Quicksilver Dreams (Dreamwalkers)

by Adele, Danube

  Quicksilver Dreams

  By Danube Adele

  My name is Taylor, and damn but my life changed overnight. One moment I was just a regular girl working two jobs to pay my bills, and next thing you know, I’m uncovering secret metal disks at my boss’s house. Now I’m reading minds, dreamwalking and being saved from bad guys by Mr. Dark and Brooding.

  That would be Ryder Langston, my new next-door neighbor. He’s sex on legs but he’s also a secret agent from another world—no joke. I believe him now because he dragged me back here “for my protection” after he discovered someone was trying to assassinate me on Earth. It isn’t working out so well.

  There’s a war going on, one that’s been fought for generations. Ryder’s having trust issues (not that it’s stopping us from falling into bed), and it turns out I’m connected here, if you know what I mean. The target on my back finally makes sense, but there’s nowhere left to hide...

  132,000 words

  Dear Reader,

  Happy 2014! You know, I love futuristic romance, and I swear it wasn’t that long ago that I was reading books in the genre that used years like 2014 and 2015 to indicate a time that seemed really far out. Of course, I suppose I’ll be saying something similar twenty years from now, when it’s 2035. (And isn’t that a weird thought?) As it happens, in the lineup this month we have both a futuristic romance and a hero who travels from the future, and both give a unique look into a future that’s actually a little further out.

  I love the premise of Libby Drew’s time-travel male/male romance, Paradox Lost, in which a time-travel guide who takes clients to “whenever” must travel back to 2020 and enlist the aid of a PI to find a missing client. And in PJ Schnyder’s Fighting Kat, Kat and Rygard go deep undercover, posing as gladiators. In the interstellar arena, it’s all about who’s the strongest predator...

  I mentioned futuristic romance, but how about a trip to the past in Jeannie Ruesch’s historical romantic suspense, Cloaked in Danger. Aria Whitney’s life has taken her from the sands of Egypt to the ballrooms of London, but when her father goes missing, can the handsome earl with a dark secret help her find him, or will a dangerous scandal threaten both their lives?

  In Mistress by Magick, Laura Navarre concludes her fallen angel Magick Trilogy, a riveting historical fantasy romance trilogy set in Tudor times. Also wrapping up a trilogy this month is Fiona Lowe. In Runaway Groom, the third book in the Wedding Fever trilogy, can a Harley-riding Aussie guy on the road trip of his life allow an uptight and disgraced lawyer to steal his heart? The first two books, Saved by the Bride and Picture Perfect Wedding, are now available, as well.

  Debut author Anna Richland delivers First to Burn, the first book in her Immortal Vikings series with a hero straight from the time of Beowulf. Wulf Wardsen is an elite soldier whose very existence breaks all the rules—and he’s deep in the military zone of Afghanistan with an army doctor determined to do everything by the book.. Meanwhile, Cindy Spencer Pape brings back her very popular steampunk romance series, The Gaslight Chronicles, with the latest installment, Ashes & Alchemy.

  This January, Heather Long delivers the start of a new series of contemporary romances. If you like your romance a little on the crazy, cracktastic side, this book is sure to please. Cinderella had her fairy godmother and Princess Mia had her grandmother, but Alyx—she gets a software magnate who knows that in his world, Some Like It Royal. And speaking of cracktastic, Kelsey Browning has another installment in her steamy Texas Nights series. Roxanne Eberly wants nothing more than to make her lingerie store a success. Enter up-and-coming attorney Jamie Wright, who’s all tangled up in Roxanne’s life...and her lingerie...in Running the Red Light. If you want to start from the beginning, pick up Personal Assets!

  Mystery fans will be glad to welcome another installment from Jean Harrington in her Murders by Design series. In Rooms to Die For, when interior designer Deva Dunne finds a body hanging from a balcony in the gorgeous Naples Design Mall, she soon learns she’s caught up in a mall drug bust gone viral.

  We’re thrilled to offer a large lineup of debut authors this month, in addition to Anna Richland. Joining us with books in the new-adult, erotic romance and contemporary genres are a new group of incredibly talented authors we’re proud to welcome to Carina Press. Elia Winters debuts with erotic romance Purely Professional. When a journalist explores the submissive side of her sexuality with her Dominant neighbor, she must confront what these encounters mean for her own sexual identity, her career and her budding relationship.

  Three debut authors bring new-adult offerings to Carina Press. Danube Adele proves the new-adult genre is more than just contemporary romance in Quicksilver Dreams. One moment Taylor was just a regular girl working two jobs to pay her bills, and the next, she was reading minds, dreamwalking and being saved from bad guys by her sexy neighbor, Ryder Langston. In Tell Me When by Stina Lindenblatt, college freshman Amber Scott begrudgingly lets Marcus Reid into her life, but she didn’t expect the king of hookups would share his painful past. And Kristine Wyllys brings us the first of two steamy, dark-edged stories full of action, vivid storytelling and emotional intensity. Don’t miss Wild Ones.

