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I came crashing into his wonderfully firm chest and he caught me by instinct. He looked down at me in bafflement. Clearly his brain hadn’t caught up with the fact of my sudden appearance. Or perhaps it was my cherry-print attire which had confused him.
“Sweetie-pie, babykins,” I cooed. “There you are!” I proceeded to smother his face in kisses, taking advantage of the temporary loss of his wits, which was the only reason he was not defending me off. One of my kisses inadvertently landed on his mouth, and I tried not to enjoy that little slip-up rather a lot.
The gang of Storm’s would-be attackers reacted just like I hoped they would. They may have been willing to get into fisticuffs with a belligerent drunk guy intent on baiting them, which was what Storm had been doing, but they weren’t so willing to get between a man and his amorous lady love.
After settling up his shocking bar tab, I dragged a protesting Storm out of the bar and took him safely home. I was very much looking forward to the explanation I was going to demand of him in the morning. Not long after that, I went to bed. And wouldn’t you know it, I started dreaming.
But not a cozy delightful dream. No. Because my dreams didn’t bother to indulge me in such ways.
In my dream was a dark-haired man with glittering eyes. He was sitting in a darkened room, and not by his own choice. His chair was a freaking prison. It was a metal monstrosity that was bolted onto the ground. He was held secured onto it by a thick metal belt attaching him to the back of the chair. His wrists and forearms were shackled to the chair’s arms. I sensed that he was a monster pinned into place like a bug, although nothing about him suggested that he was a monster. He looked like an ordinary man; a handsome one, if you found the edge of dark cruelty on his features to be attractive. He reminded me of someone, but I couldn’t quite remember who.
His prisoners had left him shirtless and pantsless, with only a pair of black boxers protecting his privacy. My eyes had adjusted swiftly to the dark, and I could see the curve of strong broad shoulders and muscular thigh muscles under his olive skin. I couldn’t imagine why they had left him almost nude until he moved, and the sigils on the chair and on his shackles gleamed a soft silver light. The gleaming stopped whenever he went still, but came back every time he moved an inch. It must have been uncomfortable in that chair because he was finding it difficult to stay still. At each gleam he gritted his teeth. Clearly it pained him. His prisoners wanted him to feel maximum pain. His head was hanging downwards. I sensed that if he had known I was there he would have been facing me. But he did not know I was watching him. This was just a dream.
Even so I sensed that he was waiting. I knew it with absolute certainty, just like I knew that he was waiting for me.
When I woke up I still knew that he was waiting for me. The question was who was he and why was he waiting? And did he even know yet that he was waiting?
The intensity of the dream faded quickly and all I was left with was a mild sense of curiosity. I wondered if he had anything to do with my missing girl
Zezi.
As I stretched my body out in my bed, yawning noisily, I relegated the dream to the back of my mind. It was not the worst psychic dream I had ever had. There hadn’t been any death in it and not much misery in the large scale of things. And I had something far more interesting to distract me this morning. His deliciously warm body was behind me; spooning me, in fact. It made my face light up in a wicked grin.
There were not many people who I would let make me into a little spoon. In fact, there was only one. And no matter how much I liked Constantine Storm being my big spoon, I was not about to miss my chance to see his face when he woke up in my bed. I rolled around quietly until I was facing him. I was so close to his delicious sable hair with that hint of curl that it was incredibly difficult for me not to reach out and run my fingers through it. His face was devastatingly handsome in sleep and his lips perfectly kissable. I could have eaten him right up.
Instead, I took a moment to contemplate him without him being aware of me. I had been drawn strongly to Storm from the moment we met, and now I could hear the reason why. I couldn’t describe the psychic-music that emanated from him except to say that it was deep and powerful and ever-present. It felt as vast as an ocean and it never went away. I wasn’t sure what to make of it, and whether it was something to do with him, or to do with the way that I felt about him. It was coming from him now even though he was fast asleep.
Chuckling quietly to myself, I tapped the tip of his nose with my index finger and whispered, “Agent Storm, wakey wakey!”
He sighed, his chest expanding as he took in a deep breath and then released it. But he did not wake up.
Gosh, could the man be any cuter? His dark eyelashes were flush against his warm skin. I had studied every inch of his face last night when he had dropped into sleep, knowing that I might not see him like that again in a long time.
Pretending that I was only doing it as a game to wake him up, I ran my finger along his jaw — appreciating the rough hint of dark stubble that had sprung up overnight — and then down his chest. I traced my finger in a sinuous wavy motion against the firmness of his muscles, pressing hard enough for him to feel it. I thought he might spring up like a warrior, but the man was out of it.
A worry crossed my mind. Would his first instinctive thought on waking think it was me with him or someone else? It had darn well better not be someone else. Not that I had any right to think that. It was not like I was his girlfriend. And boy did I hope he didn’t have a girlfriend. That would totally suck.
Feeling irked by the thought, I poked him. Still he did not wake up. My mattress bounced a tiny amount as my cat AngelBeastie jumped up onto it. She casually trampled over storm, climbing up his legs and perching on his torso. I swear she gave me a little grin as she sunk her claws into him.
That woke him up. He sat up fast, sending a yowling AngelBeastie tumbling off him in disgust. She swiped him angrily before lightly jumping onto the floor, clearly annoyed at having an unwanted visitor in her bed. Storm was now sitting up against the headrest, staring all about him in wild confusion. First at my room with its old furniture and faded wallpaper and the plexiglass-enclosed shower cubicle right next to the kitchenette — a sight which clearly baffled him. Then reluctantly his gaze moved to the bed, taking in the rumpled sheets. Lastly it moved to me.
These days I much preferred to have nothing between me and my sheets — but last night, for his benefit, I had put on leggings and a T-shirt. I might have worn something scanty to tease him if it wasn’t for my darned navelstone, the glittering blackness of it fused to my flesh too icky a sight for me to want Storm to see. Even I had never quite got used to my navelstone, and I doubted that Storm had seen anything like it. I doubted that he wanted to. Wasn’t I a considerate bed mate?
Seeing that I was dressed had brought a look of vast relief across Storm’s face. How very insulting.
“Good morning, lover,” I purred at him.
The sound of my voice made him wince and rub his temples. He was still dressed in the jeans and shirt that he had been wearing last night. I had considered removing the jeans — to make him more comfortable and not just because I fancied getting a look at his legs — but I had decided against it. Now I wished I had taken the time. It would have been worth it to see the look on his face.
Chuckling, I got up and straddled his lap. “I had a good time last night, sweetie,” I crooned. “Did you?”
“What?” he said huskily, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He did not look like a happy bunny.
“Last night,” I repeated in a breathy feminine voice, all the while fluttering my eyelashes at him. “Remember? You and me…? I’m trying to decide what I should call you now. I quite like loverboy. Or sweet-cheeks. I can’t decide.”
The word sweet-cheeks seemed to horrify him.
I ran the palms of my hands up his shirt and I let my fingers settle on his top button, as if considering unfastening it. I raised my eyebrow at him questioningly.
