Inevitably, thoughts of the dream man wavered at the edge of her consciousness and when she donned her favorite silk shortie PJs and slipped between the sheets, his image moved back into her conscious mind. God, he was gorgeous, she thought and smiled into the darkness. What an absolute hunk, and what a powerful orgasm she’d had the night before. Could she bring it on again? She’d read some people could more or less program their dreams by thinking about the subject they wanted to dream about. She’d certainly give it her best shot. As she willed herself into the arms of sleep, Sunny wished she were drifting into the arms of her lover instead.
Images started to invade her thoughts, images of herself dancing in the arms of a lover. She lifted her eyelids lazily, wondering if it were a dream or a daydream. The room was filled with the smell of jasmine clinging in the night mist. The last thing she remembered was thinking she really ought to get up and close the window, because the sea mist seemed, eerily, to be everywhere that night. Her eyelids lowered; she was drifting.
Rather oddly, she saw two shiny gemstones in her open palm, and closed her hand over them. Then her consciousness moved into another realm.
Her dream was vivid. Even though it was weighted with sleep, her skin hummed with anticipation. She moved beyond it and floated through the ether. She felt as if she were traveling—seeking him.
Rolling restlessly, she wandered in the mists of her dream world, her body alive with sensation, tossed from need to want and cast up on the shores of desire. Breathless, she sensed his presence moving closer through the swirling mists.
She clutched at the pillows, desperate for him.
He was tantalizingly near, his handsome face, his intense blue eyes wild as he watched her. His breath moved across her skin, drawing a moan from her lips. A voice murmured her name. She reached for him, but he drew back, as if leading her.
She struggled to follow, her will to find him fighting leaden limbs to reach out. Stepping after him, mist swirled up all around her. She thought herself lost, then saw him walking ahead of her, reached out and touched his back. He stopped walking, began to turn. Then, through the mists, she heard voices in conversation.
There were voices on the stairs.
Sunny wakened with a start, pushing back the sheet and sitting bolt upright. There was someone in the house! Her heart rate shot up instantly, the blood rushing in her ears. Burglars? She strained to hear, leaning forward on the bed. Sure enough, she heard a floorboard creak. Then, incredibly, a voice boomed out.
“Be on your way, Nathaniel, and thank you for your hospitality. I’ll send you word of my whereabouts when I’m settled.”
What in hell’s name was going on? The back of her neck prickled with tension, the palms of her hands fast growing damp. She pushed back her hair and tried to make sense of what she was hearing. It had to be burglars, and there seemed to be at least two men, but they were chuckling and talking to each other in a very strange way.
What were they doing in her house?
She climbed out of bed, intending to cross the room so she could hear more clearly. Wary of creaking floorboards, she inched forward, sliding her bare feet on the polished boards, easing closer to the door. Moonlight carved a passage across the room and she went to step past it but froze when a board beneath her foot creaked. She stopped dead.
The intruders carried on chatting, as if oblivious to the noise she’d made. She could only assume they thought they were alone in the house. Steeling herself, she peeked through the crack near the door hinge. The two men on the landing were large and wearing strange shirts and tight trousers with knee-high boots. One of them held a lantern in his hand, and she saw they had long hair to their shoulders, which cast their faces in shadow.
“Five years will turn over soon enough, and I’ll do all I can to clear your name in preparation for your return. Until then, safe travel aboard the Gloriana. Rest well and take this purse.” The sound of disagreement followed. “Take it, please. Take these few small gifts to speed your passage. You’ll be comfortable here—oh and I left you a flask of rum and some food to be sure of it.”
There was laughter and a mumbled thank you.
“Just be clear of the house before mid-morn. The servant girl comes up from the town and I didn’t have time to tell her anyone would be taking rest here.”
“Aye,” came the reply. “I’ll need to be on the lookout for the Gloriana by then.”
