The Forever Dream

by Iris Johansen

  A smile of infinite satisfaction touched Edward Betz's lips as he softly closed the door behind him.

  The first sensation of which Tania became aware was of dreamy languor; the second was of molten heat, which was surging through her in a restless tide. Her dark head thrashed on the satin pillow as she resisted the sensations burning through her with a strange, fitful fury.

  "Shh, easy." The voice was a dark velvet murmur. "Relax and flow with it, little Piper."

  She lifted heavy lids to meet glowing silver eyes that were oddly warm, despite their color. They seemed to blaze in the shadowy darkness of his face, just as the vitality of his slender, jean-clad body appeared to shimmer like a flame in the dimness of the bedroom. Somehow it seemed perfectly natural to open her eyes and see Jared Ryker sitting in an elegant tapestry-covered wing chair beside her bed. As natural as any dream could be, she thought hazily. For there could be no doubt whatever that this was a fantasy, though a strangely tactile one. Her hand rubbed lazily against the smooth satin of the sheet that covered her.

  The man was frowning. "Do you know who I am, Tania?"

  Of course she knew who he was, but it was most inconsiderate of a fantasy figure to demand that she rouse herself to answer when it took so much effort. "Ryker," she said, the word sounding slurred and far away, even to her own ears.

  He smiled grimly. "Well, that's something, anyway. How do you feel?"

  She smiled dreamily. "Wonderful." Then her face clouded in confusion as she once more felt that hot electric surge of sensation go through her. "No." She shook her head vaguely. "I don't know. Something."

  She heard a murmured curse from the man in the wing chair, and suddenly he was sitting beside her on the bed, his hands gathering hers in a warm, secure clasp. A very tactile dream, she thought contentedly, as her own hands tightened on his. "Listen, Tania, and try to understand. What you're feeling is going to get worse when some of the sedation wears off." His gray eyes were holding hers with compulsive force, as if trying to pierce the veil that was enveloping her senses. "I'd give you something to put you out again, but I can't risk it without knowing precisely what they used on you. It would be too dangerous. Do you understand?"

  The face looking down at her was oddly taut and

  strained. There were graven lines on either side of his beautifully cut mouth hinting at a power and sensuality, that aroused her even through the dark haze surrounding her. Yes, a beautiful mouth.

  Then his hands were on her bare shoulders, shaking her. "Do you understand?"

  Understand what? She'd forgotten what he'd been saying. But he obviously wasn't going to leave her alone until she answered him. "I understand," she said. It wasn't nearly so slurred this time, she thought with a vague sense of pride.

  "I hope to hell you do," he muttered, exhaling slowly. One hand left her shoulder to run restlessly through his dark hair. "Look, I'm going to help you in the only way I can. Trust me, okay?"

  She nodded happily, her dark eyes dreamily content. Why had she been so wary of him at that first meeting? She wondered. There was nothing to be afraid of in the dark, intent face of the man above her. Then the hot tide flowed over her again, and she gasped at the aching need it left in its wake. She knew a wrenching emptiness in her loins, and the tips of her breasts were suddenly so sensitive that the touch of the satin sheet against them was almost painful.

  Ryker murmured an obscenity that would have shocked her if she hadn't been lost in an intensity of sensation that was tearing her apart. "So help me God, if I had Betz here right now, I'd strangle him," he snarled savagely, his eyes blazing. He leaned forward and gently brushed her forehead with his lips. "Hold on, sweet, its going to be all right in a little while. I'll take care of it."

  Then he was on his feet, pulling the cream sweatshirt over his head and tossing it carelessly on the wing chair. He turned to face her, his hands working swiftly at his belt. "Do you know how many hundreds of times I've

  thought of having you like this?" he asked thickly. "With that strong, lovely body naked and willing to take me into you? I think I know your body now better than my own. I've watched those video tapes of your performances until I've almost worn them out." He slid his jeans and briefs over his hips, his gaze still fixed on her flushed, dreamy face. "I know how you move, how your expressions change like quicksilver. I love those flyaway eyebrows. I've wanted to run a finger over them more times than I can count." He smiled, his harsh face oddly tender. "You're always laughing. Even when the role calls for you to be sad and pensive, the laughter is lurking, waiting to burst free. I think that touches me more than anything else about you."

