by Diane Saxon
Perhaps it was time. Time for him to judge for himself the effectiveness of the equipment he put so much faith in. The software that was supposed to help him in his assessment of his patients.
He reached for the console and programmed in the most basic of scenarios to let his own brain guide the machine in the direction it selected. He had no doubt what it was about to choose, what the previous version always chose. The hell that was his dead wife. His subconscious always seemed to guide him there.
He took a deep breath and then blew it out while he attached the basic connections. He didn’t really need the heart monitor. It wasn’t relevant to him how fast his blood pumped through his system, but he attached it anyway so he could accurately monitor his own responses.
He slipped onto the seat, wriggling a little to find the most relaxed position. It only took a moment. Far more comfortable than the last chair, it had been designed for luxury, to soothe the user, lull them into a tranquil state, not to sleep, just to be open enough to participate in the real-life scenarios.
Dominic tugged the helmet into place, attached the last of the connectors, and leaned back against the headrest. He hated to do it, but it was a necessity. If the staring brown eyes and the stark whiteness of his wife’s face persisted in tormenting him, he was perfectly entitled to power down. The generic information he’d entered this time should allow his mind to direct him elsewhere, but he’d tried it before and still the image of her frozen features seemed to be able to wind their way through his consciousness.
Ready, he drew one long breath through his teeth and then let it go in a relaxing sigh while he depressed the remote button with his thumb.
∙•∙
Silvery moonlight crept its gnarled and distorted fingers through the open curtains of his bedroom window to crook its intrusive light across the carpet and poke itself into the darkest corners of the room.
Instant awareness raised the hairs on the back of his neck as he peered into the shadows. Unlike any of the other scenarios he’d set for himself, this one already spoke of a sinister edge. His muscles tightened in response to the cool air whispering over his skin as he edged his arm to the bedside cabinet to slip the SIG subcompact into the palm of his hand. Strange it should be his weapon of choice when he’d had it taken off him so recently by Barbara. Not normally a gun he would have selected, he’d only used it because of its neat delicacy.
Slow and cautious, he squinted into the darkness and tracked the shadows as they stretched across the familiar landscape of his bedroom at home, until he grew accustomed to the light and shade and his pulse regulated.
He scanned the outline of the furniture, the curtains, the filtered moonlight, and… there. There in the corner was exactly what he’d been looking for. A shadow far denser than the rest. Dark enough to be a solid form, one he was unfamiliar with.
As he slipped his legs over the side of the bed, allowing his feet to touch the thick carpet, knowing it would muffle his movements, he tilted his head to listen for the slightest sound, the lightest breath.
Nothing.
He continued to stare at the corner, squinting to focus in on the figure, curious to see who it was. The shadow remained stock still, while the curtains fluttered in the soft summer breeze fanning through the open window. The elusive scent of something vaguely familiar teased his nostrils, and then wafted away on the night air before he could identify it.
Dominic came to his feet and slid silently along the length of the bed, aware his own body was concealed by relative darkness, but if the shadow already knew he was there, then it was aware he was on the move.
“Take another step, and I’ll blow your brains out.”
Surprise caught him unaware, and he restrained the puff of laughter that threatened. Bollocks, not his dead wife, but the calm, lethal voice was from someone far more dangerous to his peace of mind.
“Hi, Barbara. Why don’t you come out of the shadows and let me see your face?”
If she was true to form, she’d probably blow his brains out before they got started, simply because it was a game. It could be painful being wrenched from his own dreamscape.
The figure detached itself from the surrounding darkness and stepped forward into the silvery dusk.
Moonlight caught the sharp spikes of her hair, softening them to a pale luster that glowed around her face, emphasizing the cool blue of her eyes. Her gaze sharpened as he raised his hand to scratch the short stubble on his cheek. He rubbed his fingertips over his lips to cover his barely restrained smile. There were things he wanted to know, questions he needed to ask. “Are you going to kill me, like you killed the others?”