The sound of mutual backslapping reached her, and then one set of footsteps faded away down the stairs. One of them was staying, that much was clear. Silently, with her breath trapped in her lungs, she waited. Downstairs, she heard the front door closing. Then another floorboard on the landing creaked. It was now too gloomy on the landing to see, but she sensed the presence getting nearer.
Her heart missed a beat.
The door to her bedroom was pushed wide open.
A figure stepped into the room and into the moonlight that spilled from the window, revealing the intruder to her startled gaze.
It was him.
The man from her dreams, tall and fierce looking, but this time he looked solid, real, and he appeared to have a weapon hanging from his belt. A sword? Could it be that he had a sword? Burglars didn’t run around chatting at the top of their voices and carrying swords, surely not—not even in eccentric old Cornwall.
She had to be dreaming. Yes, she realized with a sudden sense of dizzy relief. I’m dreaming about him again, right?
Nevertheless, caution had automatically taken hold of her and she stepped back into the darkness against the wall, but not quick enough and not before the intruder caught sight of her. He stared at her and then, after a silent moment, he laughed heartily. He dropped a bundle from his shoulder to the floor by his feet, and then strode past her toward the window, presumably looking for his partner in crime.
“Well, Nathaniel,” he said, as if voicing his thoughts to the darkness below. “Old friend, you are a true gentleman. I didn’t realize you’d be seeing to my wish for a wench for the night.”
“A wench?” Sunny repeated, astonished, then jumped at the sound of her own voice.
He turned back to her and stepped closer.
Snaking his arm around her waist, he pulled her up against him.
Sunny swore in disbelief when her feet left the floor.
He was well over six feet tall and very strong.
He spun her into the light to look her over, the moonlight flashing on his teeth as he smiled. “Oh yes, and you’re a pretty wench, aren’t you? Unusual, too. You’ll be a fine way to pass my last night on English soil.”
Yup, she decided, I’m dreaming. Like last time, only better.
“Well, I guess I should thank you,” she mumbled, feeling rather oddly as if she was in some kind of role-playing game. Was that what dreams were like, when you were actually in them? And since when did she have the power of analysis in the depths of slumber? She pushed the questions away and tried to get into her role. Because she didn’t want the dream to escape now, did she? She’d wished for it to return, after all. If she thought about it too much she might just wake up, and lose the glorious feeling of those powerful arms around her—heaven forbid. “I’ve been called unusual before, because I’m half Moroccan, but I’ve never been called a wench.”
He gave a deep belly laugh. She felt it rumble right through her body, crushed as she was against him. He was incredibly strong.
“What should I call you then, lass?”
“My name is Yasmina Sunitra Chambers, but everyone calls me Sunny,” she managed to mumble, before he buried his face in her hair, breathing deeply of her scent.
“Mm, you smell good, Sunny, like damsons.”
“It’s probably my bubble bath.”
“Double what?” He leaned over, taking her with him, and snatched up a small, leather-covered object from somewhere behind her.
“Bath.”
It struck her as odd because, glancing down, she didn’t recognize the small t
able standing there by the bed. In fact, the bed looked different, too. The dream had changed everything in her room. The conversation seemed odd too, surreal. But it would, wouldn’t it? That’s what dreams are like, she kept reminding herself.
The object he’d lifted was some kind of hip flask. He uncorked it with his teeth and took a long drink. He stared at her thoughtfully as he swallowed. The heady aroma of potent rum flared through her nostrils. It was so real.
He offered the bottle and she took it, tentatively.
The pungent alcohol swirled into her mouth. She swallowed.
Hang on a minute, she thought. If he believed the other guy had arranged for her to be there, did it mean she was supposed to be like...like a woman of the night, a prostitute even? Sunny laughed aloud at the idea, nearly choking on her rum.
“Too strong for you?”
“No, I, um, it’s fine.” Could she really play the part for him?
He turned away from her and pulled the curtains wide open, flooding the room with moonlight. When he turned back, he looked her up and down and nodded approvingly. He stroked his hands over her bare shoulders and then weighed her silk-covered breasts quite deliberately in strong, warm hands, drawing her breath from her lungs when his thumbs ran over her nipples.
