chef of Club Noir for the recipe.”

Despite the lighthearted tone of Trish’s cultured Southern voice, Lexi visibly bristled, and Brynn hurriedly answered for her. “We’ve been too busy with our planning session for Lexi to do much of anything in the kitchen yet. Why don’t you grab a virgin Mary from the pitcher in the fridge and come join us?”

“Can’t. Have to shower, then hurry downtown for a lunch date at eleven.” The look in Trish’s eyes made it clear that she wasn’t exactly thrilled by the date. She hadn’t had much luck with dating over the past year. “But I’ll be back by two to man the front desk.”

“I don’t have you scheduled for desk duty,” Brynn said. She knew Trish was focusing a lot on the business to avoid thinking about her personal life.

“Thought I’d give you a break. Let you prepare for the weekend rush.” She shifted toward the door, then paused. “By the way, Brynnie…was there some kind of problem last night?”

“Problem?”

“At breakfast, Mrs. Hornsby mentioned she heard a ruckus coming from your suite. Yelling, thudding and clanging, she said. I didn’t hear a thing, but then my room is at the other end of the inn. Was there something going on?”

Both Trish and Lexi gazed at her in curiosity, and Brynn felt her color rise. “Must have been my television.” Guilt pricked her for having disturbed a guest, and even more so for lying about it. But she didn’t want anyone to know about her sleepwalking episode. Especially not Trish. God knows what she’d make of it. Brynn herself considered it not far from a psychotic breakdown.

Trish raised her fair brows. “You were watching television at three in the morning? You’re usually conked out by eleven.”

“I fell asleep with it on.”

“Oh. I’m glad there wasn’t a problem. But, um, maybe you should try to keep the volume down, hmm?” With a parting smile, Trish continued on her way into the inn.

Brynn drew in a breath and tried not to react negatively to the sweetly spoken rebuke. Trish had every right to expect the manager of her inn to refrain from waking the guests at three in the morning.

“So, what really happened?”

Brynn slanted Lexi a glance. “You think I’m lying?”

“Like a rug. I’d recognize that guilty blush anywhere. Something went on last night.”

“Nothing. It was nothing. Really.”

Lexi’s eagle-eyed gaze lighted on Brynn’s swollen, purplish toes, visible in her strappy sandal. “Then what happened to your foot? I don’t remember seeing that bruise yesterday.”

“I stubbed my toes, that’s all.” She had to think of a way to change the subject. “While I was rushing to answer the phone. It was my brother. They haven’t caught that abductor yet—you know, the case John has been investigating—and he called to warn me again about taking in suspicious strangers. Now how, I ask you, can we not take in strangers when we run a bed-and-breakfast? Having a cop in the family is enough to make anyone paranoid.”

“Don’t try to change the subject. Who was yelling and banging things around last night, and how did you get hurt? Tell the truth.” When Brynn didn’t answer, Lexi leaned closer and whispered with concern, “Did Antoine lose his temper about something?”

“Antoine!” If Brynn hadn’t been so surprised, she would’ve laughed. “Of course not. I’ve never seen Antoine lose his temper. He’s a sweetheart. Besides, he’s too urbane, too polished, to resort to violence.”

“Urbane and polished don’t have anything to do with a man’s violent tendencies. And there’s something you’re not telling me.” Studying her with an intensity that increased Brynn’s tension, Lexi’s eyes suddenly widened. “Were you and Antoine doing something…you know…kinky? Some kind of love play that got out of hand? I’ve heard that French lovers can be highly creative.”

Brynn laughed out loud at that. “Not even close.” Lexi would be so disappointed if she knew the truth about Antoine and her.

She wasn’t about to let that cat out of the bag. Lexi had been thrilled when Brynn started dating handsome, charming, artistic Antoine. Lexi had been certain Brynn had finally found a red-hot lover. Until then, she’d been involved in a series of long-term relationships with scholarly types more inclined toward philosophical stimulation than physical. Brynn guessed she just felt secure with that kind of guy. Secure, but sexually bored and frustrated. Lexi had recognized the problem and persuaded her to “go for the gusto.” Trish helped by introducing her to Antoine, her cousin who had recently moved to Georgia from France. He’d taken a flattering interest in Brynn, and they’d been dating ever since.

It wasn’t Antoine’s fault that the boredom hadn’t left her. She was the problem. She found herself thinking too much during intimate times. Analyzing every move.

Not that she’d always been that way. Far from it. There’d been a time in her life when a man’s touch had set her ablaze. But she refused to think about that man. It was bad enough she’d dreamed about him.

