Tomorrow's Dreams by Heather Cullman

from his lips and tossed it to the floor.
    How the hell was he going to keep his emotions in check for the next six weeks? With a low, tormented moan, he buried his face into his hands. All this time he’d honestly believed that his love for Penelope was dead. He had wished it to be so. Yet, when he’d looked into her tear-filled eyes, he had once again experienced the desperate, almost obsessive, need he’d always felt for her. Dear God! What was he to do?
    There was only one way to handle the situation: ignore his feelings and continue to provoke Penelope into thinking that he was the most black-hearted bastard to ever walk the earth.
    Slowly Seth raised his face from his hands, a bleak smile contorting his lips. The latter part of the plan shouldn’t prove too onerous a task. Penelope had made it bitingly clear that she still harbored ill feelings toward him for the way he’d treated her in New York. Not that he’d expected any differently, for her pride ranked only second to his. That being the case, there should be no danger of an unintentional reconciliation.
    Are you so sure about her feelings? his devil’s advocate of a conscience piped in. It seems to me that if she truly despised you, she wouldn’t have cried in your arms and clung to your chest like you were the last piece of flotsam on a sinking ship .
    The remembrance of Penelope crying in his arms made Seth do something he hadn’t done in decades: he blushed. Despite his best efforts to remain aloof during their physical contact, the feel of her body against his had aroused him almost beyond endurance.
    The heat in his face deepened to a slow burn. Had she noticed his inflamed state? He groaned. How could she not have noticed? She’d been sitting directly on top of his hardness.
    Seth shook his head. Well, it didn’t do any good to worry about it now. He’d just have to take care to exercise more control in the future. Perhaps he’d accept the offers made by several of the saloon girls, and spend his lust to the point where he wouldn’t be able to get an erection even if he wanted one. At least then he could concentrate on the more difficult problem of grappling with his emotions.
    He stroked the angle of his jaw, considering the idea. It had merit. In fact, it was downright brilliant. He’d get started on his plan this very evening. He’d invite one of the saloon girls to partake in the private dinner Penelope had declined earlier, and let her feed his carnal hunger.
    For the first time since his encounter with Penelope, Seth’s lips curved into a genuine smile. Come tomorrow night, Penelope Parrish could lounge in his lap buck naked, and he wouldn’t feel so much as a twinge of desire.

Chapter 7
    For the first time that evening, Penelope was alone. Slowly she raised her face from where it lay cradled in her hands and stared at her tear-soaked reflection in the mirror.
    Inky runnels of eyelash black streaked through layers of greasepaint and rouge, etching war-paint-like stripes down her cheeks. Her carmine lip paste, so carefully applied earlier that evening, was now smeared across her chin, resembling blood oozing from an open wound.
    It might have been blood if Seth hadn’t come to my rescue , she reminded herself. Disturbed by the thought, she tore her gaze from the mirror and turned her attention to removing her makeup. After slathering her face with a thick layer of cold cream, she snatched up a crumpled bit of cloth and began her messy task.
    She usually found the ritual calming, reassuring in its mundanity. But tonight, as she scrubbed her skin with hide-flaying fierceness, she found the cream’s familiar scent oddly disturbing … subtly different.
    Perplexed, she lifted the jar to her nose and sniffed.
    Almonds and glycerin and … what?
    Her brow furrowed. She’d smelled that provocative fragrance before; somewhere in a different life, a hundred years ago and a