He chuckled and began to unbutton his coat, a thigh-length number made of heavy felt. The loose shirt he was wearing clung to the heat of his body. Well-cut riding breeches and knee-high boots showed off his long, strong legs. She couldn’t help staring at the strange clothing he was wearing. Especially the breeches. Tightly fitting, they revealed every bit of him, including the rather impressive bulge at his groin. The fabric looked like soft suede, and it was tucked down into his rough leather boots. In contrast to his heavy jacket, the shirt he wore beneath it was soft cotton, and it flowed over his powerful chest, at once hiding yet revealing his physical power.
“You’re like a warrior or something,” she commented, barely realizing she was speaking her thoughts aloud.
“No warrior, although I’ve had a few tussles in my time.”
He said it quite suggestively, and she smiled. She wouldn’t mind tussling with him. Perhaps she could play the woman of the night, the wench. She’d always loved drama classes as a teenager, and hadn’t had the opportunity to go full-on actress since then. Give him your best Salma Hayek impression, she told herself, tossing her hair back over her shoulder.
He didn’t seem to mind her eyeing him while he stripped, and with the Dutch courage from the rum, Sunny began to relax and enjoy the dream. Why the hell not? Maybe it would go all the way, like it had the last time. But she hadn’t remembered any details like this, no, and she prayed she would remember it all when she awoke this time.
As soon as he’d taken off his jacket, he pulled the shirt off and dumped them both on the floor. Oh yes, she thought, her eyes growing wide as she watched him strip—please let me remember every detail. He was well built, his shoulders large and powerful, his belly hard with muscle. He strode to the bed and grabbed her by the wrist as he passed, pulling her into his lap.
Sunny was spellbound.
The man grinned again and stroked his hand over her cheek.
This was turning out to be one magical dream.
“Now, what manner of undergarments are these?” He stared, as if perturbed, at her shortie PJs. “And how does a man get rid of them?” With one finger under the spaghetti strap at her shoulder, he shifted the silk chemise around, watching as it moved over her breasts, still peaked from his earlier touches.
“Up,” she murmured, gesturing toward the hem of the top, breathless with anticipation to see what might happen next.
He didn’t waste a moment. He stripped the chemise over her head and then tugged at the waistband on her shorts while eyeing her bared breasts appreciatively. His eyebrows were up and he had a half smile on his face as if now amused by what she was wearing.
“Gone, and now for the drawers.”
Drawers? That tickled her no end, and laughter bubbled inside her.
He tugged her shorts off, jostling her weight easily on his lap, and she wriggled to assist in their removal. The bulge of his cock brushed against her leg. Not only was he as hard as steel and his hands sure and knowing, but his gaze was so hot she felt restless with tension. He began exploring her more demandingly when she wrapped her arms around the back of his neck and panted against his ear. The atmosphere between them crackled with anticipation.
Her entire body was pounding with desire.
“What should I call you?” she asked, breathlessly.
“Cullen.”
The name sounded familiar, as if a feeling of déjà vu had stolen over her.
“And if you hear bad things said against me,” he continued, “when I’ve gone on the morrow, don’t listen, Sunny, for I am a wrongly dishonored man.”
“Oh, have you been a naughty boy?” she remarked, going with the flow.
His eyebrow quirked and he looked at her as if he was amused by her remark. “Not as ‘naughty’ as they might have you believe.”
He lifted and rolled her onto her back on the bed with ease, his large hands roving over her with the expertise of a sexual connoisseur, seeking out the most tender and responsive places to touch her.
She was helpless under the assault. She’d never met a man as sexually confident and demanding as he was. Within moments, his hands were between her thighs and he stroked the length of them, as if admiring the softness of the skin there. Fire swept through her and down, to meet his fingers where they touched her intimate places to the melting point. He was so blatant and demanding. She hummed her approval. He kept looking at her to observe her reactions, while he caressed her with strong, firm fingers.
