Boy, had it been hot!
Dream Lover might have been chilly-skinned, but everything else about him was nothing short of incendiary. Just thinking about it all warmed her up inside her fleece and jeans, despite the spiteful bite of the nippy wind.
Dream Lover rose up before her in her imagination.
The tall dark powerful man out of nowhere was a classic romantic archetype, but where the hell had the image of odd eyes and gold-frosted hair come from? She had no explanation for those.
Not to mention the funky smell of lavender.
She seemed to smell it now, that rich sweet scent. And her body was growing warmer and warmer and warmer, surging and rousing with a rush of reborn lust.
The mysterious stranger advanced through her mind towards her and she felt so weak at the knees that she was forced to stagger to a scrappy outcrop of sand grass that had created a small dune at the edge of the beach.
Cowering on the little hump, she hugged her arms around her, shaken by the intensity of returned lust.
This is mad! Just mad! I’m going crazy!
For the second time in a morning, it was impossible to focus on reality. She was right back in her sweet, dangerous, nocturnal fantasy even while she scanned the bright clear sky above the bay.
A solitary bird was wheeling in the brisk salty air. It was dark, and appeared tiny so far aloft, but, as she watched it, there suddenly seemed a new purpose to its circling. It swooped, and seemed to be flying right at her, inducing a wild rush of Hitchcock-related panic.
Don’t be crazy! How can it have seen you? And, if it has, why would it fly at you?
Yet still the bird, a gull of some kind, was closing, diving on dark wings, but revealing a strange mottling to its plumage as it neared. There were lighter speckles among the feathers around its head and its eyes, possibly white, possibly yellow … possibly gold.
Lois wanted to spring to her feet, and run back to her cabin, pack up her gear and just get the hell out of Dodge … but all she could do was sit and watch, locked in place as the bird began to circle again, slowly, maintaining its distance in the air over the water.
The leisurely repeated sweeps were hypnotic. Her fear ebbed, and the strange warmth in her body grew almost tropical.
And so, to her astonishment, did the low, deep, sweet welling of desire. Night and day coexisted somehow; she was in her dream, but also awake, in the sunshine.
Half her mind watched a bird. Half of it was back in the cabin, in the soft lamplight, watching Dream Lover approach, anticipating his touch.
‘Oh please,’ she whimpered, repeating her plea from last night.
She yearned for him, desire flickering deep in her groin for this vivid, but imaginary man. Her nipples tingled, her sex clenched on emptiness, the hunger to be filled so intense it brought tears to her eyes.
No real man had ever satisfied her like him.
Without thinking, she clasped her hand to her crotch, squeezing, trying to ease the ache. Pressing and massaging, she stared up at the strange dark gull, watching it execute a graceful diving spiral, almost in response to her action. Then she looked down again, observing her own pale hand against the stonewashed cloth of her jeans, and wishing it were another hand. One that was bigger and stronger and totally male.
Imagining him behind her, she moaned, longing for it to be his great body on which she leaned while she took her pleasure, longing for his arms to enfold her and gentle her through the spasms.
‘Oh! Oh, God!’ Crying out, she came in a sudden rush, out of the blue, dimly hearing the gull shriek too, as if applauding her or even sharing her crisis.
Still clutching herself, she wrapped her other arm around her torso, hugging and rocking.
She didn’t hear the heavy trudging footsteps until it was too late, and, when they did penetrate her haze, she looked straight up into the frowning face of her next-door neighbour.
‘Are you all right?’
Hot blood flooded her cheeks. Oh, God, it must be obvious what she’d been doing, and his dour frown seemed to confirm her worst suspicions. His grim set expression spoilt what was really a very personable countenance. Any normal man would have been smirking at her, turned on by what she’d been up to … but not him. He appeared unutterably depressed and disapproving.
‘Yes, I’m fine.’ Even though it was a lost cause, Lois snatched her hand from her crotch and stuffed it surreptitiously into her pocket. ‘Thanks. Just got a bit of a stitch. It’s going now. Thanks.’
