Sophie Hawkins typed furiously on her keyboard. She had to have the presentation sent before her boss arrived at his office in ten minutes. Once again, she waited too long to finish her work. She didn’t know what was wrong lately. She felt scattered. Frazzled. Unhappy. Sophie pushed the thoughts away and kept typing. She was doing what she always wanted. She had a great job in interior design. What else was there?

The thought stopped her cold. Her fingers paused above the keyboard. What did she want? Good question. She resumed typing. And one she would answer when she had time. But not right now.

Sophie ran the spell check and waited. She made the corrections and sent the document. There. All done. Her heart still raced. At least the adrenaline was a perk. Recently, there were days she had to force herself out of bed. But today was her day off, by God, and she would make the most of it.

She yawned and blinked slowly. The Gallery. Of course. They recently received a new collection of artwork and opened a new wing. It would be magnificent.

Sophie dressed hurriedly and yanked a brush through her hair. She twisted it tightly into a knot and grabbed her purse. A day to herself. Lovely.

* * * *

James, the security guard, nodded to Sophie and grinned. “Thought you might be in pretty soon. Haven’t seen the new wing, have you?”

“Nope.” She grinned back. “But I’m on my way. Is it busy today?”

“You’re in luck.” He gestured. “Not many people like to be out on days like these.”

Sophie looked at the overcast sky and felt the drizzle on her face. She beamed at James. “Today’s perfect.”

He held the door open for her, and she thanked him. The Grant Gallery was her favorite haunt. She had been coming here since she was a child. Her daddy, God bless him, brought her almost every Saturday and let her experience art up close. He influenced her in so many ways.

She looked around wistfully, letting her eyes take in the familiar marble floor and track lights. Beauty framed for the spectator. Moments frozen in time to savor. Sophie walked over to the elevator and pushed the up arrow.

The new wing was on the third floor. She knew the Gallery like the back of her hand, and she couldn’t wait to take in another beautiful sight.

The elevator doors opened, and she stepped out. She bypassed the paintings she studied so many times before. A large, ivory sign pointed to a room several feet in front of her. Sophie grinned and followed the path to the new wing.

When she reached the doorway, she stopped. Her breath hitched in her throat. My God. It was glorious. She walked into the center of the vaulted room and looked up. The ceiling was made of glass. Even through the clouds, it seemed as if there were light in the room.

She stood there, reveling in the beauty. When she heard someone clear their throat, she glanced around. An old man with a cane shuffled closer to her. She smiled and walked forward to meet him.

“Young lady. I see my wing has impressed you.”

Sophie’s eyes widened. “This is yours, sir?”

“Yes.” He extended his hand. “Charles Marshall, at your service.”

She felt her hand enclosed in his, and he gave hers a little squeeze.

“I hope I’m not interrupting, Miss.”

“Sophie. Sophie Hawkins.” She let her gaze dance around the room again. “It’s my first time here. And it’s breathtaking.”

The old man looked pleased. Sophie smiled at him, and it turned into a yawn.

“Pardon me.” She smiled, putting her hand over her mouth. “I’m a little tired. I’ve come to enjoy my day off.”

“Please do, Miss Hawkins. I must be running anyway.” He touched her arm and guided her to the large portrait on the far wall. “But I would like your opinion of something.”

Sophie nodded and then looked up. Her jaw dropped, and she turned to the older man. “Who is he?” she whispered.

The portrait was magnificent. A long white beach stretched as far as the eye could see. A cottage surrounded by flowers trailed up the side of the hill. A beautiful golden sun shone down on the sand. And a stunning man looked down at her.

His grin was cocky and knowing. His dark brown eyes pierced hers. With his hands on his hips, he looked as if he owned the world. The shirt and shorts he wore were tan. The shirt stretched across his shoulders, and the sleeves had been ripped off. The shorts were cutoffs and showed muscular thighs and strong calves.

The old man studied her. “Pretty, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” she said honestly. “But a little too arrogant.”

The old man threw back his head and laughed. The laugh echoed in the room, and Sophie found herself joining him. He wiped his eyes and nodded.

“Yes. That he is, Miss. His name is Dylan. And he is rather full of himself. But he is reaping what he sowed. Believe me.”

“Did you know him?”

“A very long time ago.”

Sophie opened her mouth again, but the old man waved his hand in the air. “Enjoy my art, Ms. Hawkins. I hope to see you again soon.” He turned and strode out of the room. Sophie watched him go. He sure seemed spry all of a sudden. The spring in his step now unmistakable.

She turned her attention back to the portrait in front of her. Sophie sank onto the bench and took the man in again. Another yawn crept up on her, and she shook her head side to side. So tired. Her head fell back, and she knew no more.

