Soul Dreams

by Desiree Holt

  Grange tucked her hand in the crook of his arm. “We’re walking into the living room,” he told her. “We’ll go slowly. All you have to do is pace yourself with me. There’s nothing in your way to trip you. Okay?”

  She swallowed. “Okay.”

  He guided her to the left and good as his word, he didn’t hurry her. The moment they entered the room, the scent of cedar filled the air, and she felt increased heat.

  “There’s a fire in here, right? Is it the wood I smell?”

  Grange stopped and removed her hand from his arm. Another rougher hand took hers and the gravelly voice of her dreams answered her.

  “Yes. I thought you’d enjoy it. Grange said he helped you with yours the other day.” He gave her fingers a gentle squeeze.

  “That’s very nice of you.” Lord, did she sound like a ninny or what?

  Standing right next to him, she estimated his height at over six feet. The arm her fingers curled into and the side of his chest nudging against her were hard and muscular. Did he exercise?

  “Come. Sit down with me over here. Trust me. I won’t let you stumble.”

  He dropped her hand and slid one arm around her waist, guided her across the floor of the room. She wasn’t positive because they didn’t have too far to walk, but it seemed to her his steps were uneven. Was his leg the problem keeping him hidden away?

  He nudged her in a new direction, and the back of her legs bumped what she thought might be the sofa. Guiding her with his touch, he eased her down onto the cushions. The upholstery was a buttery leather filled with thick padding. Nina sank into its comfort. Then the cushion next to her dipped as Blake sat beside her.

  He reached for her hand again. “Is this okay? My holding your hand like this? I couldn’t wait to touch you.”

  She was glad to hear the note of uncertainty in his voice. “Yes. Fine. I like it.”

  He curled his fingers around hers, and again she felt the roughness so familiar from her dreams.

  “Do you, um, do carpentry work?” she asked tentatively.

  “No.” He sounded startled. “Why do you ask?”

  “I was, um, curious. About your hands, I mean.”

  “Sorry about that.” The warmth disappeared from his voice.

  He released his hold on her at once. Crap. Now she’d done it.

  “Please.” She reached out, searching for his hand, wanting to hold it again. “I didn’t mean anything. I’m sorry if I offended you in some way.”

  Lordy, lordy, lordy. Don’t let this be over before it starts. She waited, every muscle in her body clenched until his big, warm hand closed over hers again. He stroked his thumb lightly over her knuckles, as if to reassure her. All it did, however, was raise the thermostat on her internal temperature. They were sitting so close on the sofa she could feel his body heat and catch the familiar scent of sandalwood from her dreams.

  “You smell good,” she blurted out.

  He stroked her wrist with his thumb. “Thank you.”

  There was a touch of humor back in his voice, though. It astonished her to realize this was as difficult for him as it was for her. She’d grown so used to thinking of herself as socially inept except at work. But this man hadn’t even had that much contact for the past two years, so what kind of judge was he, anyway.

  Stop second-guessing yourself.

  “Sorry about the blindfold.” He touched the fabric lightly. “I promise I mean you no harm.”

  “It’s okay.” She smiled at him. “You asked if I liked fantasy, and being blindfolded is certainly a fantasy. But I don’t understand why it’s necessary.”

  “Maybe I wanted you to get to know me first. Sometimes what the eye sees can be distracting. Or deceiving. This way you can give your imagination free rein.”

  “But you know what I look like,” she protested.

  “Yes. I do.” His voice was husky. “Very beautiful and very sexy.”

  “You don’t need to flatter me. I know what I see when I face the mirror.”

  She pulled her hand away, but he grabbed it again.

  “Skittish, aren’t you? Why is that? Who in your life gave you that opinion of yourself? Give me his name, and I’ll punch his lights out.”

  Nina laughed and actually relaxed again. “I’d pay money to see that, but no, it’s ancient history.”

  “Not so ancient if the scars are still fresh.”

  Just then, thankfully, the sound of boots on the floor signaled Grange approaching them.

  “I have the wine,” he said for her benefit. “And we actually have the proper glasses to serve it, believe it or not.”

