Trust in Dreams

By Jennifer Brassel

Though exhausted from months of overwork, Dr. Elizabeth Reynolds responds immediately when she’s asked to check on a fellow hotel guest with a migraine. In her professional, such requests aren’t unusual.

What is unusual is waking up to find herself living her secret dream—passion with a man she doesn’t know. Worse, he’s the last kind of man she’d ever trust again. An actor.

Chris Grant has more secrets than a mystery script, including a yearning to find someone who’ll love him for himself, not his fame and fortune. When an angelic woman turns up in his bed after another of his debilitating migraines, for an instant he thinks he’s found her.

Except the woman of his dreams avoids actors like the plague. And before he knows it, she’s run back home to her safe life, determined to refocus on her career. If Chris is to win her heart, he’ll have to reveal his deepest secret, and pray she’ll see it as a sign they are meant for each other—and not a betrayal.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jennifer Brassel
• Release date: Jan 2, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386932420

Jennifer Brassel

Jenny Brassel is passionate about a lot of things: history, mythology and romance to name but a few, and writing allows her imagination to run riot. Creative to the bone, when Jennifer isn’t writing she can be seen with a paintbrush in hand. History, especially ancient history, is her most fervent passion and recently she has spread her writing wings to pen the first in a series of historical sagas based around the lives of her favourite pharaohs. They are filled with the epic stories of life in ancient times, warts, brutality and all.  Her work has won a number of major romance writing contests including the Land of Enchantment Romance Writers’  Rebecca; From The Heart Romance Writers’ Wallflower and Missouri Romance Writers of America’s Gateway to the Best. Jenny holds an MA in Creative Writing and teaches courses and workshops for community colleges and writing centres. Jenny hails from Sydney Australia. Married to her high school sweetheart, most of her days are spent staring at her computer screen under the supervision of a very demanding bichon frisé, Cordy.

Book preview

All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblence to persons living

or dead is concidental.

Prologue

His coming was heralded by a quiet whisper on the softest breeze. Scents of exotic flowers wafted about her, of jasmine and lilies, bringing images of a safe haven so near, yet unreachable without the strength of his guiding hand.

Each time it was the same.

He came at night. Always at night. Bathed in moonlight and mystery.

Like a thief tip-toeing into the darkened room, he stole into her dreams to take hold of her soul. Touching places no one else could touch.

Whenever he came, promises were fulfilled. Feelings unleashed without fear or reservation. Emotions, born of joining, flew bold and strong through the nocturnal realm of dreams.

She soared in him!

He was intangible. A hinted feeling, no more.

She had never seen his face.

But he was hers.

Together they were whole. And it was enough.

In her dreaming mind she was always safe and loved. He would not abandon her. He would not betray her trust.

A piece of him was always left behind. An offering. A tribute. A glorious fragment of remembered joy. Something warm, wondrous, and full of love, that held her heart captive until he returned.

Patience. Patience was always rewarded.

When she returned to the dream, he’d be there.

And she’d know him in an instant.

~.~

Chapter One

Backing out the door, her room key dangling from between her teeth and her medical bag under her arm, Elizabeth hurriedly tried to finish buttoning her dress one-handed.

Muffins and coffee will be fine, she answered in a loud whisper through the door. Once she’d done enough buttons to appear respectable, she added, I’ll be back after I’ve showered and changed.

At the exact moment she finished speaking, her backside collided with a warm, but firm object. Elizabeth jumped with a start as she spun to face the obstacle.

Lawrence.

She felt the blood drain from her face.

Oh Pete, what am I going to do now?

A flush of heat shot up her throat and she knew her face turned a telling shade of scarlet as she nervously closed the remaining button and began stammering incoherently at the man who stood before her.

With one patronizing look from his cold eyes, Lawrence thrust aside her meaningless jabberings. He glared pointedly at the brass numbers on the door she’d just closed. This is not your room. You have a lot of explaining to do, Elizabeth.

He was seething. She could always tell when he seethed, the veins in his forehead bulged. With narrowed eyes Lawrence scrutinized his wristwatch in an almost theatrical way, a practiced gesture designed to intimidate. And, as usual, it was working. Her hand crept upward to fiddle with the pearl brooch pinned to her breast; the one he’d given her for her birthday.

