What Dreams May Come (Berkley Sensation) Page 13
“Yes. Everything. Everything I was afraid to give you before.” As she spoke, she lifted her hand to stroke the harsh planes of his cheeks, then down to the crinkly hair that matted his chest. The last time she’d seen him, the hair on his chest had been sparse. Now it was thick and dark.
For heartbeats they stared into each other’s eyes. Then his hands moved between them, cupping her breasts, his fingers stroking back and forth across the hardened tips.
Feelings welled inside her. Joy that he was with her again. Relief. Sorrow that they had missed so much time together.
And she saw her feelings echoed in his eyes.
She forgot where they were. Forgot everything but the taste of him, the feel of his hands and mouth on her hot flesh, the wonder of being with him again after so long.
“I want you naked,” he growled.
“And you.”
She raised up on her knees and unhooked the snap at the top of her jeans, then slicked them down her legs along with her panties, so that they pooled around her feet.
His strong artist’s hand stroked the curve of her hip. “So beautiful,” he said again. “I was sculpting a statue of you. And I got it exactly right.”
He dragged his fingers through the tight curls at the top of her legs before dipping lower to press over her clit.
Her breath caught.
“I missed that so much. I missed you,” she whispered, desperate to make up for all the time they’d lost. While he stroked her, her hands went to the snap of his jeans, undoing, then lowering his zipper.
“My turn,” she murmured, reaching inside and freeing his wonderfully hard penis. Years ago, she had felt tentative and embarrassed when she touched him. Now she boldly took him in her hand, enjoying the girth, the weight, the length of his erection.
“Lie down,” she asked.
He did, and she leaned over him. Craving all the things she had never been bold enough to enjoy, she stroked her tongue up his length, smiling when she heard his indrawn breath.
Wanting more, she took him into her mouth, fueling her own arousal as she pleasured him.
He didn’t give her much time to enjoy it.
“Sweetheart, stop,” he begged. “Or this will be over before we get started.” He reached for her shoulder, and she raised her head.
“Come here.”
His gaze burned into hers, as she lay down beside him.
“Miranda.” Her name sighed out of him as he gathered her into his embrace, raining kisses over her face, returning to her mouth over and over.
“Caleb. Oh, Caleb!” she cried out as he bent to suck one tight nipple into his mouth, while his hand played with the other.
Slowly, then, he began to kiss his way down her body, pausing to lick a wet circle around her navel before delving into the hot, slick folds of her sex. He lapped at her, then swirled his tongue around her clit, sending heat spiraling through her body. As it had with him, the intensity built quickly—too quickly.
“Please,” she gasped. “I want you inside me—finally.”
He lifted his head, his gaze burning into hers.
“Lord, yes.” He moved between her legs, and she reached for his penis, caressing him before guiding him home.
He made a hoarse sound as he plunged into her. And she wrapped her arms around him, holding tight. Finally. Finally. After so long, he was where he belonged.
They had both been frantic for contact. Suddenly he changed the rules, holding his hips very still as he dropped tiny kisses over her face and neck and shoulders before coming back to her mouth for a long, lingering kiss.
“I dreamed of this,” he whispered.
“So did I.”
“I was sculpting you because that was the only way I could get close to you.”
“Oh, Caleb, I’m here now. Don’t make me wait any longer for my fulfillment.”
“No.”
Her breath hitched as he began to move, sending a wave of ecstasy shimmering through her.
The ecstasy surged as he increased the pace. She matched his rhythm, her hips rising and falling as she reached for the ultimate pleasure, clinging to him, calling his name, lost to anything but the power of what was happening between them.
He lifted her up and up, into the clouds, and beyond. Her hands closed over his shoulders as she felt her inner muscles begin to quiver.
The explosion gathered. Then her whole body shattered in an orgasm that sent her rocketing beyond the universe.
She heard his shout of satisfaction as his climax followed hers, and she clung to him while they both returned to earth.
When he rolled to his side, he kept her in his arms, stroking her, kissing the side of her face, her hair.
She held on to him for long moments, drifting on a cloud of joy. Finally she raised her head and looked at him. “What we did together—before—that was so good. But never like that. This was everything I dreamed of.”
“Yes.”
He stroked a lock of damp hair off her forehead. “I’m not going to let you go,” he said.
His words brought her back to earth. Well, not exactly to earth—to this strange place that she had created, and panic replaced the sense of security.
Outside the warm little world within their tent, she could hear the wind blowing now.
It wasn’t a comforting sound. The nylon sides of the tent shook, and she moved closer to Caleb, putting the void beyond their fortress out of her mind. They had been apart for too long. Finally she was back in his arms.
But the doubtful expression on his face made her whisper, “What?”
She saw him swallow. “I brought something with me.” Turning from her, he found his pants, then fumbled in the pocket. When he brought his hand out he had something in his fist. Slowly he opened it.
Her breath caught when she saw the opal ring.
“Oh, Caleb,” she whispered. “My ring.”
“You gave it back to me,” he said in a gritty voice.