  He stepped out of his loafers and moved closer to the bed, totally naked now, his lean, whipcord body gleaming like polished gold in the dimness of the room. He shook his head. "No, that's not true. It's the totality of you that obsesses me." His face became grim. "Even an unimaginative bastard like Betz recognized the signs that you'd become special to me."

  Betz? The name was vaguely familiar, wasn't it? Then she dismissed it as unimportant, as her gaze ran admiringly over Ryker's naked body. She was accustomed to male beauty in her partners, and she generally appreciated it with the impersonal attitude with which she viewed a beautiful painting. Ryker's body wasn't as graceful and symmetrical as many she'd seen, but it possessed a lean, muscular tension radiating a leashed power that sent a tingle of excitement through her. Her gaze traveled from the springy mat of dark hair on his chest to the hard, muscular stomach and down to the soft nest of hair that cradled the root of his manhood.

  "Do you like me, little Piper?" His voice was as darkly mellow as cognac. "Do you want to feel me inside you as much as I want to be there?"

  This fantasy was beginning to seem more real by the minute, Tania thought vaguely as Ryker sat down next to her on the bed. Not that it mattered. She was infinitely content to have it so. It was as if Ryker were weaving a golden gossamer web of sensuality about her.

  "I wonder if you're comprehending even half of what I'm saying to you." He sighed heavily, filled with frustration. His hand gently smoothed the hair at her temple. "It wasn't supposed to be like this, damn it. I was going to wait until it was safe to come to you, and try to make you want me as much as I want you." He grimaced. "Well, Betz blew that all to hell, so we're going to have to make the best of it."

  The warmth of his hips against the thin satin sheet was causing the throbbing between her thighs to accelerate to a cadence of need like liquid fire. Her hand lifted lazily from the sheet to rest on the soft mat of hair on his chest. She smiled contentedly as she felt his heart jump beneath her hand and saw him inhale sharply. It was nice to have one's fantasies respond so satisfactorily.

  "I love to have your hands on me." His voice was a low, husky growl, and his eyes were closed in a face that was taut with an almost painful pleasure. "I don't know if I'm going to be able to pull this off, Tania Orlinov." His lids swept up, and the silver eyes were a fresh shock as they looked down at her with a glazed absorption. "I'm in a hell of a box. If I take you now, when you come out from under the drug, you're going to be angry as hell with me for taking advantage of you when you were helpless." He reached up and touched her hand that was curled intimately in the thatch of hair on his chest. "And if I don't take you, you're going to spend the next few hours being uncomfortable as the devil."

  He lifted her small hand and kissed the palm lingeringly, his warm tongue probing the soft center with a thoroughness that made her heart leap in response.

  "You taste so good," he said softly. "I can't let you hurt when I can do something about it, love." The expression on his face was an odd mixture of sensual longing and stern control as he looked down at her. "So I'm going to give you what you need, and maybe I can salvage something to build on along the way. Before you go back to sleep you're going to know my body so well that every breath I take will be your breath; you're going to know how your touch excites my every muscle and tendon. You're going to know how your to
ngue can make me shake like a kid with his first woman." He sucked tenderly at the sensitive tips of her fingers. The warm moisture of his mouth tugged erotically at her senses. He released her fingers. "I'm going to make sure of that, because once the anger starts, that memory may be the only weapon I have." His lips curved in a bittersweet smile. "Are you ready for me, little Piper?"

  She nodded slowly, her dark eyes cloudy in smoldering response to his words. A flicker of pain crossed his face. "Tell me," he demanded. "Say the words. For God's sake, let me know you're at least aware of who the hell is making love to you."

  A troubled frown creased her brow. He was doing it again. "Ryker," she said, a note of impatience in her slurred voice. "You're Ryker." She hoped that would satisfy him, for she was suddenly tired of dream images who talked and explained things she couldn't be bothered to think about. Her body was burning up, her hips shifting restlessly on the counterpane. He had promised to help her. Why wasn't he doing it? "Help me, Ryker," she whispered.