  As the older man’s footsteps faded away, Blake released his hold on her and folded her fingers around the stem of a wine glass.

  She gave a nervous laugh. “I’ve never done this blindfolded. I hope I don’t dump it all over myself. Or you.”

  “No problem . We’ll share the drink.” His tone was gentle. “Here. Let me help you.”

  He guided the glass she held until the rim touched her lips then tilted the goblet enough so she could sip.

  “My turn.”

  He took her glass from her, and she imagined him picking up his own.

  “Really good wine.” He chuckled and some of her tension eased. “I know my tastes surprise you, but I’m really not an unrefined clod.”

  “Oh! Please, you’ve got it all wrong. I shouldn’t have said that. I—”

  His fingers touched her lips. “It’s okay. My feelings aren’t hurt.”

  “I know so little about you.” she reminded him. “I mean, we’ve talk about movies and books and television. But I want to know about the real you. What’s inside you. What makes you happy. What makes you sad.”

  “You make me happy,” he told her. “And let’s not talk about sad. Okay?”

  “All right.”

  He was silent for a while, feeding her sips of wine. She sat there, trying to figure out what he’d say next. At last the final drops of the liquid trickled into her mouth, and the glass clinked as he set it down. Was he through talking? Was the evening over already?

  “Maybe the real me isn’t worth knowing” He paused, tension radiating from his body. “Maybe this is the best I am.”

  “I don’t believe you.” She edged closer to him so their thighs were touching. The heat of his body burned through their clothing. “Can…can I ask you something?”

  “Anything.”

  “Do you have a beard?”

  His laugh was unexpected. “Why? Do you like them? Hate them?”

  “No, I wanted to visualize some little piece of you.”

  “Then, yes, I do. But it’s not scraggly.”

  “I didn’t think it would be.” She hesitated. “Could I, um, ask you a big favor?”

  Next to her his muscles tensed. “Will it get me in trouble?”

  “I don’t think so. It’s nothing bad.” She wished she had more wine. For courage.

  “Okay, then. What is it?”

  “Can I….” She swallowed “Can I touch it, your beard? Please?”

  “My beard?” His tone was puzzled. “Why?”

  “I don’t…I mean…. You said you’d dreamed about me? I’ve dreamed about you, too,” she blurted out. “I couldn’t see you because, like tonight, I was blindfolded. But I felt your beard.”

  Silence. Nina chewed on her bottom lip. It was so hard to sit in total darkness forced to trust her well being to this man. Then pieces of the dream spun through her brain, and the sense of familiarity overwhelmed her, allowing her to relax.

  More silence. The swishing sound of liquid being poured let her know he was refilling her glass. He repeated the original process with the wine, carefully, making sure she drank slowly, enjoying the taste. They said little as they shared the glass. Another clink as he replaced it on the table.

  “You’ve dreamed about me, too?” he asked at last.

  She nodded, waiting, wondering what he’d say.

  Then he took her ha
nd and lifted it. A moment later, her fingers drifted over a beard as soft as the one in her dreams. He held her wrist as she stroked it, feeling the thickness of the short hair and guessing it was well trimmed. Again, as in her dreams. She wished she could see his face.

  “Well?” He sounded tense.

  “What? Oh! The beard. I love it. It feels like silk.” She waited for him to pull her hand away, but he didn’t make a move. “Can I ask you what color your hair is?”

  “Dark brown.” He made a harsh, self-deprecating sound in his throat. “With a little more gray in it than I’d like.”

  “I love the soft texture of it.” And she did, the sensation pleasurable as she sifted it through her fingers.

  His laugh was rough. “I don’t think anyone ever told me that before.”

  “Is it rude to ask how old you are?” This was the strangest conversation she’d had in a long time.

  “Sure, if you’ll tell me the same thing.”

  She couldn’t believe he was still letting her touch his beard. “Thirty-two.”

  “I’m thirty-five. And no, before you ask, no spouse or kids.”

  “Me either.”

  She let her fingers travel over his face, trying to “see” with them. His cheekbones were high and his eyelashes thick. A straight nose was bracketed by thick eyebrows. Grange had told her he used to live on a ranch, and pictures she’d seen of cowboys flashed through her mind. She finally dropped her hand from his face, but instead of it falling into her lap it landed on his crotch.