“What others are we talking about?” She took a step closer. The light turned to shadow across her eyes, sending them into dark pits. At the same time, it highlighted the bottom half of her face, darkening the vertical groove running from just under her nose to the generous Cupid’s bow curving her top lip.
He pulled a breath in and let it burn his lungs as he held on to it while he watched her lips part in response to the hard swallow she made. Interested to see if she would give a nervous lick of her lips, he leaned forward, concentrating every ounce of his attention on her lush mouth.
Cold steel jabbed him in the stomach through the thin material of his T-shirt. Strange how his mind worked. He normally slept naked, but he’d managed to persuade the Dreampsych Transcender to dress him as he’d slipped from under his covers.
She tilted her head to one side, and her shapely mouth tightened. “I asked you a question. Are you having trouble processing it?”
This time he couldn’t disguise the laughter. “Your mouth made me forget the question. You want to hit me with it again?”
Amusement rippled as she nudged his belly a second time, with less enthusiasm.
“Apart from you. What others do you mean?”
“The innocents.” He could say what he wanted, it was his scenario. “The young soldier. The mother and children you slaughtered because you’d lost your mind.”
She raised her gaze to meet his. There it was, the painful flicker of remorse, deep soul-shattering agony. His dream but her reality. He managed to slow down the reaction he’d seen in truth, tempted to rewind just to witness it again, but the thought of dredging her pain up even in his fantasy yanked at his conscience and tightened his chest.
The sharp stab of the gun in his flesh brought him back to the moment.
“I never lost my mind.” He didn’t doubt it. “It’s as clear and sharp today as it was that day.” She paused. The curve of her mouth dipped down. “I’ve never killed an innocent in my life.” For a brief moment, the soft wash of tears filled her eyes, and then she blinked them away and left him wondering if it was his own desire to see her regret, or whether his subconscious had magnified the truth of it to allow him to see it clearly. Had it been a lie? Because his instincts cried out for him to believe her. He wanted to believe her.
“So, tell me what happened.”
He raised his hand, trailed his fingers over the soft downiness of her cheek, and skimmed them over her parted lips while he waited for her to respond. The shake of her head was almost unnoticeable, but the plea in her eyes made him doubt. Even in his dream he knew.
“I can’t.”
“You can.” He leaned forward and pressed his lips against the side of her face where his fingers had just been. “Barbara, I promise you can trust me.” As he leaned in, she relaxed her arm and let her hand fall to her side. The gun dropped unheeded with a dull thud into the thickness of the carpet, but neither of them took any notice. “Trust me.”
“Yes.”
Her long eyelashes fluttered against the delicate skin under her eyes as she closed them. The dark bruising from stress and lack of sleep had cleared to give them a pale translucence he found he couldn’t resist. With a tenderness he barely understood, he feathered his fingertips there until she fluttered her eyes open again to meet his gaze.
Desire heated his
belly where her gun had just poked him. Of course he desired her. He may have denied it in reality, but here in the safe haven of his own subconscious there was no need to protect himself. He let the feeling run.
Caught by the release of his own emotions, he bowed his head and took her lips with his own in a tender assault. She would respond, she had no choice. It was his dream, his desire, his directive.
He allowed himself a smile against her lips as she responded, slow and gentle, unlike the ravaging kiss he would expect—one full of desperation, desire, and temper. He didn’t want her like that. He wanted her pliant and willing. It was his fantasy; he could have her however he wanted her.
He deepened the kiss and cupped the back of her neck with one hand. Her short, silky hair tickled at his fingers. He slipped his other hand around her naked body, smoothing the deep indent of her waist. He grinned to himself, why wouldn’t she be naked? It was his set-up, and he had all the data in his own memory banks. There’d been no hint of the lush curves disguised under all the camouflage. None in the photograph of her. The reality of her soft shapeliness and warm, smooth skin had taken his breath away when he’d hooked her up to the machine. Given his heart a little jolt and his scruples a sharp stab as he’d carried out his job as quickly and efficiently as he could. He’d been desperate to get away from her then, knowing it was totally unethical for him to notice her nakedness in anything more than a professional capacity.
