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Natalie slowly awoke. She knew she hadn’t been sleeping all that long. Her alter senses told her it wasn’t even noon.
She sat up in bed and realized she ached between her legs. What on earth had she been dreaming about?
Right.
Grant.
Of course.
She had it bad. She’d just met him, yet he’d somehow invaded her thoughts and her dreams so that all she felt was a constant need for the man.
She slid her hand between her legs and pressed hard trying to force the sensation to abate. It was as though her celibacy of the past several years had ceased suddenly and all she could think about was sex.
She’d been dreaming about France and the island community of Le Mont Saint-Michel. It was the strangest place called a tidal island. At times, when the tide was high it flowed all around the monastery and created a true island. The water could be as deep as fifty feet. But at low tide, the monastery was surrounded by land.
A memory intruded. She and her husband had honeymooned there though it seemed like a million years ago.
She flopped back down on the bed. She thought she’d turned all the lights out in her house, but an eerie light shone from above.
When she looked up, really looked, her breath shuddered.
What the hell?
She could see a man walking in a garden, but her view was from beneath him? The angle made no sense.
Then she understood. She was caught in a dream within a dream.
She relaxed against the pillows and let it come.
The man wore long cotton pajama bottoms and no shirt.
She decided she was too far away and wanted a better look. She closed her eyes and imagined herself closer.
When she opened her eyes, she could only smile because she had conjured Officer Grant.
Of course.
The man of her dreams.
She could even laugh at the thought, but her amusement faded and gave way to serious perplexity. Was he the man of her dreams?
She rubbed her forehead and watched him as he paced across the grass.
The garden was open to the sky, yet it was enclosed between stone wal
ls with elegant arched openings.
Then she realized she was looking at the cloister garden at Le Mont Saint-Michel.
She released a deep sigh.
What a beautiful dream what an extraordinary man.
He was a god. That was the real problem with Grant. He had to be six-five at least, which she really liked since she was just shy of six-foot herself. His shoulders were broad, and he was extremely well-muscled as many of the wolves were who served on the Five Bridges Border Patrol.
His heavy, well-defined shoulders flared to a broad back that angled to a narrow waist.
She watched as he turned and headed back in her direction. He had a taut six-pack. His pj bottoms hung below his naval and her tongue made appearance swiping at suddenly dry lips.