‘Sure?’ His brow was still crumpled.
She had no idea whether he believed her but, if he didn’t, her little exhibition obviously left him cold. His eyes were bleak and bitter, as if he were already weary of talking to her.
‘Yes, thanks, I’m fine,’ she parroted, her face flaming.
‘I’ll be getting along then. Be seeing you,’ he concluded gruffly, and, as he turned and stomped away, Lois didn’t know whether to be angry or relieved.
He thinks I’m some kind of sex maniac. He thinks I’m disgusting!
‘Well, screw you!’ she muttered, hurling the suppressed insult at the broad retreating back that had already reached the path and was rapidly receding from view. ‘Any normal man would be all over me like a rash.’
Attracted by a flash of movement, she realised that the dark gull-like bird had landed only a couple of yards away from her and was regarding her solemnly, its peculiarly mottled head cocked on one side.
‘Yeah, yeah, yeah, birdie! I know the guy’s obviously got some serious problems and I should feel sorry for him …’ She paused, her throat tight all of a sudden, and her eyes hot with unexpected tears. ‘But I’m lonely. I’m used to being around people … but Sandy said I needed a break.’ Bright avian eyes blinked and Lois blinked too. There was something very odd about this creature, and yet she couldn’t stop herself rambling on to it. ‘I don’t know … when I saw him, I was sort of hopeful; it’s a while since I, um, was with anybody, and I suppose I was hoping I’d get a bit of holiday nookie.’
The bird hopped sideways and flapped its wings making Lois jump.
‘Oh fucking hell, I’m talking to birds now! I’ve had enough of this … I’m off to the shop to get some wine and I’m going to get drunk!’
She leapt to her feet and, as she did so, the bird took flight and seemed to hover for a moment, floating above her, before flapping vigorously and soaring away.
Lois shook her head. I’m going nuts here … just another day or so, to keep Sandy quiet, and then I’m back to town, no messing.
Wondering what kind of wine the small local shop stocked, and how much of it they had, she stomped off towards the path, her sandy footsteps blending with those of her neighbour.
3
‘Why is it so bloody cold in here?’
Lois hugged the quilt around her, and took another swig of her wine. It was supposed to be spring but this accursed place felt like the depths of midwinter despite the underfloor heating. The cabin was far from a wretched hovel, with its electricity and plumbing and whatnot, but at the moment she might as well have been residing in a primitive mud hut for all the benefit the mod cons seemed to be providing.
Not the only thing around here that’s primitive, she thought, scowling fiercely at her laptop, which sat on the small wooden table, dead as a doornail. The bloody thing had insisted on repeatedly crashing all day, which was doubly frustrating now she’d mysteriously gained a wireless broadband connection. She could probably fix it, but it would take some troubleshooting, and she didn’t feel like tackling it in this perpetual depressing cold.
Casting one last fulminating glance at the recalcitrant computer, she set aside her drink but not her quilt, padded over to the wood-burning stove and, using an old potholder to open the front door panel, she peeped inside.
Goddamnit to hell!
The bloody thing was burning down and there were no more logs chopped. The stove was the only thing that seemed to be keeping the room above Antarc
tic temperatures.
The logical thing would be to turn in, just throw all her clothes and all the available blankets over the top of herself and sleep. But she was restless. Feverish inside, despite the cold. She wanted to stay awake because she had the strangest idea that she needed to.
Nothing in the log basket. Not a splinter.
Was it worth nipping out the back and chopping some wood? Normally she would have copped out and waited until morning, but that funky sense of expectation – and the glasses of wine she’d drunk – made her grit her teeth and pull on her jeans and fleece over her jersey shorts and top. After stuffing her feet into her slippers, she shuffled outside.
The second thoughts kicked in when she reached the hard standing at the back of the cabin, where the chopping block stood. The high full moon made the night brilliant, almost unearthly, but was it really a good idea to start chopping wood at this hour, especially when you’d been drinking and you were probably the world’s worst survivalist to start with?