  "I will, Tania," he murmured. "I will, love." His lips closed on hers with a gentleness that caused her to give a little whimper of pleasure. So sweet, so warm. His tongue was warm, too, as it pushed past her lips to explore the moist darkness of her mouth. He took his time, exploring every cranny and nook, running his tongue over her teeth and the warm smooth wall of her mouth before enticing her tongue to play the most erotic of games with his own.

  When he lifted his head, she could feel his warm breath caressing her lips as he murmured, "You taste honey-sweet. I want more of you." His lips dipped down once again, this time catching her tongue in his mouth and using gentle suction and delicately nibbling with his teeth in a kiss so erotically intimate that she groaned. Her hands slid over the steel smoothness of his shoulders in a feverish search before curving about his neck and burying themselves in the thick crispness of the hair at the nape of his neck. His mouth still on hers, he reached out with careful gentleness and slowly slid the satin sheet down to her waist.

  She caught her breath as the silky material caressed her nipples, which were already peaked and distended. His lips released her tongue, and he drew a deep, ragged breath. His gaze traveled slowly down her throat and shoulders to the fullness of her breasts, with their flowering pink crests. "Poor baby, they're very sensitive now, aren't they?" he asked hoarsely. "I'll be careful not to hurt you."

  His head bent, and his tongue suddenly darted out to stroke a puckered nipple. She gasped, her hands clutching at his hair as a hot shudder shook her. Then his tongue was gently licking the entire surface of her breast in light, teasing strokes. She was breathing in broken little gasps as the swirls of sensation rushed over her. His teeth nibbled gently at the other nipple. He raised his head. "You liked that? God, so did I! That first night at the theater when you were taking your bows, your breasts were moving in the same little gasps beneath that scarlet chiffon. There was a bead of moisture in this pretty little hollow. It nearly killed me not to bend down and lick it away."

  His tongue buried itself between her breasts while his hands tenderly cupped their fullness. Then he began a slow rhythmic contraction and release, his long, strong hands dark and virile against the pale skin of her breasts. It was a sensation so incredibly voluptuous that she felt an explosive knot gathering in intensity in the apex of her thighs. Then his lips and teeth were toying with her nipple while the erotic massage accelerated in lightning, quantum leaps.

  "Ryker." She could barely breathe, her head moving back and forth on the pillow with feverish restlessness. "Ryker, I nee—"

  "I know," he murmured. "I know, Tania. Let it come, just let it come, pretty Piper."

  And it did come. It exploded within her like a heat-guided missile, her body convulsing against him in the force of that release. She was vaguely conscious of his hands leaving her breasts to curve around her and draw her securely into his arms. His fingers moved in soothing circles on her naked back as he held her in an embrace as warmly comforting as a fire in the winter. "Better?" His lips brushed the pulse in her temple softly. She could feel the tension drain out of her as she collapsed against him, her breathing as shallow as if she'd just run a marathon.

  One palm was cupping the back of her head, while he rocked her like a beloved child. "You'll feel fine for a few minutes now," he said thickly. "Then it will start to build again." His lips brushed the lobe of her ear. "Don't worry, love, we'll take it step by step."

  Why should she worry? she wondered. She had never felt so full and safe and secure in her entire life as she did in the arms of this stranger. No, that wasn't right. Fantasy figures couldn't be strangers when they were created from your own imagination, could they? Ryker could be anything she wanted him to be, do anything she wanted him to do. But at the moment the dream sequence was proceeding with such complete satisfaction that she was content to drift along in its wake.

  "Sit up, love. I want to look at you." He was pushing her away, and then the satin sheet was flipped aside and he was pulling her to her knees on the bed. She felt a wave of sudden dizziness, and she sank back on her heels. Then it was gone. She looked up to see the quick concern on Ryker's face. "Okay?"

  She smiled and nodded, blissfully content. Somehow that instant of protective concern had caused a heart-catching swell of emotion deep inside her, and his smoldering gaze as it ran lingeringly over each curve and shadow of her body brought that feeling to a radiant maturity.