She felt her heart squeeze painfully. “I had to. But if you’re willing to give me another chance, I’ll wear it proudly.”
His eyes met hers as he slipped the ring onto her finger. She was bursting with love for him. There was so much she wanted to say to him, but she couldn’t do it yet. Not in this place.
Still, she felt a spurt of hope—for herself. She hadn’t been able to break out of this trap on her own. But now that she felt the old bond with Caleb growing so strong, maybe he could help free her. That thought triggered another, and a wicked idea just leaped into her head.
Eight
As Caleb looked down at Miranda, he saw a sassy smile flicker across her face.
“What are you thinking, you little witch?” he asked in a low, sultry voice, because just her expression made him suspect that he was going to like her answer. Hope bloomed inside him. By some miracle the girl who had stolen his heart so many years ago was back in his arms again—in his life. And now, she was a bold, sexy woman.
He trailed his hand over her shoulder, then down to her breast, cupping the soft mound. Her breasts were fuller than they had been when she’d been sixteen. But no less sensitive, and she reacted immediately to him with a small, indrawn breath.
It was tempting to keep caressing her. But he wanted to hear what she had to say, so he lowered the questing hand to her ribs.
She flashed him the grin again. “You showed me some practical magic. What about the concept of . . . us . . . sex magic?”
He grinned back. “You mean use sex magic to help you get out of here?”
“Yes. A way to lend me your strength. Or maybe—combine our strength.”
“I never tried sex magic before,” he said.
“I hope not.”
“But there’s always a first time,” he added as he pulled her close and lowered his mouth to hers for a long, arousing kiss.
They had just made love. But he felt his arousal surge back to life as his lips moved over hers.
Sex magic.
His total focus was on her.
He smiled as her hand drifted down his body, finding his cock, her fingers playing over his descended flesh with a teasing stroke.
“You witch,” he murmured.
“You like that?”
“You know I do.”
Like an interfering ogre, a rumble of thunder shook the tent, breaking his concentration.
“What the hell?’ he muttered.
Rain began to pelt the nylon, and an enormous gust of wind made the canvas shudder. He wanted to ignore it, but the elements wouldn’t leave them alone. In the next moment the tent gave a lurch, as though a cyclone were trying to pick it up.
Cold seeped through the thin walls. And into his veins.
When a frightening thought struck him, he opened the flap and looked at the protective ring of ashes he had poured onto the ground.
The wind had blown most of them away. And the rest were spreading in wet puddles.
“Shit!” he shouted into the wind and rain. While he’d been enjoying himself in here with Miranda, someone had been figuring out how to break into her refuge.
When he turned back, he saw a terrified expression on her face.
“What?” he shouted above the roaring outside.
“Someone . . .” She stopped and started again. “Someone . . . my . . . jaw . . .” Before she could finish, she began to cough.
“Oh, Lord, no!” He stared at her in horror. “No!” He wanted to pull her into his embrace, to hold her safe in his arms. But that would do her no good, because he knew what was happening. Someone had destroyed his magic circle, and now the same person was going after her in the real world. That was the only thing that made sense.
“Hang on. Just hang on,” he ordered focusing on the panic in her eyes. “I can’t help you from in here. I have to get back to your hospital room.
He saw her fear surge, and he almost lost his resolve. Instead, he jerked on his pants. Then he found his shirt.
The hardest thing he had ever done was climb out of the tent. But it was his only choice.
Freezing rain pelted him. Almost instantly he was soaked to the skin. He stood in the wind and rain, his hands outstretched as he called on all the power that he had used to bring him into her world. Only now he struggled to reverse the process.
He had two advantages this time. Overpowering fear gave him strength. And he had come this way twice before, so he had a better idea of what he was doing.
He conjured up a mental picture of the barrier that had kept him out. Then he started running, imagined himself charging toward the wall at full tilt, a massive log in his arms. He used the log like a battering ram, bashing a hole in the rubbery substance.
And as he broke through, he thought there might be another reason why he had done it so quickly. Somebody else had reversed the process—getting in to hurt Miranda. And he was using the energy that they had already supplied.
His eyes blinked open, and he found himself sitting in the front seat of his car, with his clothing soaking wet. Leaping out of the truck, he ran toward the hospital.
It was early morning in the real world. And someone was taking advantage of the short-staffed hours.
As a stone dug into his foot, he realized with a start that he was barefoot. But that didn’t slow him as he crossed the mostly empty parking lot like an Olympic sprinter.
He pictured what he must look like—a wild man who’d just dashed out of the woods. He was pretty sure he’d be stopped if he tried to cross the lobby.
But he had to get to the intensive care unit. Fast.
“Hang on, Miranda. Hang on. Do that for me,” he chanted as he headed for the side door where he’d gone out earlier. He knew it shouldn’t be unlocked. But as he ran, he focused on the mechanism, telling himself that the door was open, that it wouldn’t stop him at all.
And his need became truth. He didn’t know if he’d unlocked the door with his mind, or if some negligent staffer had done his job. Frankly he didn’t care. All that mattered was that he’d gotten into the building.