‘Just one or two, Lois.’ She opened the woodshed that contained the boiler, the wood … and the axe.
Third thoughts halted her once she had a log on the block, but dragging in a deep breath she lifted the axe and aimed as best she could.
And missed, sending the lethal tool sliding erratically sideways across the chopping surface.
Another blow resulted in a quarter-inch sliver of the edge of the log.
The third missed again.
‘Oh, bloody fucking hell!’
Her profanity assaulted the beautiful night, and echoed back at her from the surrounding woodlands that backed on to the rear of the cabin.
‘Can I be of any help?’ enquired a soft amused male voice that seemed to emanate unexpectedly from somewhere above her.
What the hell?
Flinging the axe across the hard standing, safely clear of her feet, Lois looked up towards the moonlight sky.
There was a man crouched on the roof of the woodshed.
Oh, God!
She staggered, not even knowing whether she’d spoken aloud or not, and as she tumbled backwards, then landed hard on her bottom, she observed the most astonishing phenomenon play out in slow motion.
The crouching man was big and clad all in black and, as he launched himself from the woodshed roof and jumped down, his long black coat billowed and flapped like the wings of a great dark bird. His descent seemed to take an age, although she knew it was only in her mind, and, when he touched down, he seemed to land as lightly as if he’d been fashioned from thistledown.
‘Are you all right, my dear?’ The stranger swooped down in a low crouch again, and reached out to touch her.
Lois scuttled away from him, terrified for any number of reasons.
Do I know you?
To her astonishment, and shivering excitement, she realised that she did.
The descending man was also Dream Lover!
The same broad intelligent face. The same dark clothing. Dear God, the same astonishing gold-tipped hair … Dazzled, she hardly dared look too closely at him, but she would have put good money on the fact that his eyes were odd too.
In the flesh, so to speak, and in reality, he was quite, quite beautiful. Big, in the sense of very tall, and built like the proverbial, but glorious with it.
His great head tilted on one side; he was obviously waiting for her answer, but the sheer impossibility of his presence had struck her dumb.
Her mouth opened, but nothing came out.
How the hell can you be here?
The words were silent, and she blinked at him, expecting him to disappear and for her to be back in the cottage, huddled beneath the covers and dragging herself out of sleep with her hand in her knickers.
But a second later, his gentle but firm hold on her arm was real. And so was the way he effortlessly helped her to her feet.
‘Are you all right?’ he repeated softly, and, now that she managed to look into his eyes, her suspicions were confirmed.
One was the colour of fire-lit brandy, the other a brilliant aquamarine blue.
‘Um … yes, I’m fine,’ she lied. ‘Thank you.’
He was gorgeous, and seemed benign, but still her terror made her lash out.
‘At least I would be if you hadn’t given me such a shock. What the hell were you doing up there? And who are you for that matter? Skulking around here at the dead of night on people’s roofs.’
His face split with a wide personable smile that exhibited a set of brilliant, immaculately even and possibly quite sharp teeth. In the moment before he spoke, notions of vampires and werewolves flitted disquietingly through Lois’s mind. She loved a horror fantasy as much as the next person, but, until now, that was all they were … just fantasies and stories.
Until now …
‘I’m sorry, that was rather bad of me, wasn’t it?’ He nodded in the general direction of the woodshed roof. ‘But there’s such a good view up there, and I was concerned for your safety. Who knows what might be lurking in the forest at this time of night?’
Did he just wink then?
‘Well, it’s very kind of you to be concerned, whoever you are, but I think I can manage to look after myself, thank you very much.’
‘Well, you weren’t doing too well at chopping your own wood, were you?’ He cocked his head towards her pathetic splinters and the axe lying at the edge of the woods where she’d flung it. ‘Would you like some help?’
With what? her stirring libido suddenly prompted. Dream Lover was even more of a dish standing in front of her, and she was reminded alarmingly of her confession to the bird that morning. She was lonely. And it was a long time since she’d had the pleasure of a man.