I’ll be breakfasting in the restaurant in an hour. Join me, he stated with icy calm.

His words brooked no argument, while his gaze swept over her with obvious disdain.

And for goodness sake, dress yourself properly, he barked, before turning toward the stairs in a huff.

Dazed, she watched his even, practiced stride carry him down the hall. The glare he shot at her as he reached the landing was enough to make her want to shrink backward.

Her shoulders sagged with defeat as she looked down at herself. Her dress was buttoned wrongly, damning her. "Oh, no," Elizabeth groaned as unwanted tears pricked at the back of her lids.

A man’s voice chuckled softly through the door.

Aren’t you just a little old for Daddy to censure you for spending the night in a man’s room? the voice taunted with amusement.

Resting her forehead on the polished wood of the doorframe, Elizabeth groaned again. Louder this time. Dear God, what a mess!

That wasn’t my father.

He chuckled again. No? Your brother then.

Elizabeth shuddered. "Not my brother, either. That .. was my fiancé." She clicked the door shut to avoid further conversation.

A trembling took over her body as she crossed the hall to the safety of her room. Leaning back against it, she felt her legs begin to crumble.

God. What have I done? she wailed as she slid down the door until she sat in a heap on the floor. She shook her head slowly as if by doing so she could shut out the truth. But there was no way to deny it.

Oh, Pete ... how did I get myself into this? she begged skyward. She still couldn’t believe what had happened—what possessed her.

Even now she wasn’t altogether sure it was real. In less than twenty-four hours her life had been turned completely upside down.

Was it only yesterday she’d sat in her office, gossiping with Julie over her plans for the conference ... ?

~.~

Please Julie, can’t you turn that thing off? I have to go over these patient notes before I leave for the conference, Elizabeth complained, albeit amiably, as her nurse sat down amidst the clutter of files and reports to watch Hawley Street Hospital, the latest in a glut of medical soaps to hit the small screen.

Julie took a hefty bite of her sandwich and shook her head with a grin.

Uh-uh, she mumbled through her full mouth. I have to get my daily dose of Doctor Passion.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "Doctor Passion?"

Swallowing, Julie’s blonde curls jiggled as she laughed at her boss’s reaction.

Doctor Parsons, actually, but everyone calls him Doctor Passion, she explained.

That figures, Elizabeth scowled.

Just because you’re above drooling over a hunk doesn’t mean I have to be, Julie said, pretending to pout. "He’s absolutely gorgeous, the subject of half the erotic dreams in Boston these days, I’ll bet. And a story in TV Guide said that he really is a doctor, too," Julie added sincerely.

Don’t be so naive, Jules, Elizabeth said, her voice harsher than intended. Why would a self-respecting physician demean himself by becoming some kind of sex-symbol soap opera star? Doesn’t make any sense. If your Dr. Hunk is an M.D., I’m a nuclear physicist.

Elizabeth grimaced, not bothering to hide her distaste. She knew all about actors. Jared had been Peter’s best friend. She’d trusted him. But he’d turned out to be nothing but a liar and a cheat. How can you trust someone who could lie so convincingly? Actors were masters at it. If she’d held any illusions about actors at all, they were wiped away by his betrayal.

Now she knew better. She’d sworn never to be that kind of fool again.

I’m sure the story is just hype. You know how those sorts of magazines operate; tell you anything so long as you buy their next edition. Always aiming at the lowest common denominator. Personally, I think they underestimate the intelligence of the general public.

Okay, okay! Julie laughed. I take your point. Anyway, all I want to do is spend a few minutes fantasizing. Inane to you perhaps, but I kind of enjoy an hour of mindlessness every so often. It’s a big relief after all the pain and suffering we have to deal with.

Elizabeth really couldn’t help but agree. If Julie’s choice of diversion wasn’t the best as far as she was concerned, the idea of switching off, even for a while, certainly had its appeal.

At that very moment, the actor in question appeared in close-up on the small screen and, despite herself, Elizabeth became instantly captivated. Dark, fathomless eyes sparkled at the viewing audience from beneath perfectly shaped brows. His mouth, full and curved, moved sensuously as he spoke. And his black hair looked slightly tousled, as if a woman had just run her fingers through its glossy waves.

