Where Dreams Books 1-3

by M. L. Buchman

  The painter slipped from his fingers and he almost lost the whole mess into the sea.

  # # #

  Cassidy had a terrible time hiding her smile as she lay back in the stern of the tiny rowboat. Russell pulled stoutly on the oars, making the dinghy nearly launch with each stroke. His eagerness to return to the sailboat was showing. She did her best to look Victorian and swooning as the pirate dragged her to his lair.

  He showed the effects of their afternoon. His shirt had grass stains, a couple of leaves and a bit of branch perched in his hair—right where she’d tucked them in while he kissed her. And now she knew how wonderfully soft his hair truly was.

  They had run about like a couple of teenagers. Grabbing a kiss at the very westernmost tip of the island. Slapping her hand against those cut-off jeans of his and discovering a few things about that butt of his. One, his body was just a firm as it looked. Two, it was good that she was fleet of foot, because he was a very fast runner when motivated.

  The dinghy thudded into the side of his boat so hard she almost flew forward into his arms. In seconds the boat was tied off and the oars had been tossed aboard.

  He climbed up first and offered her a hand. She stepped straight into his arms and probably bruised her lips they came together so hard. They both leaned into it: tasting, touching, groaning. He dragged her blouse open to attack her throat, her neck, the top of her breasts. Everywhere he went was a new adventure.

  He definitely wasn’t a useless man who didn’t know what he wanted. He clearly wasn’t thinking about the latest stock deal or sporting event. Russell was completely here with her, wholly present in her arms, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to let go.

  He moved down to his knees to nuzzle her exposed belly.

  Clawing at his shirt, she dragged it over his head. Ran her hands down that broad, strong back. He smelled of sea salt and man. There was no other word for it.

  She pulled at his arms until he rose back to his feet so they could once again feast on each other’s mouths. He suddenly bent down and put his shoulder into her waist, lifted her from her feet as if she weighed little more than his cat. She pounded his back, hard enough to make him grunt, not hard enough to make him put her down.

  Her ears were buzzing loudly as he turned for the cabin.

  No, it wasn’t her ears. It was a speedboat filled with teenagers, roaring by less than a dozen feet away. A moment later their wake caught the sailboat.

  The deck tilted.

  She grabbed for what she could and latched onto the back of his belt and the waistband of his shorts.

  He staggered one way. Staggered back.

  And then she was flying free—soaring through the air in a moment of weightlessness.

  They she hit the ocean with a splash.

  The water was freezing. She kicked for the surface and gasped for air. The water was so cold it was hard to think.

  More water sprayed in her face.

  “Goddamn it, Morgan!”

  He’d surfaced next to her. “This water is bloody cold.”

  “No shit!” She palmed a big spray of seawater into his face. While he spluttered, she looked up at the moored sailboat. Even in the few moments they’d been in the water, the current had drifted them away from it. They both swam, but didn’t make any headway at first. She dug in deeper, kicked harder; it was slow work against the ocean current. She was getting colder and weaker with each passing moment.

  They finally reached the boat where she grabbed onto the stern of the dinghy but couldn’t pull herself up. The deck of the boat was far out of reach; what had been an easy step up from the dinghy was now a vast wall of wood. She lunged, but couldn’t get close to the edge of the deck. And the cold was making her joints ache.

  Russell dove.

  “Don’t you leave me!” she shouted down at the water.

  Then he shot out of the water, half his body shooting into the air. A thousand drops of water sparkled all over him like a merman emerging from the deep. One hand caught the edge of the deck. Biceps flexed, shoulders rippled, and in moments he was aboard.

  A hand reached down from above. She grabbed it.

  He heaved, practically pulled her arm out of its socket.

  Moments later she was sitting in the cockpit, the remains of her blouse wrapped around her as the shivers began to set in. There remained no sign of the kids in the speedboat, not even a wake.

  “Come on. We have to get out of these clothes.”

  She shuddered. “That was the original idea. Now I’m n-n-not so motivated. How can water be so cold?” Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

  He pulled her to her feet and guided her below. The ladder was a major challenge.

  “Puget Sound has a huge tide,” Russell finally grabbed her by the waist and simply plucked her off the ladder and set her down inside the cabin. “Fresh seawater from Alaska pumps in here every day. Good thing it’s summer; it means that you have a life expectancy of about twelve minutes in this water. In the winter, it’s more like four before hypothermia sets in.”

  “Great!” The cool shade inside the boat only chilled her more deeply.

  “Can we sue them or something?”

  “They’re long gone. The little shits.”

  He peeled off her blouse, halter top, and bra. She’d never felt so unromantic before in her life. Going to the doctor was more exciting than this. She tried to undo her shorts, but couldn’t control her fingers. He undid them and shucked them off her legs.

  “You are one big goosebump.”

  “That’s because I’m freezing to death, you big hunk of meat. I don’t have all the insulation you do.”

  He grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around her. He held her close and scrubbed his hands up and down her back to warm her up. His chest was cold and wet, but she leaned into it. She didn’t want to admit to being scared, but watching the boat drift away in that moment before they’d started swimming had been terrifying. Her life had suddenly gone out of control as she was ripped from everything safe.

