In Dreams

by Patricia Rosemoor

  Instead, he wandered around the room and inspected her collection of Mardi Gras masks, assuming they were all collectables. But when he got close enough to one of the masks, he found a tiny L.R. executed into the edge of the design and realized Lucy herself had created it. He kept going and found her initials on other masks.

  Add talent to her other attractions and Justin was sorry they’d met under such terrible circumstances.

  He was pondering life’s little cruelties when he heard Lucy coming down the stairs. She wore low-rise white jeans that molded her lower body like a second skin. Her red halter top was equally snug and revealing. He could see the lower part of a fresh bandage on her wound. Too bad she was carrying a shirt that he was certain she would soon put on to hide the sexiness of the outfit. To his relief, she was also carrying an overnight bag.

  “You clean up nice, chère,” he said.

  “Hair’s still damp,” she said, dropping the bag to put on the shirt. “But if it’s still raining, I figured I would be drying it for nothing.”

  Before they could get on their way, the door opened and a sleek blonde walked in. Her pale beige silk pant-suit, damp from the rain, clung to her womanly curves. Her long hair was scraped back from an angular face and fastened in a twist. No doubt this was Dana.

  “Hey.” The skin around her blue eyes crinkling with what looked like worry, Dana looked from him to Lucy. “You’re home. For the moment anyway.”

  Clearly Dana had caught sight of the overnight bag.

  “Yeah, I was, uh, going to Justin’s place,” Lucy said in a rush as she picked up her bag. “Um, this is Justin Guidry. Dana Ebersole.”

  “Nice to meet you, Dana.”

  Dana’s eyebrows arched and her full lips curved into a broad smile. “You, too.”

  “We were just about to leave, but—”

  “No buts. You go, girl.”

  Obviously uncomfortable, Lucy ducked her head and said, “I’m not sure when I’ll be home. Can you take care of the shop again tomorrow?”

  “Sure.”

  “I’ll make it up to you, I promise. And one more thing.”

  “What?”

  “Go stay with your sister for a couple of days. I mean starting tonight.”

  Dana gaped, then said, “Okay, now you have me worried. What’s going on?”

  Justin said, “Just a precaution—” when Lucy kicked him and interrupted.

  “Trust me when I tell you it’s better if you don’t know anything. Just get out of here for a few days. I’ll call you when it’s okay to come back.”

  “What are you into, Justin?” Dana asked, her expression suddenly darkening with suspicion. “What have you gotten Lucy into?”

  Before he could answer, Lucy said, “Not Justin, me. I’ve gotten him into something.”

  “You?”

  “Yeah, um, something I saw.”

  “What? You mean you’re doing a disappearing act—and want me to do the same—because of one of your visions?”

  “Visions?” Justin echoed, suddenly alarmed.

  Lucy ignored him. “Dana, please. Just trust me on this.”

  “All right. I’ll bunk with Laura. She’ll be thrilled when I show up on her doorstep at this hour, but I’ll do it if it’ll make you feel better.”

  “It will.”

  “And if you promise to give me a detailed explanation later.”

  “I will!”

  “All right then.”

  Justin listened to the exchange with his jaw clenched.

  A vision? What the hell was that supposed to mean? He wasn’t liking this new turn of events.

  But he waited until they were back on the street and headed for his car to ask. “Okay, chère, what’s this about a vision?”

  “It wasn’t exactly a vision.”

  “Then what actually was it?”

  “A dream.”

  Lucy walked ahead of him, as if that were the end of it, but Justin wasn’t letting her off that easy. None of this was computing. Two strides and he caught up to her.

  “What kind of dream?” When she didn’t answer, he said, “I think an explanation is in order.”

  “All right. I have psychic dreams.”

  He grasped her upper arm and stopped her right there, demanding, “What about the murder?”

  “I saw it in a dream.”

  His curse made her wince.

  “I don’t believe this,” he growled. “Then why were those two after you?”

  “Because I tried to stop the murder from happening. I was too late. The woman was already on the ground….” Lucy’s face was distraught. “But I guess they thought I saw it all. The man who stabbed her sent them after me.”

  “You mean the one who stabbed her in your dream.”

  “He was standing over her and holding the knife in person, too. I think that qualifies.”

  “But you were planning on going to the police based on what you saw while you were dreaming.”

  “If you’re the one who had the dream, what would you do?”

  Justin thought about it for a moment. Psychic dreams? He wasn’t sure he believed in them. But who was he to say it was impossible? Lucy obviously believed in them. Whatever brought her to that spot near Canal Street got her a bullet wound and two thugs looking to finish her off for her trouble.

  “I would have to get to the bottom of it,” he admitted. Not wanting to discuss it further on the street, he said, “Let’s get going.”

  The car was just ahead. He popped the trunk and tossed her bag in. A moment later, they pulled away from the curb.

  Lucy Ryan was in real danger, Justin knew, and keeping her safe was all that mattered.

  JUSTIN LIVED and worked on the other side of Canal in the Warehouse District, far enough from her place to make Lucy relax a little. They would never look for her here.

