Page 6
Three
“She’s waking up.”
Were they talking about me? There were three people now. The two men—holy hell, I couldn’t tell if these guys were hotter than this bed was comfortable—and a woman. A really pretty woman.
I sat up. Two lamps flanked an expansive bedroom, Victorian with modern royalty.
So, was I dreaming?
I didn't feel like it. Everything was so … real. I was in the back room after the lights went out, reading that book? I must have fallen asleep. Odd since I don’t even remember being tired.
They were all talking at once.
“Maybe someone should get her some water?”
That, from the original hottie. The other two gave him looks I couldn’t decipher, the woman arguing that she should be the one to stay with me, but if I really was dreaming …
“Can you stay?” I asked him.
Because when one is presented with a dream wherein a Damon Salvatore-like man appears, there’s really only one course of action.
“Behave, Riven,” the other guy said before they left.
I must have given him a look that told him to ignore his well-meaning advice as it all came together. I’d been reading a paranormal romance when lightning struck. And apparently had been more tired than I thought, falling asleep imagining I could read old English as if it were modern English. How my chilly back room floor wasn’t waking me was a tomorrow problem.
“So,” he said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “How does a beautiful woman like you end up in the back of The Book Loft? You gave the owner quite a scare.”
“Let me guess,” I said, warming up to the whole dream-aesthetic. “The Book Loft is a bookstore in Stone Haven?”
I’d considered that name, or something similar, when Nolan and I were brainstorming shop names for Between the Pages. No wonder I’d pulled it into the dream.
He smelled real, like a cross between cedar and sin. The fluttering in my stomach at his raised brows and amused expression also felt so damn real.
“Good guess.”
Yep. I was dreaming about my book. Wouldn’t be the first time.
“What were you doing back there?”
His question sounded like the teacher in Charlie Brown. I’m sure actual words came out of his mouth, but who could concentrate with eyes like that gazing at you.
“They’re so blue,” I blurted. “Unnaturally blue.”
“My eyes?” He was even more amused now. “Unlike yours, brown and wide like a doe just before. . .”
He stopped. Which is when I remembered the story.
“Please tell me you don’t feed on poor little doe.”
He seemed surprised. “So you know?”
“That you’re a vampire? Yeah,” I nearly laughed. This was so cliche and ridiculous but, as dreams went, probably my new favorite. “I know.”
“I’m pleased you aren’t scared.”
Scared of a dream? Not remotely. And since it wasn’t real-life where I’d rather die than flirt first without knowing if it would be reciprocated, I gave a very non-Lena response.
“Not scared. More like, curious.”