* * * *

“I’m going to kill him.”

The words were low and disgusted.

Sophie shifted in the sand and sighed. Sand? The heat of the sun caressed her arms, and she fought to come out of her stupor. Sand? Sun? Impossible. She blinked rapidly and looked up.

The portrait. Lord, he was beautiful. He peered down at her, scowling.

“That doesn’t make sense,” she said puzzled. “You were smiling. What happened?”

He sighed. “Charles, damn him. I told him not to send anymore.”

“Send anymore?” All the words jumbled in her head. Sophie pushed herself up and looked around. Impossible. “Where am I?”

“Here,” he said cryptically.

She stood up and tilted her head. “That’s rather ambiguous, don’t you think? Am I dreaming?”

“Yeah,” he snarled. “One big dream. Go back to sleep, and maybe you’ll go back to where you came from.” He turned away from her and stalked up to the house.

Glory. I could have made him a little more personable.

Sophie brushed the sand off her pants and followed the trail up to the cottage.

Dylan. The name echoed in her head. Her dream was extremely obnoxious. For someone who looked so nice, he sure had a nasty temperament. Well. Then she would just go and straighten him right out.

Sophie marched up the rock steps and threw open the door. The man’s head flew up from the book he read at the large, wooden table.

“Can I help you?” he asked with mock politeness.

“Listen. If I’m delusional, the very least you can do is be personable.”

He closed his book slowly. “That would be reasonable, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes,” she said shortly.

“Well. Let’s get this out of the way.” He stood up and shoved the wooden chair away from the table. “I’m not reasonable. I don’t want you here. Don’t expect me to do cartwheels because you are.”

Sophie arched an eyebrow. “Testy little hermit, aren’t you?”

“Get out,” he said furiously, pointing toward the door.

She crossed her arms over her chest and lengthened her stance. “Make me.”

He shoved the chair back under the table and strode quickly over to her. “Don’t push me, woman,” he spat out, inches away from her face.

Sophie looked up into his dark eyes and grinned. “You really are pretty.”

Dylan stepped back. “Where did he find you? Because you have to go back. This is no place for you.” He turned away from her and walked over to the window.

She looked around the room. He had placed wooden furnishings around the living room. Every piece was polished. Sophie ran her hand lovingly over the back of one of the chairs and sighed. Quilts were draped over the two couches. Brass sconces were on the walls between the windows.

“Your house is lovely.”

Dylan’s head dropped forward, and he mumbled something.

“Pardon me?” she said.

He turned toward her with his eyes blazing. “This is a mistake. Period. Fall back asleep and think of wherever you came from. Click your damn heels together. I don’t give a damn. But leave!” He raked his hands through his hair. Little chestnut spikes stood up on the sides of his head.

“You act as if I’ve planned all of this.” She swept her arms around the room. “You obviously know a hell of a lot more about this than I do. Explain.”

“Are you always so damn stubborn?”

“Yes.”

“I can’t tell you.”

Sophie ran her tongue over her teeth. “You can’t tell me.”

“No. It’s not allowed.”

“Fine. Whatever. Just trot yourself up to the boat dock or wherever and tell them I’m ready to leave.”

Dylan threw back his head and laughed. The laughter rolled out of him until tears ran down his cheeks. “Boat dock.” He snorted.

“Okay. Obviously that’s not happening. How about a phone or something? Fax machine? Any type of computer?”

“Let’s see.” He ticked off his fingers. “No. No. And no again.”

Sophie tapped her finger against her cheek. “There are no outside means of communication?”

“Well,” he sighed, “now she gets it.” Dylan turned and walked over to his table and sat back down. He picked up the book and commenced to read.

She cocked her head to the side. Maybe she was unconscious. Delusional. Asleep. Hmm. What else? Maybe she was dead.

Sophie walked over to Dylan again and tapped his shoulder. “Am I dead?”

His eyebrows shot up, and his eyes widened. Laughter shot out of his mouth before he had a chance to stop it. The pure sincerity of her tone was his undoing.

“Lady, I assure you. You are not dead.”

“Is there anything else you can tell me?”

“Go home.”

“Gee, Dylan. Mighty neighborly of you.”

His head swiveled back to hers. “You know my name? You would speak it here?”

Sophie nodded her head slowly. “Listen. If there are some unwritten rules here, you better share.”

Dylan’s expression softened slightly. “There are rules. But I cannot share them.”

“Okay,” she said. “But if I ask a particular question, do you think you could answer it?”

He grinned, pleased. “Perhaps.”