  Justin called a loft in a converted warehouse home. The walls of the main room that weren’t brick were painted a burnt orange. His sofa and chairs in brown leather looked old but big and comfortable, and surrounded a well worn Oriental rug. The tables were heavy—real wood—as were the cabinets in the open kitchen area. The whole place had a comfortable, lived-in feel, one Lucy appreciated.

  She wandered over to the window and looked out on the city she loved. Part of her wanted to flee and never come back. But she knew that wouldn’t solve anything. Her dreams would simply follow no matter where she went.

  “You look like you’re going to have trouble sleeping,” Justin said. “A drink might relax you. What’s your pleasure?”

  She almost said you, but caught herself before letting the incriminating word loose. The last thing she wanted was to look like a fool.

  “Tea, if you have some,” she said, instead.

  “I’ll put on the kettle. You pick the tea.”

  Justin set a box on the counter, and Lucy went to investigate. It was old and made of heavy wood like the furniture. The inside was lined with velvet and filled with a half-dozen types of tea. She chose a raspberry herbal tea that she thought would help relax her.

  Then she watched Justin move around his kitchen area. He looked as comfortable here as he did on the houseboat. And as sexy. He’d kicked off his shoes and was in stockinged feet, his shirttails were hanging free of soft old jeans that molded to his bottom and thighs, and he’d undone several buttons of his shirt, revealing enough skin to make a girl fantasize even if she hadn’t already been having dreams about him.

  Then he turned and caught her staring, and for a moment the breath caught in her throat.

  Could he possibly know what she was thinking?

  But when he spoke, it was simply to say, “Here’s your hot water.”

  Blinking, she stared at the mug he was offering her. With a start, she took it and immersed her tea bag. “You’re not joining me?”

  “Tonight I need something stronger than tea.”

  He crossed to a cart in the main room stocked with bottles and glasses. He poured hi
mself a whiskey and threw back the shot in one swallow, then refilled the glass before capping the bottle and returning into the kitchen area.

  Great. Now she was driving men to drink.

  She took a tentative sip of her tea and felt it soothe its way down to her stomach.

  Then his “So tell me about the dreams” made her stomach clench.

  That’s why he’d needed the whiskey, she was sure—because he was thrown by the mere mention of the damn dreams.

  “I’ve had them since I was a child,” Lucy told him. “But from the first, my parents discouraged me from sharing them or even believing in them. They told me to forget about them…as if I could.”

  “You tried?”

  “Are you kidding? Every kid wants to be normal. Even my little sister Jennifer bugged me to repress them because people would think I was a freak. Only Gran understands what it’s like to be different. She’s got a heck of a lot more psychic ability than I do.”

  “So you’re the only one who inherited this…gift?”

  “You mean curse? The only one who will admit it, anyway, though I’ve often suspected Jennifer knows what’s going to happen before something actually does.”

  Now he was going to laugh at her…make fun of her…think she was a freak.

  But he didn’t as he leaned against the counter opposite her. They were a full three feet apart, yet she felt his presence as powerfully as if he were touching her. His expression serious, he studied her closely for a moment before downing the second shot of whiskey.

  Yep, just thinking about her having psychic dreams was driving him to drink….

  “Have you ever tried to do something with this ability of yours?” Justin asked.

  “Like what?”

  “A lot of psychics help the authorities to find lost children…solve murders.”

  “I don’t have that kind of ability to control what I see. The dreams just come. I never know when or what I’ll see.”

  “I’m assuming this is your first murder?”

  “Thankfully. And I hope my last.”

  “What else do you dream about?”

  “Usually things that bring about an emotional response.”

  “Like?”

  Like making love with him. Lucy flushed. Wouldn’t he be astounded if she told him she’d dreamed of him before meeting him? Even more astounded if she described the dream. Of course she couldn’t ever tell him that.

  “One time, I dreamed my dad was going to have a car accident and I convinced him to take a different route home.”

  “So he avoided the accident.”

  Lucy shook her head. “He wasn’t hurt badly, but he just couldn’t avoid his fate.”

  A fact that terrified her. She couldn’t let Justin get hurt, or worse, one of the reasons she’d agreed to work with him. Maybe if they could identify the murderer…a long shot, but what choice did she have?

  “You look like you’re ready to go to bed,” Justin said.

  “I am exhausted.”

  “The bed is upstairs.”

  “You’re not giving me your bed again.”

  “Sure I am. Don’t worry about me. I’ve slept on that couch many a night. And I’m not about to fall asleep anytime soon.”

  Remembering she’d used the same ploy earlier, Lucy asked, “You’re not going to try to escape, are you?”

  “Where would I go?”

  “Anyplace to get away from me.”

  “Would I do that, chère?”

  “Other people have.”

  “Other men?”

  “Other men,” she agreed.

  “I’m not just any man.”

  He certainly wasn’t. She’d known that from the first dream. And no other man had taken her curse in quite the same stride. A couple of whiskeys was nothing compared to the way the other men she’d told had reacted—as in running as fast and far from her as they could.

  “All right, no argument,” she agreed. “I’ll take the bed tonight.”

  “Good.”