  He smelled so good. She hid her face against his chest and luxuriated in the warmth of his scrubbing hands. Her very joints hurt with the cold. Moments ago she’d wanted to throw herself against his body, now she wanted to cower there.

  Another shiver shook her so hard she couldn’t even hold onto the blanket which slipped off her shoulders.

  “You really took a chill. Come on,” he dragged her forward.

  She managed to step around the missing floorboard despite the silly putty that had replaced her knees. Moments later he had her tucked into the bed. She pulled the covers over her head and gave in to the shakes.

  Moments later he slid in beside her and wrapped his arms around her.

  It was the safest place she’d ever been.

  If only it wasn’t so damn cold.

  # # #

  Cassidy didn’t remember when the shivers stopped. She didn’t remember falling asleep. She didn’t remember it getting dark.

  There was a loud purring in her ear.

  She rolled toward it and was rewarded with a faceful of fur. Nutcase’s purr rose to an active buzz.

  Then she became aware of two things simultaneously.

  First, she wasn’t the only human in this bed.

  Second, she had no clothes on.

  She lifted the cover and started to slip out of the bunk. A strong arm came from behind, looped around her waist, and pulled her back. In moments she was spooned back against Russell’s chest, his arm a powerful rope around her waist.

  Third, she discovered, he wore no clothes either. Despite that, she didn’t feel trapped.

  “Feeling better?” His voice was thick with sleep.

  She nodded. Was this what she really wanted? If she didn’t, she’d better move soon. Her body chose for her as she shifted closer ag
ainst the heat of him. She’d never take being warm for granted again.

  His arm slid farther around until it encircled her waist and tucked under her rib cage. Then she felt the growing pressure against her behind. Russell loosened his grip and shifted away.

  He really was a gentleman. Well, mostly.

  “You had to take off all of your clothes, too?” She wrapped her arm over his and pulled it back around her waist to let him know she was teasing.

  “They were wet. It seemed like a good idea at the time.” The last was said so close to her ear that his breath tickled.

  Again he offered to back off. She wondered what it cost him to lean back so a tiny gap of warm air filled the space where his chest had been.

  She rolled in his embrace and pushed on his shoulder until he lay on his back and she straddled him.

  “Watch the overhead.”

  Raising her head slowly, she just brushed the underside of the decking. The boat was rocking gently with the rhythm of the sea. It felt so natural that her body followed it as easily as a leaf finding the breeze.

  Russell’s hands, those big rough hands she’d admired so often, wrapped ever so gently around her waist practically encircling her.

  They slid upward, traced the line of her ribcage. Rather than latching onto the breasts in a typical he-man crush, his callused thumbs traced the sides with the softest of touches. He supported her as she leaned down for a kiss.

  His mouth, so eager and forceful before, was a soft welcome. He ran one hand into her hair and the other over her behind.

  She rubbed up the length of him and he groaned into her mouth. Lip to lip, chest to chest, every curve of him felt wonderful.

  And his shoulders were amazing. She slid her arms beneath them and grasped them from behind. Shoulders big enough to carry the world.

  Traveling in the upper tiers of the wine and restaurant circles she’d met her share of rich heirs. But Russell played none of their games—showed none of the ego about the wealth he had. His touch didn’t assume or demand, rather it coaxed and asked—a question that her own body was more than happy to reply to in the affirmative. He had a body that had been custom made for her. She worked her way down, planting kisses on his throat and chest.

  His hands played with her hair.

  His groan returned with a gasp as she slid him between her breasts. He arched against her. With near frantic need, he grabbed at her shoulders and dragged her upward.

  When they were once again even, she whispered in his ear, “Do you have…?” Christ she was being forward, wasn’t she.

  He reached somewhere to the side in the dark of the boat. There was a slight crinkle. It repeated with a little more energy. Then a frantic rattling of foil.

  “Shit. My fingers, they aren’t…”

  She silenced him with a kiss and slid her hand along his arm until she found the condom. She sat back up as she unwrapped it. He was nervous. It was so charming that she’d have made the decision now, if she hadn’t already.

  He moaned again as she unrolled it slowly over him. The delicious contrast of soft and hard made her fingertips want to explore. He was writhing by the time she braced her hands on his chest and lowered herself over him.

  When he was finally inside her, they sighed in unison. And they both laughed as Nutcase abandoned the bed in disgust with a loud thump of paws on the floor.

  All of the heady need built over months had mellowed and sweetened with a little aging. He traced his hands down from her face, over her breasts, finally cupping her buttocks hard. He thrust up as she thrust down.

  It was too much. Some part of her, some part she didn’t know, let forth a throaty growl like a wild woman taking down her kill. Her senses closed in to the rocking of the boat and the perfect rhythm as he filled her deeper and deeper. It was a heady swirl of heat and sea salt. Of wave after wave after wave pounding up through her and making her release over and over and over.

  When her body had hit its limit, when she could climb no farther, Russell launched himself upward, thrusting so far inside her they could have been the same body. She could feel each pulse of his release, each separate moment, triggering her own body into one last mind-numbing, soul-crashing wave.