She rubbed her hands together. “Okay. Question number one. Why am I here?”

“You were sent.”

“By who?”

“You know who.”

Sophie’s mind sprang back to the new exhibit in the Gallery. “Charles,” she whispered.

“Yes,” Dylan bit out.

“Did he hypnotize me?”

“No.”

Her eyes narrowed. “This all has to do with you.”

“I cannot say.”

She waved her hand in the air. “Never mind. I already know the answer.” She paused. “How do I get home?”

Dylan sighed. “I don’t know.”

“Okay. Fair enough. What are we having for dinner?”

He blinked twice. “Pardon me?”

“What are we,” she motioned to herself and then him, “having for dinner?”

“Wait.” He held up his hand. “Aren’t you going to freak out and start crying or something?”

“Why?”

“You’re stuck here. With me. For God knows how long.”

Sophie shrugged. “I needed a vacation.”

* * * *

Dylan made pork chops, new potatoes, and salads. Sophie had never had a man cook for her. The process fascinated her. Every move was clear and precise with no wasted movements or hesitations. Her eyes focused on the window behind him. Could use some new curtains.

“Would you please quit staring?”

“Huh?” she mumbled.

“Quit staring.”

“Sorry,” she grinned. “Do you like sky blue?”

Dylan turned and studied her. “Does your mind always jump randomly from one thing to the next?”

“Yep.”

He nodded. “Figured as much. And yes, I like sky blue.” He finished preparing their plates and brought them to the table.

Sophie looked at him guiltily. “I don’t want to eat all of your food.”

“I have plenty.”

“How does it get here?”

Dylan glanced at her and took a bite of meat.

“Never mind,” she mumbled. She speared a potato and brought it to her mouth. Oh my. It was delicious. Sophie looked up and saw Dylan watching her.

“Okay?”

“Wonderful.”

Dinner was a quiet affair. Sophie insisted on doing the dishes since Dylan cooked. He simply handed her his plate and went back to the living room. Dylan started a fire in the fireplace and sat in the wooden rocker.

Dusk fell, and Sophie dried off her last dish. When she turned to Dylan, the firelight played over his features. If she thought the portrait was magnificent, she had underestimated the man. Dylan’s profile was silhouetted against the flames. His eyes were closed, and he slowly rocked back and forth.

He’s at peace, the thought came unbidden to her mind.

He must have felt her gaze because his eyes opened slowly, and he looked at her. “I’ll take the couch. My room is through that door.” He pointed. His eyes closed again, and Sophie crossed the floor and opened the door he had pointed to.

She walked over to the huge, wooden, king-size bed and ran her hand over the intricate carvings on the headboard. Absolutely beautiful. Sophie glanced around. Why am I here? What are the rules? She pressed her fingers to her temples. Maybe I had an accident and am in a coma. Hmm. Food for thought. Her subconsciousness needed a tune-up.

Sophie slipped off her pants and climbed into bed. Tomorrow, she thought sleepily, I’ll find some answers tomorrow.

* * * *

The thunder rolled across the land and shook the earth. Sophie sat bolt upright in bed. God, she hated storms. Ever since being stuck out in one when she was young, they scared her to death. Her hands clenched the covers tighter and tighter until her knuckles were white and stiff.

The door flew open suddenly, and she screamed.

Dylan strode over to the bed and sat down on the edge. “Are you okay?”

Sophie shook her head slowly. “I hate storms.”

“Apparently,” he said dryly. “I could hear you moaning in the living room.”

“I’m still here?”

“Yes,” he said shortly. “And it’s tearing it up outside. I haven’t had a storm like this in years. It’s interesting.”

“You mean terrifying.” Sophie flinched as another rumble of thunder rolled.

Dylan looked at her sympathetically. “What do you do when you’re at home?”

“Cower under the covers?”

“Listen,” he said quietly, “I know this storm upset you. But you’ll be fine. It’ll blow over in an hour or two.”

Sophie nodded slowly. “You’re right. I’ll be fine. You can go back to bed now. Really.”

He stood up and looked down at her. “See you in the morning.”

“Yes,” she said quietly.

Dylan turned and walked out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

A bright bolt of lightning shot across the sky, and Sophie braced herself for the boom of thunder to follow. Her hands shot up to shield her ears from the noise.

She didn’t hear the door open or notice Dylan until he crawled into bed with her. Sophie looked at him oddly until he sighed.

“Go to sleep. I’ll be here.” He started stroking her hair.

She curled up as close to him as humanly possible and tried to relax. Five minutes later, she was asleep.

* * * *

Dylan looked down at her body against his. “I’m going to kill you, Charles,” he said grimly. “Bet on it.”