Julie was right. He was certainly gorgeous, if you liked that sort of blatant sensuality, of course. The classic TV star type with just enough of the rake about him to hint at an underlying dangerousness. And that was where the fascination lay; most women couldn’t resist the notion of reforming a rake.

His smooth, almost melodic voice echoed from the speaker, to wrap around Elizabeth like a lover’s caress and without her realizing it, she’d edged closer to the screen. He smiled directly into the lens betraying a touch of ‘little boy mischievousness’.

No wonder all the nurses volunteered to take a late lunch, Elizabeth grinned to herself. Mystery solved. They wanted to have their break while the show aired. And she couldn’t honestly blame any one of them. Everything about him screamed seduction.

At the commercial break she glanced up and blanched at the amused ‘I told you so’ look Julie threw her way.

Yes, well, Elizabeth stuttered with embarrassment, I suppose I don’t mind if you watch, but I’ve got better things to do. With that, she grabbed the stack of patient files from the desk beside her and headed for reception, feeling uncomfortably female all of a sudden.

~.~

Elizabeth had been somewhat wary of attending this conference. Natural and alternative medicine was becoming more popular world wide, but she was reticent to put any faith in the more way out therapies. Still, she had been the only physician on staff in a position to take the five days out of her busy schedule.

And she really did need a break away from it all. Away from Lawrence. Away from her eighteen-hour work days. When she thought about it, she realized she hadn’t had a day off in weeks. If nothing else, she’d catch her breath and have an all expenses paid vacation in Miami.

When making reservations the week before, Elizabeth discovered the host hotel was booked out. Despite the obvious transport problems, in many ways that suited her—she could, if she wished, lie low. Previous experience had shown that as soon as her well meaning colleagues knew her room number, they were apt to drag her off to every event, or visit at ridiculous hours of the night, usually with a few too many drinks under their belts. Besides, the quaint hotel she’d gone with had a tropical atmosphere, more in tune with the sunny feel of Miami.

Earlier in the day, the opening presentation had been both informative and curiously inspiring. The speaker, a physician from rural Nepal, put forward some eye opening theories about ‘inner’ healing and the physician’s responsibility to maintain the health of his patients. Although Elizabeth mightn’t necessarily embrace such philosophies whole-heartedly, his arguments about preventing illness gave her much food for thought.

She mulled over some of his ideas as she dressed for dinner, fervently wishing she hadn’t booked for the meal. She was so weary. The only flight available had allowed less than three hours sleep before departure, and against her better judgment she’d taken a mild sedative in the hope of getting some rest on the plane. Unfortunately, the sedative was just now beginning to take effect. If she hadn’t promised the committee she’d represent the practitioners of traditional western medicine and give a short speech at dinner, she would gladly just curl up on the sofa and forget the rest of the world for a good twenty-four hours or so.

Donning a black and white spotted blouse over a straight black, knee-length skirt, Elizabeth critically examined her reflection. Deep green eyes, shuttered by years of cautious self-preservation, gazed back from her heart-shaped face. She hated wearing the layers of make-up that was expected for a dinner such as this and, with irritation, rubbed away a splotch of mascara from below one eye. Her dark, auburn hair was pulled back in a severe French roll which gave her an air of aloofness that she was careful to foster.

Knowing it wasn’t necessary for her to see sharply tonight, after all, most of her colleagues would already be half sozzled and bleary-eyed, she removed her contact lenses and blinked away the water welling in her eyes as she yawned.

She was late, yet she couldn’t seem to gather the energy to hurry. Maybe I’m burning out.

Fatigue had drawn dark smudges beneath her eyes, accentuating her pale, blemish free coloring, which attested to a mostly Anglo-Irish heritage. The stress of her long working hours had caused the beginnings of a frown line to form between her brows, a frown that instantly became more pronounced when she concentrated.

Just as she finished applying a muted shade of gloss to her lips, she heard a rapid knock on her door.

My taxi, she thought.

To her surprise, the hotel’s night manager confronted her as the door swung wide. He appeared somewhat distressed.

I’m sorry to disturb you Ms. Reynolds, but on your registration card it says you’re an M.D. He brandished the card. Is that correct?

Elizabeth nodded, stifling another, very unladylike yawn.

Yes it is.