  Oh God! Beneath worn, well-washed denim what could only be described as an enormous erection pulsed under her fingers. Heat consumed her, and she tried to shift away from him. Blake closed his fingers around her wrist again and maneuvered her so she touched his thigh.

  “Does what you felt tell you how much you affect me? How much I want you even though we’ve only been together in person these few minutes?”

  She nodded and bit her lip. What she really wanted to do was lower his zipper and grip his thick rod, but she didn’t have the courage.

  His thumb caressed her cheekbone with feathery strokes. “Let’s talk more about our dreams.”

  There was the little shiver of excitement again. “Our dreams?”

  Between his erection and his question, her heart was racing.

  “Yes. The ones we have when we fall asleep.” His voice hardened. “At least when we can.”

  “Um, okay. What would you like to know?” That we’re naked and make hot sensual love?

  “You said you dream about me. I told you I dream about you. Have you ever heard the Abenaki legend about the man and woman who were meant for each other? Who mated in their dreams, and the dreams led them to each other in real life?”

  Oh, yes. She’d found it when she’d researched dream legends and had printed it out. Kept it beside her bed. Read it after each of her dreams. And again before she left for this visit tonight.

  She exhaled slowly. “Yes, I have. Where did you read about it?”

  “In one of those books I bought from you.” He shifted, and his hand moved from hers to stroke her hair. He tucked a few strands behind her ear, lightly tracing the shell of her ear. “I haven’t left this house in two years,” he went on. “You’re the first woman I’ve even been next to in all this time. Please don’t think I’m insane or a maniac and run out of here when I tell you my dreams about you have been wild and erotic.”

  Her pulse speeded up again. Should she tell him? Was she setting herself up to self-destruct again? Oh God, she hoped not. She hoped the dreams were a sign for her to move forward. “I-I’ve had the same kind. A lot.” She paused. “Do you think I’m a maniac?”

  He laughed, and the sound eased the tightness in her chest. “I don’t know. Depends on what you’ve been dreaming.”

  “You first,” she told him.

  “I’d rather do this.”

  Before she realized it, he tilted her to face him, one arm around her, the other hand cupping her chin. He pressed his lips against hers, a butterfly touch, so feather light it was barely there. She didn’t pull away, and the pressure increased. And when her arms came up to wrap around him, he traced the seam of her lips with his tongue.

  He kissed one corner of her mouth then the other before murmuring, “Let me in. Please.”

  It was the dream all over again, except this time she could actually taste him, and he was delicious. She opened her mouth to let his tongue sweep inside, and she offered him her own. It wasn’t the most passionate kiss she’d ever had or the most aggressive, but it certainly was the most possessive. As if he was somehow claiming ownership. And she had no desire to push him away.

  She threaded her fingers through his hair, as smooth to the touch as his beard, and held his head to hers while he gently plundered her mouth. His tongue lit fires every place he touched, the heat flowing down through her body and making her muscles clench with desire. This was at once the most erotic and the most emotional kiss she’d ever shared, and she never wanted it to stop. It was only lack of oxygen that made them break the contact at last. She didn’t try to move away, hoping he’d take it as a sign not to let go. They sat there for a long moment, arms wrapped around each other, her head against his shoulder.

  “I dreamed about kissing you like this.”

  The words were whispered so faintly at first Nina wasn’t sure she heard correctly. “You did?”

  “Uh huh. A lot.” He gently nipped her ear lobe. “About tasting you, inhaling your scent. Touching you everywhere. Do you dream that way?”

  She squeezed her thighs together against the sudden hunger beating in her pussy, her voice unsteady when she answered him. “Yes. Yes, I do.” She stroked his beard again. “Blake? Won’t you please take off the blindfold so I can see you?”

  His muscles tightened for a moment then relaxed. “No. I can’t. Not yet. Please don’t ask me.” His laugh was forced. “Let’s keep this a fantasy for the time being, okay?”