  Our last debut author, Rhonda Shaw, caught me by surprise with her book, The Changeup. People who know my sports tastes know I don’t normally go in for baseball. And those who know my reading tastes know I don’t usually go for an older heroine/younger man set-up. But Rhonda’s story hooked me from the start and I’m pleased to be releasing her first book this month. I hope you enjoy this contemporary sports romance as much as I did, and perhaps find a new book boyfriend in sweet and sexy pitching phenom Chase Patton!

  I’m not one for making New Year’s resolutions, but I will make one—we’ll continue to strive to bring you a variety of fantastic books from authors who deliver stories that you’ll want to talk about. Thank you for joining us for another year of publishing at Carina Press—we’ll do our absolute best to make it an amazing one!

  We love to hear from readers, and you can email us your thoughts, comments and questions to generalinquiries@carinapress.com. You can also interact with Carina Press staff and authors on our blog, Twitter stream and Facebook fan page.

  Happy reading!

  ~Angela James

  Executive Editor, Carina Press

  www.carinapress.com

  www.twitter.com/carinapress

  www.facebook.com/carinapress

  Dedication

  For John

  Acknowledgments

  There are several lovely people I want to thank, beginning with Kiese Hill, my good friend and wonderful critique partner, Courtney, my wonderful agent, for being so supportive when I didn’t know what to do in this new world I found myself in and Jeff Seymour, for making me look good. Most of all, I want to thank my family: my boys, Wolfe and Bjorn, for being so patient while Mom was millions of light years away, though it looked like I was sitting on the couch, and my biggest fan, toughest coach, and dearest love, my husband. You knew it was my dream, and you drill-sarged me when I needed it. Thank you.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen
>
  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Prologue

  Was this a dream?

  Had I ever felt this lucid in a dream before?

  I could feel the silky material around my eyes, on my wrists and ankles, softly sliding against my skin. With my body waking to sensual heat seeping through my veins, I only wanted to concentrate on what was happening in the moment, appreciate the swirl of masculine energy twining through the feminine threads of my own.

  So good...

  My dreams usually had a surreal, nondistinct, floating quality to them. This time, I actually felt a large, rough hand feathering over the skin on my rib cage, my flat stomach, agonizingly slow, avoiding obvious erogenous zones.

  It was a hot, searing touch. It was like someone was actually there. Someone I wanted...

  More... Like that... So good...

  I could scent spicy soap that was subtle, yet distinctly male, arousing, and couldn’t help the feverish whispers of encouragement.

  Oh, my God... Yes...

  My sex dreams usually made me struggle with the frustration of a roller-coaster experience that never finished. I would ride a buildup of desire and a cool down, over and over, my imagination acting as a careless lover with wonderful intent but clumsy execution. This time there was no such neglect. The burn was exquisite, building and teasing, ebbing and flowing, but never forgetful and creating a fever that made me writhe with need.

  Please!

  Never had I ever felt this way before, chanting my demand, desperately wanting to reach the end of the ride.

  Yes! Like that! Yes!

  Sudden sensation poured over and through me, powerfully enough that I woke myself and sat up. My breath was short and gasping. My body was quivery and oversensitized. I was covered with a fine sheen of sweat, and my sheet was twisted in carefree abandon around my naked body.

  I half expected to find a man in front of me.

  Rubbing my wrists as though the soft bindings were still tied to me, I glanced around my sparsely furnished bedroom and felt my body quake with a small, faint aftershock. I was alone. Nothing was disturbed. At the same time that I drew comfort from seeing that everything in my world was still in its place, a faint echo of grief, or disappointment, took the edge off my contentment, like I was missing something. I was solo after such an erotic experience.

  What about the hand? Who was it attached to?

  A part of me had to give a mental headshake of exasperation.

  No men for you. At least not yet.

  The inevitable weight of responsibility, like a bucket of ice water, reminded me that I needed to work and pay the bills. I had to make ends meet. There was no one who was going to help me.

  Usually, I accepted this with a matter-of-factness, but this night, a spike of resentment reared its head.

  What would it be like to be a normal girl who had time for frivolity?

  I quashed the thought immediately, too tired to let it take root.

  Why fight the wave? I just had to ride it.

  Settling back on my pillow, I once again closed my eyes and let the languorous effects of postorgasmic lassitude steal over me. Strangely, as my mind once again stretched fingers toward my deep subconscious, the whisper of a gentle caress down my cheek didn’t frighten me.

  Chapter One

  Hearing Aretha Franklin belt out “Respect” from my alarm clock was enough to rudely jerk me awake. I blindly slapped the alarm button off, appreciating the silence for several moments and fighting my brain’s most sincere desire to slide back into comforting nothingness.

  At least it was Friday.

  It was while I was pulling the sheet off my body that “the experience,” my sex dream, came back to me, which absolutely snapped me wide-awake. I looked around the bed, but there were no binding materials, and I was left feeling strangely let down, which made no sense. Of course I was alone. This was my room in the apartment I share, and I’d simply had an erotic dream last night.

  But it had seemed so real! REAL. What the hell was that last night? Why had it happened? There had to be a reason.