  "Beautiful," he said huskily, his hand running over the curve of her hip with utmost care, as if she were infinitely fragile and would shatter at the slightest pressure. "So tiny and delicate, yet I can feel the supple strength of you under my hands. I knew you'd look like this." His hand moved across the softness of her belly to rub gently against the springy dark down. "Such a lovely soft nest. Do you know how often I've thought about how it would feel against me?" His eyes were hooded, a flush mantling the golden darkness of his face. "Come here."

  She edged closer to him on the bed and suddenly he was parting her legs and lifting her into his lap so that she was facing him. She gave a little shocked gasp when she felt the aroused length of him pressing against the intimate heart of her womanhood, and it was echoed by Ryker's guttural groan as he crushed her to him with a force that robbed her of breath. "Sit very still, love," he

  gasped, and she could feel his heart pounding as if it were about to break through the wall of his chest. "Don't even breathe. I think, in this case, realization of this particular fantasy wasn't such a good idea." Then, as if unable to resist the temptation, his hips moved in an indulating movement against her. "But Lord, it's fantastic."

  Fantastic? That was an understatement, she thought feverishly. She felt as if a hot liquid was rushing through every part of her, and her lungs were laboring so hard that it came close to actual pain. She felt him stiffen against her and the muscles of his thighs and buttocks lock with the effort he was making at control. His breath was coming in rough gasps, and she could feel the dew of perspiration beneath her hands, on his shoulders.

  "No!" The word was almost an explosion. Then he was lifting her off his lap and onto the bed. He backed away from her hurriedly. "Not now. Not this time." He was sucking air into his lungs as if he were starved for it. "Though so help me God, I may be elevated to sainthood if I make it through this."

  She was staring at him in bewilderment. Why had he pushed her away just when she was coming so close to the rapture he'd shown her before? She didn't like Ryker's expression: The tenderness and vulnerability were now completely gone—and she wanted them back.

  "Don't look at me like that, damn it," he bit out tersely. His eyes were harried as he ran his hand through his hair in exasperation. "You don't even know what's happening. Hell, you probably don't even know who I am.

  The man seemed to be obsessed with that idea, she thought crossly. She knew very well who he was. In fact, at this moment she felt as if she knew him better than she'd ever known anyone before in her life. "I do know you," she said indi
gnandy. "I told you." Her fingers

  touched his lips. "You're Jared Ryker." Her fingers wandered down to test the pounding of his heart. It leaped with a very satisfying response. She chuckled. Then, feeling extraordinarily mischievous, she let her hand swoop down to curve around his tumescence. An expression of shock accompanied the little jerk he gave in her small hand, and her dark eyes danced. "Ryker," she said triumphantly.

  "I think the sedation must be wearing off a little," he said, making a wry face. "Which may present an entirely new batch of problems." He gently pried her hand away. "God, how I love to hear you laugh." Two fingers traced the smile that still lingered on her lips. "I'm happy as hell that part of you is back with me, at least."

  What was he talking about? He was speaking as if she were in never-never land, when she felt more alive now than she ever had in her life. Perhaps too alive, she thought dizzily as a wave of molten heat assaulted her senses. Her throat felt suddenly dry, and she shook her head as if to clear it. "I fee—"

  He drew her into his arms. "I know," he said, his tone gentle despite the thread of desperation running through it. "God, I hope you can go to sleep after this. I'm not used to this particular kind of torture, love." He bent her backward, so that she was once more reclining against the pillows. His voice was a velvet growl. "Come along, little Piper. Let's see you dance to the music of my flute."

  He was beside her on the satin sheet, his lips covering hers with a passionate urgency that caused her instantly to open to him. At first with yearning submission and then more active aggression, her tongue was suddenly exploring his mouth and finding it as exciting as he had found hers. Moist warmth, the clean smoothness of his teeth, and that lovely skilled tongue that promptly

  engaged the invader in a sensual minuet caused her to arch against him with a little breathless moan.

  He lifted his head, and a teasing smile lit his face. "Oh, no," he said huskily. "Much as I'd like to linger awhile, I have other gardens to explore. I want to know all of you, Tania Orlinov."