  “All right.” His words sounded so desperate, how could she say no? She wanted to ask him why but thought better of it. She didn’t want to break the spell that seemed to have fallen over them.

  “I can’t believe I’m getting to touch you for real.” One hand slid up her rib cage to find her breast, cupping it in his palm. “You feel the way you did in the dream. Did we do the same things in yours we did in mine?”

  She was sure she was blushing. “Yes, we did.”

  “I haven’t made love to a woman in two years,” he told her, his voice cracking slightly. “I wasn’t sure I’d ever want to again. Until the dreams.”

  “God, Blake.”

  “I haven’t missed it. Until now.” He kissed her forehead. “And you? There can’t be a man in your life if we’re dreaming together. The legend says it’s not possible.”

  She leaned against him, lulled by his scent, the heat of the fire, his hand caressing her breast, his mouth brushing kisses everywhere on her face.

  “No one.” She dropped her voice so low even a whisper was louder. “Not for five years.”

  Blake’s body tightened, and he lifted his head from hers. “Five years? Are you kidding me?”

  She tried to hide her face against his shoulder again, but he tilted up her chin again.

  He kissed her cheeks and her chin. “Something terrible must have happened.”

  “Yes.” She placed her hands on either side of his face. “It did. Well, maybe not terrible but emotionally destructive.”

  “Another reason for me to punch out whoever treated you so badly.”

  “No, forget it. Please. It’s ruined every holiday season for me since then and I don’t want it to happen now.” Tears welled up behind her eyelids. “I’ve hated every Thanksgiving. And Christmas is even worse. Let’s not ruin this one by talking about it. Please?”

  One hand still kneaded her breast while the other skimmed down her back.

  “Holidays are bad for me, too. Do you have any family?”


  “Not any more. There’s just me.” Her laugh was weak and thready. “And Riley and Hawk, who have decided to make me their project. Please don’t ask me what happened, okay?”

  “I won’t if you won’t.” He continued stroking her, soothing motions, but the tension in his body vibrated like a live wire. Unable to see him, she was ultra-conscious of every nuance of his body and voice. “Nina?” His voice was shaky.

  “Mm-hmm?”

  “Will you…. Would you…let me take your sweater off?” He kissed her forehead, little butterfly touches, with such tenderness she wanted to weep. “I want to see you in the flesh. I have to. No. I need to. Please.”

  Heat blasted through her again, and her breasts tingled with anticipation. It wasn’t as if she’d never been naked with him, albeit only in her dreams. She rubbed her hands against the fine cotton of his shirt. “Okay. If you’ll do the same for me.”

  She waited a long time for his answer. Against her, every muscle in his body seemed to tighten.

  He heaved a sigh. “Not tonight. And please, please don’t ask me why.”

  She couldn’t imagine what was so terrible he couldn’t let her touch his naked skin. Next time she dreamed, she would try to make her subconscious mind focus on seeing him fully naked. But she couldn’t deny his pleading, so she nodded her head.

  He lifted the sweater gently over her head, smoothing her hair back into place before unhooking the bit of satin and lace that passed for her bra. The unsteadiness of his hands was unmistakable, as if he was afraid she’d change her mind midstream. Or disappear in a puff of smoke. Her nipples puckered and goose bumps broke out on her skin, more from nerves than anything else, because the fire made the room warm as toast.

  She’d never felt more vulnerable in her entire life. Her stomach tried to push its way up to her throat, and her heart wanted to jump out of her chest. What did he think? Did he like what he saw? Was he disappointed? Why didn’t he say something?

  “You’re beautiful.” His raspy voice was humble. Awestruck. “Even better than in my dreams.”

  No one had ever spoken to her the way he did, as if they revered her. She had no idea how to respond, so she simply sat there, trembling slightly, while he ran his hands over her. His touch, as he palmed her breasts was reverent, his mouth, as he sucked each nipple, worshipful. This was somehow sexier to her than if they’d both been naked rolling around on the floor like two animals. Tom Ridgeway had been a demanding lover, aggressive, in charge every moment. But as she gave it one brief thought, she wondered if she had only imagined his gentleness. Had the sex ever even been about her satisfaction? Or had it always been about his?