Maybe she’d just grown too cerebral to experience sexual bliss. After five weeks of dating her, Antoine had probably realized as much. Hence all those recent business trips.

Had she really thought of herself as an urban adventuress in her dream last night, with more notches on her bedpost than the gals on Sex and the City? She nearly snorted at the thought. In real life, her notches were few and far between.

But not nonexistent. She’d had pleasurable affairs. She was far from frigid, as Cade Hunter had claimed last night. Dream or no dream, that accusation still smarted.

“If Antoine laid a hand on you in anger,” Lexi said, “I’ll stomp his butt. I don’t hold with violence.”

Brynn resisted the urge to point out the irony in those two statements, or to laugh at the image of petite Lexi stomping a big guy like Antoine. “He didn’t do anything, I swear. He wasn’t even here last night. He left town after dinner for another business trip.”

Seeing the doubt on Lexi’s face, Brynn realized she had to come clean about what had really happened, or Antoine would be labeled a woman-beater. But how she hated to confess! Her sleepwalking was sure to make Lexi and Trish worry, considering Brynn’s role as resident manager of the inn. Roaming about in a zombielike state couldn’t be good for business.

“If you must know, I caused the ruckus myself last night,” Brynn admitted. “I was dreaming.”

Lexi frowned, perplexed. “What does dreaming have to do with—” She broke off as understanding dawned. “Oh, no. You haven’t started sleepwalking again, have you?”

Brynn assumed she was remembering the night in the sorority house when Lexi had woken to find her wandering around their bedroom, carrying on about Daytona Beach and a Pontiac Firebird. Thank goodness her roommate hadn’t paid much attention to what she’d been saying. The near miss of having her deepest, darkest secret exposed had shaken Brynn so much that she’d spent months taking herbs, sleeping aids, meditation therapy and biofeedback sessions to stop her from walking or blabbing in her sleep. Brynn believed it had been pure determination that had eventually broken the habit.

“Last night was the first time I’ve walked in my sleep since college,” Brynn said, hoping to reassure Lexi with that fact. “I guess the onset of football season was just too much for me to take, um, lying down.”

“So what did you do?”

“Rammed into a wall. Woke up in a closet.” She didn’t mention that it had been the basement broom closet. Lexi didn’t need to know she’d actually left her bedroom suite.

“That’s pitiful.” Lexi shook her spiky platinum head in grim reflection. “I’ll bet I know why this happened. You’re keeping too much bottled up inside. You’re still sexually repressed.”

Brynn stared at her in astonishment. How had she arrived at that conclusion? For all Lexi knew, her sex life was hotter than ever with Antoine.

“Oh, don’t look so surprised. I know you, Brynn Sutherland. If you were getting any decent action, you’d be giddy with relief, after all those years of pressure building up. Believe me, I have personal experience with this phenomenon.” She slumped back in her chair and sighed. “I had such high hopes for you and Antoine.”

Brynn rested her head against the back of the rocker. “It’s not his fault. It’s mine.”

“You just haven’t found the right guy.”

Hating to get her started again on a campaign to find her a red-hot lover, Brynn steered the conversation back to its original track. “I doubt that my sex life has anything to do with the sleepwalking, anyway. It’s stress related.”

“You’ve been stressed more than this plenty of times, but I haven’t heard about your sleepwalking until now. What was your dream about?”

The question caught Brynn off guard. “Nothing. Nobody. That is, nobody I know.” She felt unreasonably shaken by the inquiry. “I mean, I might have known them, but…uh…” Impromptu lying had never been her strong suit.

That intent look came over Lexi’s face again, and Brynn nearly groaned. Her friend would hound her until she confessed. With Lexi’s truth-seeking, mind-probing talents, it was a wonder Brynn was able to keep any secrets from her at all.

She did, though. The important one. The one about Daytona Beach and the Firebird.

“I don’t see how this is pertinent,” Brynn said, caving under the pressure, “but the only person I recognized in the dream other than Candice Bergen was Cade Hunter.”

“Cade Hunter.” Lexi contemplated the information, then broke into a small, self-congratulatory smile. “So I was right. The sleepwalking does have to do with your sex life.”

“It does not! It’s just that Trish mentioned running into him yesterday.”

“Cade Hunter was the last guy you really went crazy over.”

“I didn’t go crazy over him.”

“You know you did. Half the girls in our sorority house did, and he wasn’t even a frat boy. That man was one well-built, good-looking hunk of masculinity.”

“Not good-looking, really. Appealing, you could say.”

“You could say a whole lot more than that! He’s a manly man. And more to the point, he’s an old flame of yours, which means that time has probably glorified him in your mind.”