  But as she stooped to pick up her bag, their hands met on the handle. Lucy froze, but her insides were dancing. No, no, nothing to get excited about. Ignoring the charge to felt, she straightened, letting Justin take the bag for her.

  Only when he turned his back to head for the stairs did she gasp for breath.

  “Something wrong?” he asked.

  “Nope,” she gritted out. “Coming.”

  She followed Justin to the metal spiral staircase, keeping a couple of yards distance between them. Not liking the subtle sway of the freestanding stairs, she took them gingerly, refused to look down and was relieved when she got to the top.

  “Bathroom is around the corner,” he told her. “Make yourself at home.”

  Like she could relax with Justin nearby.

  Only when he descended the staircase, did she start to breathe normally. Would it always be like this? she wondered. Her jumpy as long he was around?

  She opened her bag and removed her pajamas—red silk crop pants and a crop top, both with lace trim—the most conservative thing she had for sleep. Assuming she would get any.

  A glance at the metal-framed bed made her knees go weak.

  The bed in the dream…her facing the footboard, Justin behind her doing wonderfully erotic things….

  Turning off the bedside lamp so she couldn’t see the bed, Lucy undressed in the dark, her imagination engaged. She could almost feel Justin in here, kissing her, making love to her.

  Her nipples tightened and warmth spread from her center. She tried fighting the inviting sensations, but when she looked over the railing, she saw Justin stripping off his shirt. She moved closer—just close enough to see him through the iron rails without his being able to see her—and watched.

  He’d already thrown a pillow and sheet on the couch. Despite his protests to the contrary, he was getting ready to go to sleep. His jeans came next. Other than a pair of skimpy briefs, he was the next best thing to naked.

  Warmth pooled between her thighs and she slipped a hand down the front of her silky bottoms until she touched the damp material there. A thrill shot through her, from her fingers to her center.

  Below her, Justin shut off the light but the windows weren’t covered and the moon cast a blue glow into the room, so she could still see him from her protected spot in the dark. He threw himself onto the couch, one hand over his head, the other moving down his stomach to disappear inside his briefs.

  Her eyes widened as his hand moved and his body responded.

  Good Lord, he was masturbating!

  She couldn’t help her own hand from following suit. Fingers slipping along her skin under the silk, they pushed easily through the thick wetness at her entrance. One touch to her clit and she bit back a cry of pleasure. She stroked deeper inside and pressure immediately began to build.

  Below, Justin was silently stroking himself. Pieces of her dreams floated in her own head—she imagined her and Justin together, pleasuring each other.

  Her flesh swelled and she moved her fingers faster, over her clit and through her folds…back and forth…holding her breath so she wouldn’t cry out…wanting more than anything to have Justin inside her just like in her dream.

  Below, he was tensing on the couch, and she knew he was about to come.

  In her mind, she felt him again, entering her from behind.

  Below, she saw him dig his heels into the couch and arch, his body tensing.

  Another stroke of her clit and she was there with him…coming…coming…spent….

  She must have made a sound, because Justin rose to an elbow, his face angled upward.

  Her heart was pounding so loudly that surely he must hear its frenzied beat.

  Surely Justin saw nothing. He turned on his side, punching the pillow as if in frustration before finally settling down.

  Still, she didn’t dare move until she was certain he was asleep.

  The soft snore gave him away once more.

  As
carefully as she had when she’d made her escape earlier, Lucy backed up toward the bed, sliding one foot behind the other. The mattress hit her legs and she sat, finally giving in to the dizzying sensations.

  What had come over her? She’d never done anything like that before. She’d be horrified if Justin knew. She’d invaded a private moment.

  So why didn’t she feel bad?

  Actually, she felt good. Wonderful, even. The sexual tension that had been mounting since she’d met him finally was released.

  Now maybe she could get on with things. Put her mind where it belonged—on the murderer and how to find him.

  With that satisfying thought, she stretched out on the bed, and listening to the rain pelting the windows, drifted off into a deep sleep.

  7

  AS THOUGH THE RAIN washed away her natural inhibitions, she lifted her skirt in invitation. He watched with a heated gaze as the material climbed and clung wetly to her curves and tangled around her legs.

  Despite the weather forecast—tropical storm watch—she’d run into the rain and the garden and he’d followed.

  It was a game. Truth or dare.

  She hadn’t wanted to tell the truth, so she’d taken him up on his dare.

  She wasn’t wearing panty hose…or panties, either…just the skirt and a camisole-type blouse that might as well not be there for all it protected her when wet. Glancing down at herself, through the fine material, she could see the dark aureoles of her nipples almost as if she were wearing nothing at all. Her nipples peaked and pushed at the transparency while her fingers tugged and pulled at her skirts until she was exposed to him.

  With a groan, he unzipped and revealed himself…long and hard…veins prominent…an impatient purplish red.

  He was as ready as he was going to be, so she leaned back against a tree, unfolded her legs and, as she inhaled the scent of magnolia, he moved over her and pushed himself inside.

  With her spread wantonly for him, his cock slid easily to the hilt. When he had her pinned, she curled her legs around his thighs, holding him fast.