Dream Lover looked as if he was more than enough man for any woman, and if there were the slightest chance that he performed as well in reality as he had in her fantasy … Well, wouldn’t it be worth taking a chance?
Even so, putting a sharp and heavy axe into the hand of someone who might be a pervert or a stalker, and who peeped at women from roofs was tantamount to booking a slot on Crimewatch in advance, wasn’t it?
I should run into the cabin and lock the door. Now.
But, instead, she heard herself saying, ‘Well, yes, I suppose so. A few logs would be great, if it’s not too much trouble?’
Dream Lover beamed, which did weird things to her knee joints, and even weirder, hotter things between her legs. He really did have the most sumptuous white smile.
‘Not at all.’ Still smiling, he held out a large capable-looking hand. ‘And my name is Robin. What’s yours?’
‘Er, Lois … and I’m – I’m pleased to meet you.’
She put her small hand in his big one and only just managed to keep herself from trembling.
His skin was cool and smooth. Just like in the dream. And his lips were cool too. Deliciously cool and firm and supple as he drew her fingers up to them and pressed a light kiss upon her trembling skin.
‘And I’m very pleased to meet you, Lois,’ he said crisply, releasing her hand, giving her a little nod, before striding away to retrieve the axe. ‘Now how much chopped wood do you need?’
‘Oh, just enough for tonight, really. That’d be great.’
He nodded again as if she’d said something very wise and sensible, then, after setting the axe on the block, he shed his voluminous black coat.
And then his T-shirt …
Dear heaven, what a bod!
Lois watched entranced as Robin hefted the first log on to the block and began to splice and dice it like an expert woodsman. His torso was like wood too, honeyed gold wood, polished and gleaming in the brilliant moonlight, every bit as ripped as that of his dream counterpart and just as toffee-golden.
His muscles flexed and bunched as he worked, like visual poetry.
This is crazy … I just dreamt him up … Why is he actually here ?
But there was no denying that Robin was here. The rate at which he was racking up the firewood prove
d that. Within a few minutes there was a stack big enough to heat twenty cabins.
‘Thanks ever so much. That’s fabulous!’ That prime body was making her gush like a giddy teenager, and she could feel her face getting hot as he straightened up and smiled at her again, axe still in hand. ‘I … er … would you like to come in for a glass of wine or something?’
His strange eyes twinkled at her, almost as if he’d known she was going to say that. Unease fluttered through her, but faced with his beautiful smile – and his beautiful body – she squashed it, embracing the risks.
‘Why that would be splendid, Lois,’ he said roundly, setting down the axe and pushing his fingers through his crisp gold-tipped hair, ‘Thank you, I would be delighted to share a glass of wine with you.’
Oh, his eyes, his mouth, his whole body, even … They were all saying how much more than wine it was he hoped to share.
‘Cool.’ Muttering, Lois scooted for the cabin door, too dazzled to be able to look at him any more. She heard him scoop up his clothes and an armful of firewood and follow her, yet strangely it was the rustle of his leather coat against the wood that marked his progress, not his footsteps.
What is it with him? He barely seems to touch the ground and yet he’s such a great big hunk.
Swinging open the door, she wondered just what kind of madwoman she was being. But it was too late. Robin was right behind her and already inside.
For a log cabin, Sandy’s hideaway was spacious, and Lois had been favourably surprised on arrival, having expected a dismal shack. But now, however, it felt as if she were in a rustic doll’s house, complete with miniature furniture. The kitchen area, the cosy fireside with two comfy armchairs, and the large bed and chest of drawers at the other end of the long room were all dwarfed by the massive man who strode forwards and flung his dark coat and T-shirt across the back of a chair.
Still stripped to the waist, Robin jammed a couple of decent-sized logs into the stove, and then stacked the rest of them in the wood basket. With the age-old seriousness of ‘man who make fire’, he plied the poker expertly and coaxed the flames. Within seconds the freezing room became a tropical paradise. In fact, far more so than it had a logical right to be.
The Red Collection Page 27