  Could women have wet dreams too?

  It was definitely worth asking Cynthia, my roommate, about. Of course, she was truly a morning person who went to the gym at the absurd hour of I’m-still-dead-to-the-world 5:00 a.m. before going to work, but luckily we worked together. Come lunchtime, it was on for some juicy chitchat.

  I already knew what she was going to say. She would say that I, Taylor Lane, was sexually frustrated, which would be accurate, because I was twenty-four years old and hadn’t had a really good orgasm until last night in a dream. As it stood, I was going to have to wait until lunchtime to dish, and if I didn’t get a move on, I was going to be late for work.

  I went to my shit job as an assistant to one of the most successful literary agents for feature film in Hollywood. But hey, if you can do your time at a shit job in Hollywood, you can get in, which is like manna from heaven for a girl like me. If you work hard and can handle the verbal and emotional abuse that’s going to get dumped on you, then you can write your ticket.

  “Dammit, Taylor! Get the goddamn phone. Do I have to do every fucking thing myself?” Reggie Mason, my boss, was screaming from inside his office. I’d let a call slide while answering two other lines, because I was a few seconds too slow and hadn’t picked up before it went to voice mail. Shit.

  “Sorry, Reggie.”

  “Am I supposed to pick up my fucking calls now? Isn’t that part of your fucking job? Do I need to remind you that I fucking pay you to answer the fucking phone?”

  “No, Reggie.”

  “I can get someone better to do your job tomorrow, Taylor. Fucking take your head out of the clouds and do your job!”

  I’d found that redirection was usually the best antidote for his freakish tantrums. “Simon is on line one. Stokely is on line two, and I’ll retrieve the message from voice mail.”

  “Tell Simon we’re on for lunch. I’ll get Stokely. And don’t fucking let it happen again!”

  And like that, the situation was defused.

  I’ve worked for Reggie for nearly a year and a half, and I don’t worry about his firing threats anymore. I know he’s damn lucky that I haven’t gone AWOL on him like every other assistant. He’d have to start fresh and retrain a newbie, which he absolutely loathes having to do. Before me, the turnover rate on his assistant’s desk was about three months due to his daily mantrums.

  Me, I’ve got staying power and a thick skin.

  Lunch was slow in approaching, especially since I felt driven to find Cynthia so she could help me make sense of what I’d experienced. Sadly, when lunch finally arrived, Reggie stepped out of his office with his “we’re going to get a lot of shit done” expression in place. My heart sank just a little, but I bit back my disappointment with a deep breath and a steady gaze.

  “Taylor, I need to roll calls from the car on my way to lunch. Take notes. Adam’s trying to fuck with me on this deal we made for him. He’s got a fucking diva complex, and he’s going to blow the whole fucking thing if he doesn’t quit his pansy-ass whining.”

  Reggie was absolutely inconsistent and made no apologies for it. On the one hand, he was hugely muscular and fierce looking, maybe Samoan in origin, with short dark hair and a goatee. But then, he had a love of these delicate figurines that he kept wholly pristine in display cases. His entire office was downright precious, the furnishings delicate in shades of violet. He was rude, disrespectful and belittling to most everyone h
e encountered who wasn’t a client, but he had this sweet, lovey-dovey, shmoopy-as-hell voice he used when his boyfriend called.

  I was used to him.

  I read through his freshly updated call log. “By the way, Frank called. He said he was going to have to cancel dinner tonight. He’s got some kind of emergency and needs to pack for a flight out tomorrow.” Frank was the lovey-dovey partner who rocked Reggie’s world, but his smooth British tones always gave me a strange itchy tingle in the middle of my back. No reason why, since I hadn’t actually met the guy. He’d always been what other people would think of as perfectly lovely and charming over the phone, but one person’s friendliness is another person’s nosiness. I just don’t like personal questions, and he always seemed to have some for me.

  “Frank called?” Reggie’s face flushed a violent red. “Frank called and you didn’t tell me? How many times do I have to fucking tell you to put him through no matter what? Jesus fuck! When he calls, put him through. Put. Him. Through!”

  I took a deep breath and did my best not to breathe fire. “Frank told me he didn’t have time to talk and said to just pass the message along. He said he’d order in and meet you at home.”

  Reggie continued to scowl for a moment. “Oh,” he muttered, and he started out the door of our small suite. Long ago, I stopped looking for any form of apology or remorse from him when he blew up at me inappropriately.

  “Do you want me to get Adam on the line for you?”

  “No. Forget calls. I need to call Frank. Go to lunch.” He waved a hand dismissively as he left.

  And so I was able to put my calls to voice mail, grab my purse and run downstairs to share my juicy tidbit with Cynthia.

  “Sure, women can have wet dreams. I’ve had orgasms in my sleep. They aren’t strong, but the feeling is there if it’s a good enough sex dream.” Cynthia, her platinum hair twisted into an elegant knot on top of her head, was chowing down on a tuna-fish sandwich that smelled god-awful. I kept my opinion to myself and focused on the subject at hand.