Not so in his world where he could command his situation.
His own clothes obligingly melted from his body.
The touch of her cool flesh against his heated skin roused his senses to a frenzy. His breathing quickened as she slipped her mouth from his to chase tiny kisses down his neck and rain them over his naked chest, smoothing her delicate hands in small circular strokes across his waist, down to his hips. As she fell to her knees in front of him, he gripped her short hair in his fingers, guided her head toward him, and let out a desperate, yearning moan.
Moonlight cut a deep swathe across her face, lighting up her beautiful eyes as she stared at him. Her tongue gave a quick lick of her full lips and drove him crazy with the action he’d become familiar with.
He slipped his hand down his belly, took hold of his full, hard penis, and let out another deep, resonating groan as he guided himself toward her. Short of breath, he panted, anticipation driving him crazy. His entire body trembled as she leaned in, her full lips parted.
Pain sliced through his head as he was jerked upright. White light assaulted his vision as the helmet was yanked from his head, bringing tears to his eyes while his hair was almost wrenched from his scalp, and he was slapped back onto the Dreampsych Transcender in a vicious assault.
Arms full of the same blonde woman who’d been terrifically obliging one second before, it appeared the fully dressed harridan was intent on unmanning him as she slammed her knee into his balls, drawing a different kind of groan from him.
“Dominic, are you okay? Zak! Zak! I think he’s having a heart attack.”
Her linked hands descended and smashed hard against his sternum, and every bit of air rushed from his lungs, leaving him speechless. She reared back, ready to repeat the motion, when Zak poked his head in the way. “Hold on, Barbara.”
Tears clouded Dominic’s vision of Zak’s wry grin. He spluttered out a dry cough and hoped to hell Zak was about to save him from the angel of doom.
“I don’t think he’s having a heart attack.”
Her frantic gaze swiveled from one to the other. “But he was panting so hard and the noises coming from his throat sounded like…” Barbara jerked back, her neat little butt landed in his still hard groin, and Dominic couldn’t hold back the grunt of pain.
Barbara gaped at him. Her pretty mouth dropped open. Much to his shame, comprehension flooded her face in a smooth wash of pink. With short, sharp, hasty jerks, she scrambled off him to stand rigid beside the chair.
Zak crossed his arms over his chest, tucked his chin down, and the rolling bounce of his shoulders did nothing to disguise his laughter. “Perhaps you could let me know what program you set sometime.” He raised his head, met Dominic’s eyes, and gave a brief nod. “Sweet dreams, Professor…” Muffled laughter accompanied him as he turned on his heel and made his way out the door. As silent as he arrived, he slipped away, leaving the door wide open.
Dominic turned his attention back to Barbara, who stood frozen to the spot for a moment longer before she jerked her chin up as though she only just realized they were alone. “Well.” Her sharp grin revealed pearly white teeth as she bared them at him. “It looks like you decided to take my advice and try your own machine.” Her gaze roamed over him in a long, insulting sweep. “I guess you find it a lot more realistic than I do. I’ll leave you to it. As you were, Professor.”
She took off after Zak as though she thought Dominic might pursue her, but when she reached the far end of the hallway, her light, amused laughter drifted back to him.
He slumped his head back on the rest, every bit of energy drained from him as his limbs relaxed. She wouldn’t laugh if she’d known who he’d been dreaming about. She’d probably have broken his neck with one twist of her lethal thumb. Still, he smiled to himself as he closed his eyes. The Dreampsych Transcender was no longer required to put the vision of her loveliness into his mind.
∙•∙
The lazy revolution of the ceiling fan wafted cool air across her overheated skin; the soft kiss of it stirred her senses. Who would have known the stuffy professor was a bad boy in a cardigan? His handsome face had been flushed with desire, enough to give a sturdy jolt to her heart.