  When he finished, she slid down against his chest. His hands, soft as kitten fur, brushed against her face and over her hair. He stroked over the bridge of her nose and traced the arc of her eyebrows.

  “Oh. My.” His voice husked out about an octave lower than usual.

  She couldn’t agree more.

  # # #

  It was late morning when Russell dragged on shorts and wandered down the companionway. Spotting Cassidy on the port bench of the cockpit made his world shift. It wasn’t anything she did. She was simply sitting there, her back to him as she faced the stern. One of his dress shirts riding loose on her shoulders, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows.

  He hung back in the shadows and watched her. Her head was tilted down as she read something in her lap and her hair hung like a shawl over her shoulders. She wasn’t a stranger out of place. She’d taken to the boat as naturally as if she’d always been there—had always been in his life. Nutcase was curled up by her toes, asleep in the sun. In a single day, Cassidy had already become a fixture in the cat’s life.

  For the first time, ever, Russell could imagine his sea voyage with two. He could see spending time with this incredible woman, a lot of time. You can’t fall in love with someone overnight. He could almost feel Angelo smacking him on the back of the head. But it wasn’t overnight. He’d never known so much about a woman before bedding her.

  Even that was wrong. He hadn’t bedded her. They’d made love. Repeatedly. Wonderfully. Deliciously. Until exhaustion had finally dragged them back under.

  He stepped onto the companionway ladder, which groaned as always.

  Cassidy spun to stare at him.

  For a single instant he saw the red-rimmed eyes. The tear-stained cheeks, then she turned away.

  He froze on the step. Shit! So that’s how the morning-after was going to be. What had he screwed up this time? Angelo could probably tell him, but he was nearly a hundred miles and a two-day sail away.

  Russell turned back into the cabin and strode back toward the stateroom. He was there in five steps. No space on a goddamn boat. What was he thinking? Two people couldn’t live on something this small, not even for one night. It wasn’t humanly possible. He needed to punch something.

  Punch it really hard.

  And what was he supposed to do with her now? They were hours from the nearest port. More than half a day from her car, even with the motor.

  Shit!

  Why had he gotten his hopes up? Stupid-ass dream about finding the right woman. Instead, he’d found something new to screw up. And there was no guide on what it was this time, or what it would be next time. He pounded the side of his fist against the butt of the mast where it came through the deck. Hitting it felt good. He raised his fist to hit it again.

  A cool hand touched the middle of his back and he froze.

  He turned slowly, his fist still above his head.

  Cassidy didn’t look up at it.

  Didn’t even look at him.

  She leaned against his t-shirt and he heard a gasp for breath.

  He lowered his arms slowly. She began to shake. Her arms tucked between them just as when she’d been so cold yesterday. With her head tucked under his chin, he could feel her body shudder.

  A tentative hand on her back released some unknown dam. In moments she was sobbing against him, long, racking, gasping sobs.

  He pulled her closer.

  Now he had even less of a clue what to do than before.

  “I’m sorry, Cassidy.” It would help if he knew what he was apologizing for. “You tell me what to do and I’ll make it better.”

  She rocke
d her head back and forth keeping her face planted against his sternum and cried harder. That was a clear no.

  “I’ll go away, if that’s what you need.” God, how could he say that? Even as he held her he felt more powerful than ever before in his life, as if he could somehow protect her from the world. Unfortunately, what he needed to protect her from was himself.

  He took a deep breath. If that’s what she needed…

  “You won’t even need to see me again.” Christ! The words ripped his throat as he offered them up.

  One of her hands slid from between them and slid around his neck. She again shook her head and held on tighter.

  At a complete loss, he decided to just keep his mouth shut. Powerful was replaced by helpless between one breath and the next and it felt lousy.

  If he felt this way about her already…

  Just shut up, Russell. Your brain is made of undercooked tapioca. One of Angelo’s favorite insults. Small, hard nuggets in a slimy matrix of useless goo.

  He managed to settle back on the bed with her sitting in his lap. He kissed the top of her head and stroked her hair.

  “It’ll be okay. Somehow it’ll be okay.”

  In response she pulled her other hand free and shoved a crumpled piece of paper into his hand. He unfolded it as well as he could with one hand. It was a short letter, covered in a spidery scrawl that might have belonged to a child. Actually, it reminded him of one of the funniest letters he’d ever gotten. Angelo had written to him once as he was going under the drugs to have his impacted wisdom teeth removed. The letter had started clear, concise, a little complaining, mixed with some gossip about a pretty nurse. As the handwriting decayed, so had the train of conscious thought. The end of the letter had been an illegible blur—Angelo’s pen had actually dragged all the way across the page in a fading line that they’d never been able to translate.

  Cassidy’s letter was mostly readable. Someone who called her “Ice Sweet.” Not a name he’d use, fire and ice maybe, with a lot more fire than he’d ever met before. Cassidy was a deep banked, hot fire; the kind that would burn forever. He glanced at the bottom. Vic somebody.

  Dearest Ice Sweet,