Diary Of Dreams
- Author: Madison Layle
- Publisher: Cobblestone Press, LLC (2006)
- Genre: Contemporary Sensual Romance
Back Cover Blurb
Dori Wagner's dreams of true love were shattered by an obsessively violent boyfriend. Now a timid hermit, she pens her erotic fantasies in a diary. Then a new neighbor shows a knack for knowing her every desire. Is he a stalker or the man of her dreams?
Sloan Michaels is a psychic who dreams prophetic visions, and when they involve strangers, they're usually bad. Tired of being viewed as an oddity, he moves to a new neighborhood, vowing to keep his ability a secret. But that changes when he starts dreaming of kissing his quirky downstairs neighbor.
Purchase
ISBN: 1-60088-019-3
What the critics are saying
"This is THE cute and perfect story for the summer! It is light and will warm your heart with LOVE in capital letters. I loved reading the story and I will re-read it over and over again!"
- 4 Stars- eCataromance
"Diary of Dreams is a short little story that brings together a beautiful soul, Dori, and a compassionate soul, Sloan. Each character has their own way of dealing with what they want, Dori writes and Sloan dreams. ... Sloan is a man any woman would love to have: considerate, appreciative, and extremely hot. Together they were a perfect set, playing off of each other in a beautiful dance. This is the first Madison Layle story this reader has read and I assure you it will not be my last. With believable characters and sensual chemistry, Diary of Dreams was a wonderful way to top off my night."
- 5 Angels - Fallen Angel Reviews
Dear Diary,
Writer’s block is the pits! Technical writing shouldn’t be this hard. It’s not as if anyone reads instruction manuals anyway. Maybe I should try writing romance novels.
Then again, maybe not. What do I know about romance? Other than it’s only found in fiction, and all the heroines are beautiful women with perfect breasts and hip-length hair? I mean, where are all the sexy heroes when the damsel in distress looks like a drowned rat?
Dorothy Wagner set her small, leather-bound diary aside and glared once more at the blank page on her computer screen. The blinking cursor mocked her. She punched the monitor’s off button. Enough work for tonight.
Swiveling in her plush office chair, she yanked the towel off her head and dried her short locks. Catching sight of her reflection in the full-length mirror on the closet door, she groaned.
“I’m going to need at least twenty-four hours and a miracle to look presentable again.”
She glanced past her latest happily-ever-after paperback du jour and read the illuminated red numerals of the clock on the nightstand.
“Great! I’m going to be late.” She scrambled for the tiny bathroom. Why hadn’t she canceled her regular movie night with Peggy? It wasn’t as if the latest blockbuster with its Hollywood heartthrob wouldn’t be playing in theatres for the next several months.
She dressed quickly, hopping out of her fuzzy Garfield house slippers and stepping into a pair of plain brown hiking boots. At least, they were supposed to be used for hiking. But who had time for that? Yanking the drier out of its holder, she turned it on, the warm air whipping her hair into a frenzy. Oh, what was the point? It was raining anyway. She slammed a baseball cap on her head seconds before a familiar car horn blared outside. She snatched her house keys off the counter and ran for the door.