The tent blurred around Miranda. She had been desperate to leave this place. Now she tried to grab on to the scene. But it wavered, vanishing like mist evaporating in the heat of the sun.
Suddenly she couldn’t see. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t hear. And cold terror squeezed her by the throat. She was between worlds. She was nowhere. And then something seemed to be pulling on her—pulling her back to earth. The old earth—where she had come from, she thought.
She should have felt relief. Instead, her heart pounded with tension. In the distance she could make out the voices of two people speaking. A man and a woman.
She caught snatches of their clipped conversation.
“Hurry. That bastard kicked me out of the dream. We have to do it this way.”
“I don’t like it,” the woman said, her voice high and nervous. “I kept her from waking up. But I can’t keep making things happen. I’m not that strong.”
“Sure you are.”
The man who had been in her dream! Who was he? Who was the woman? What were they doing?
Miranda stopped worrying about them when she felt water trickle down her throat, and another coughing spell took her. She was choking. She was going to die, and she was barely in her body. That wasn’t fair, one part of her mind screamed. She hadn’t come back to die. She had to fight them.
But she didn’t know how. And to her relief, the torture stopped abruptly.
“The nurse is coming. Make us invisible,” the man said.
“I . . . can only do so much. That’s why we had to sneak in here when the staff was busy.”
“Shut up and hide us.”
Now Miranda recognized the man’s voice. Dustin. Caleb had seen him at the hospital. What was he doing now? And how could he get invisible?
She heard scuffling noises. Then blessed quiet. Then someone rustling around the bed.
The nurse. Did she see the man and woman? If she did, why didn’t she kick them out?
Desperately Miranda tried to open her eyes, tried to make her voice work. She had to tell the nurse that the two people were here. With her. But she had no control over her muscles. No control over her voice. She could only lie there like a limp rag doll.
A giant fist of terror pressed against her chest.
Help. You have to help me.
But the plea was only in her mind.
“I saw from the monitor that your blood pressure and heart rate are up,” the woman said in a pleasant voice. “Is something worrying you? Or are you trying to come back to us?”
She wanted to shout “yes!” But the words wouldn’t come.
She heard the nurse fussing around her. Then the woman departed. For long moments nobody spoke. Then she heard the two other people talking again. The woman. And Dustin.
She had been afraid of him for years. Now, as she listened to the conversation, it sounded like she had good reason.
He stood on one side of her bed. The woman was on the other. Her voice was familiar. Someone she had known a long time ago.
“This is all your fault,” Dustin said again.
“How can you say that? You got yourself into hot water again.”
“I’d like to kill you!”
“Of course. But my magic is too strong for that.”
“Damn you!”
Her voice turned raspy. “If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t know she hired a private detective.”
If Miranda could have gasped, she would have. Suddenly she knew who it was—Caleb’s aunt.
Dustin was speaking again, his voice hard edged. “Now get the rest of it right. Get rid of her.”
“You were supposed to do that. And you botched it.”
The conversation chilled Miranda to the bone. It was obvious Dustin and Caleb’s aunt hated each other—but they were stuck
together in some kind of devil’s bargain.
She had to wake up. She had to stop them from killing her. But she couldn’t claw her way back to consciousness. And now she thought she knew why. Edith had blocked her exit from the coma.
Without warning, water trickled into her throat, and she started to choke again.
Caleb’s lungs burned as he dashed for the stairs, then pounded up to the second floor and down the hall.
Speeding to the intensive care unit, he pulled the door open and hurtled inside.
The nurse on duty looked up in surprise.
“Wait. Sir. You can’t go in there, sir,” she called out.
Ignoring her, he found Miranda’s cubicle and dashed inside.
She was lying on the bed, coughing. At first it looked as if she was the only person in the room. But as he stared into the enclosed space, the air seemed to flicker like an image from a malfunctioning movie projector.
He blinked, then saw two people standing over her bed, his aunt and the man named Dustin Auger, Colonel Grove’s business partner. Auger held Miranda’s jaw open. His aunt was slowly pouring water into her mouth.
Nine
“Stop!” he shouted as he leaped through the door and launched himself at Aunt Edith, knocking the water bottle out of her hand.
His aunt stepped back, pressing her shoulders against the wall.
“Do something,” Auger ordered. “Hit him with a lightning bolt or something.”
“I . . . can’t. You’ve made me drain my power.”
“Shit.” Auger stepped around the bed, dropping into a martial-arts stance. The same pose that the man in Miranda’s dream had used. And now he was in her room.
From the corner of his eye Caleb saw his aunt’s image flicker. “No, you don’t,” he growled, using part of his mind to grab her by the scruff of the neck and force her to stay visible. But he kept his main focus on Auger.
“Come on Gypsy boy—just try it,” the man taunted.
Caleb knew that the guy could take him apart. If he could have used his psychic powers to fight, he would have. But he was too inexperienced, and he might end up hurting Miranda.