Oh that’s good, he said, relief apparent. I hope you don’t mind my asking, but we’ve been unable to contact any of our usual medicos, some sort of conference, so I’m told. Anyway, one of our guests—the gentleman across the hall actually—appears to be gravely ill.

With another nod, she turned and disappeared into the bedroom. The manager trailed behind as he spoke.

I was wondering if you’d mind coming to take a look at him to tell me if I should call an ambulance. He told me not to, but I don’t really think he is in a fit state to decide.

The young man didn’t need to continue. Elizabeth already had her medical bag in hand.

Which room? she asked, as she pulled her door closed.

Just across the hall, Dr. Reynolds.

The manager knocked on the oak door several times. Hearing no sound from within, he used his pass card to open the door, then stepped tentatively into the darkened room.

Mr. Grant? he asked quietly. When no reply came, he spoke a little louder. Mr. Grant? The manager moved further into the room. Mr. Grant? I’ve brought the doctor.

A deep, agonized sound answered his words.

Elizabeth came up behind the young manager. I’ll just turn on a light, she suggested.

No! Rrrr! the man on the bed moaned. Go ‘way. No light ... can’t handle ... light. Get out.

Elizabeth approached the side of the bed and smiled despite herself. Although she could hardly see, she already had a fair idea what the problem was. The man assuredly suffered a very big hangover.

Maybe we can open the drapes just a little, Elizabeth said to the manager in a hushed voice.

No—get out, the belligerent man repeated.

Stepping closer to the bed, she carefully kept her voice low.

Mr. Grant? I’m Dr Reynolds. The manager thought I might be of some assistance. Could you tell me whether you have eaten, or perhaps drunk anything that might have disagreed with you?

The man on the bed turned toward her momentarily before he again buried his head in the pillow and groaned.

The night manager pulled Elizabeth aside, whispering urgently in her ear.

I don’t think it’s anything Mr. Grant has eaten. According to the housemaid he’s been ill since yesterday. And he hasn’t ordered anything from room service since his arrival.

Crossing to the kitchen area, he bent to open the small refrigerator and check the contents, then the waste basket before straightening. The wet bar seems untouched.

No food or drink at all?  Elizabeth mused. That did put a different complexion on things.

Intending to examine the body lying prostrate on the bed, Elizabeth opened her medical bag and fished out her stethoscope. But as soon as she laid a hand on him, the man flinched as if her touch caused sheer agony.

Go away ... no need ... I know what’s wrong. He stopped speaking to breathe deeply and gather strength. Migraine ... I’ll be all right soon ... just ... leave ... me ... alone.

Elizabeth’s heart immediately softened. She knew only too well how painful a migraine could be, her father had had regular bouts with the debilitating headaches for years and none of her training truly helped. As a teenager, she recalled how impotent she’d felt, being locked out of her parent’s bedroom, not really understanding why her father couldn’t stand the sight of her.

Do you suffer these headaches often? she asked gently.

For a second he opened his eyes to squint up at her, then closed them with a sigh.

Since ... every few ye—

He didn’t finish. Without warning he bolted upright and dashed into the bathroom, slamming the door heavily behind him. A moment later, the sound of retching echoed through the room.

I don’t think an ambulance will be necessary, she told the manager, who, it appeared from the strange sounds he was making, was barely able to suppress his own nausea.  I can take it from here. I’ll stop by at the front desk later to let you know how Mr. Grant is doing, she assured the young man.

He didn’t need to be told twice. Eyes wide, he fled into the hall, holding his hand over his mouth.

Allowing her patient his privacy, Elizabeth paced the room while she awaited his return. But after several minutes of quiet, when he still hadn’t emerged from the bathroom, she went to the door and tapped lightly. There was no response. Elizabeth knew it had probably been quite some time since he’d had any kind of sustenance at all, so there was a very real possibility her patient had passed out.

Mr. Grant? she said, tapping again. When, after another long moment, there was still no answer, she tried the door and was thankful to find it unlocked. Easing it open cautiously, she was greeted by the silhouette of a near naked man, sitting on the floor in the darkness, hugging the toilet bowl for dear life.

Finding a washcloth on the sink nearby, she dampened it and wiped his face. It was amazing how young and vulnerable men of all ages appeared when they were ill. The way he held on to the porcelain reminded her of a frightened child