“Ah, sweet heaven, you are inviting, and ready for me, I see.”
“It’s hardly surprising,” she managed to mumble, before she was brought short from further comment by his exploration. Oh, but he was torturing her.
In ordinary circumstances, she might have had a twinge of embarrassment at such a forthright sexual approach from a stranger. But the combination of extreme arousal and the surreal dream-quality of the whole encounter negated any such misgivings. Her entire body on fire with sensation. She beckoned him closer still.
“Heh, that’s good,” he said, taking her invitation.
She swore aloud when he bent his head to kiss her intimate places. She moaned and arched and rested her hands around his head. She grew frantic as the sensation built towards its peak. Her hips bucked, a deep, long shudder coursing through her body.
“Oh my, you are a lusty sort, Sunny love,” he commented a moment later, while she was still battling to regain her breathing pattern.
She barely registered his remark, because he’d knelt on the bed between her legs and she was clearly aware of the impressive erection he’d released from the pants he was wearing. This was crazy. She’d never had a dream this real—well, not that she remembered. My God, if only all her dreams were like this!
He’d already sent her into one red-hot orgasm, and she’d barely recovered. She trembled, melting into the pillows.
Her hips arched to take him and she reached up to his shoulders, and yes, when he thrust inside her, it felt like the answer for everything her body craved. A cry of ecstasy and intoxicated, joyful laughter escaped her open mouth. He kissed her, his tongue pushing into her mouth, bringing her the taste of her own desire, and she grabbed at him, her hands alive to the feel of his hard muscles, her whole being wanting to clutch and cling to his magnificent body.
“Come on, my pretty, let me at you.” He grasped her buttocks into his hands, lifting her easily from the bed and angling her hips as he lifted her higher still, thrusting hard and fast in a rolling rhythm.
“‘Let me at you?’ Christ, aren’t you deep enough?” Again, she laughed, the sound escaping her in an exalted victory cry. She’d never been probed so deeply and so thoroughly before, and Cullen’s stamina truly was the stuff
of dreams.
He joined her obvious pleasure. “Oh, yes, I love a wench who can take it. You’re a supple little thing, aren’t you? Can’t remember the last time I enjoyed riding a woman like this.” Even as he said the words, he pulled her roving hands together and latched them over her head in one mighty fist, taking full control of her body.
She bit her lip, cursing under her breath, her head rolling as she was thoroughly possessed and submitted to his thorough probing. Her throat was burning, her entire body locked into the experience. But she didn’t have time to contemplate it any further, because he ran his thumb over her tender places just as he came. Her flesh closed, melting and throbbing in a series of dynamite-fuelled spasms.
He stayed with her for a few moments, and they both savored the intense climax, rocking together in the moonlit room. With regret, she felt him pull out.
He rolled onto his back.
“Can we do that again before I wake up?” she whispered without thinking, her entire body trembling in the aftermath.
“Yes, lass, we’ll do it again, and over again, until the sun rises and I have to leave to board my ship. Suits me fine, that does.”
She couldn’t believe it. She’d said it jokingly, but he sat up onto the edge of the bed and lifted her onto his lap.
Dreams were never normally like this, she briefly reflected, before he seduced her all over again.
CHAPTER FIVE
Midnight struck on the old grandfather clock, and Celeste stood up from her kitchen table. She’d been trying not to pace back and forth since she’d cast her spell, fretting over it. Willow had long since gone home to rest, but when Celeste rose to her feet, Wellington leapt out of his basket by the fireplace and joined her. Together they walked to the back door and Celeste opened it, looking out into the night.
Wisps of cloud shifted across the moon, splaying the fall of light to the far edges of the sky and beyond. She ducked through the low doorway and under the heavy foliage arch beyond. The climbing plant outside her kitchen door was heavy and lush, the blossoms heavy.
A Coven of Her own Page 3