Restless, Barbara settled her head deeper into the soft pillow.
She brought the scene back in her mind’s eye to study it as she would have any scenario. Shame she’d been so quick to react. She blew a cooling breath and smiled as she envisioned him. Head thrown back, the mask was covering his features, but his smooth throat had been exposed. He’d stripped off his soft black cardigan, leaving only the white T-shirt to mold to his lean muscles as his body had bowed to arch his back off the bed, his rapid pants expanding his surprisingly wide chest. The deep guttural groan had come from his belly, and if she’d taken a moment longer, just a split second, she would have realized his hand had been down his pants, holding his very obviously erect and hard dick.
She chuckled at her own stupidity. To think she’d believed he was having a heart attack. Perhaps Dominic had proven his point. Maybe she’d been too quick to react to the situations he’d presented her with.
Still, it had been a great way to get her hands on him. If only she hadn’t called Zak, she may well have appreciated more their brief encounter. The professor was decidedly hot. Why hadn’t she realized straight away the hard bulge prodding at her backside while she sat astride him had not been an indication of heart attack?
She flipped over again and snuggled her hot cheek into the coolness of the pillow.
What the hell had he programmed into the Dreampsych Transcender to elicit that sort of reaction?
Chapter Seven
Should she apologize or pretend complete ignorance of the events of the day before?
Dominic hadn’t turned up for the evening meal, and Zak had entertained her with an awkward silence as he served up chicken and chorizo on a bed of rice. Hot enough to numb her nerve endings, Barbara had shoveled the food in before she made a quick exit to her room.
The strong aroma of bacon beckoned her forward, and she slipped into the kitchen, praying Zak hadn’t smothered the offering in garlic and chili.
“Morning.” After her first good night’s sleep for an age, her voice came out as a rusty croak. Or it could have been the sight of the handsome professor, white shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, that had constricted her throat.
“Hi.” He turned from the stove and slipped a pile of bacon onto two wedges of white bread and then pressed thick, buttered slices on top of that. “Ketchup?”
�
��You’re kidding me. Where’s Zak, and did he leave instructions on how to make this bacon fiery enough to paralyze my vocal chords?” She slipped onto one of the chairs and grinned up at Dominic as he slid a plate over to her, followed by a squeezy bottle of ketchup. “I reckon that’s why he doesn’t speak very much. He’s incapacitated himself.”
She raised the lid of the sandwich and breathed in the aroma of grease and bacon, squeezed a generous amount of ketchup inside, and then pushed the top down again. As Dominic slid a large mug of coffee toward her, she lifted the sandwich and took a huge bite.
“Oh God.” She closed her eyes and chewed. Heavenly. It was just heavenly.
“Zak already had his breakfast.”
She opened her eyes again in time to watch Dominic take his seat, but her mouth was too full of squishy, fresh bread for her to answer.
“He’s got a lot of work to do checking on security. He needs to make sure we’re ready when the facility goes live in a few weeks.”
She quirked an eyebrow at the professor as he took a bite of his own food. Funny how little he spoke about the place, but his pride in it was obvious.
She sipped at her coffee and kicked back in her chair, relieved there was no spice in the bacon. “Thank God. My taste buds need a rest.”
“I did say you were welcome to cook.”
“You did, but I’m cool. Thanks.” She gave him a quick wink.
Dominic’s dark chuckle elicited a smile from her. Back on even ground, Barbara relaxed.
“It’s a good job I’ve mastered basic cookery. I’ll be able to keep us in nutritious food if anything happens to Zak.”
“Can we arrange for that to happen?”
This time, Dominic laughed louder, but instead of her joining in, the slither of a dark shape in the corner had her every nerve jump to attention.
“Jesus Christ.”
“It’s okay.” Dominic reached out and placed his hand over her forearm. “It’s Brynn. It’s only my dog Brynn.”