What Dreams May Come (Berkley Sensation)

by Sherrilyn Kenyon

  “If Boris had yowled . . .” Jake said, getting mad at the angel cat.

  Shauna nodded. “Yes, I’d have come running. It was a bad time. A bad time in the neighborhood for a couple of months.” She looked across the street in the direction of the crash, then down at her flower beds.

  “Come in, Jake,” she said.

  He had to kiss her.

  Before she could move away, he placed his hand under her chin and tilted her face up to his. Keeping his gaze locked on hers, he brushed her soft mouth with his and welcomed the flash of arousal.

  “Lovely Shauna,” he breathed, and pulled her into his arms, glorying in the softness of her against him. Just holding her was a delight—and an exercise in control. But he wanted to savor the anticipation. He didn’t want to rush this time with Shauna. His tongue swept along her lips, asking for entrance; she opened her mouth on a sigh, then her tongue dueled with his and blood fled from his head straight to his groin. Maybe he was going to have more problems lasting through dinner than he’d thought. He broke the kiss and liked it when her hands clamped around his arms to steady herself. Her eyes were wide and dreamy, her lips ruddy from his kiss. He liked that she showed her reaction to him. She wasn’t a lady to be casual about sex or light about emotions that tangled with passion. He hadn’t experienced such emotions much with any woman before Shauna, but found his feelings growing. Sometimes it made him wary, but mostly he enjoyed how he felt when he thought about Shauna, or was with her, and most of all when he was with her in bed. In her.

  “Jake, you are the best kisser,” she said.

  And the warmth that was different than passion, more than affection, suffused him, gathered around his heart. Yeah, he really liked being with Shauna.

  She sniffed and her eyes cleared. “The brownies!” She pulled away from him and rushed back into the house.

  Homemade brownies. Geeze, could a woman be so perfect?

  The threshold to the house was dim and the entryway lit only indirectly from the porch. He stepped in and knew he was in trouble.

  It was too perfect. Too comfortable. Too everything he’d always dreamed of as a child and his ma and dad never provided.

  It was a home.

  After the greatest sex of his life, Shauna drifted asleep beside him in the gentle rocking of the waterbed. The glow from the nightlight in the bathroom down the hall was faint, but comforting. Everything in the house was comforting, a home, just like he’d desperately wanted as a child. That concerned him. Her home attracted him just as much as her heart—welcoming strays open-handedly, her spirit—optimistic and completely honest and natural, not to mention her body. He curved his hand around her sweet ass. She twisted so sensually, shattering his control faster than he believed possible. He’d slaked a need he’d never known.

  Yeah, he liked her body a lot. Liked that she was so unselfconscious in the act of love, so willing to do whatever pleased them both.

  Nothing about this house was uncomfortable. He stilled. It wasn’t just a home to him. It was a trap for Shauna.

  It was too comfortable. She could withdraw from everything that was messy and uncomfortable in life here. Everything that didn’t suit her. All the wild emotions that might make her live deeply. He could see her as the stereotypical old maid fifty years from now.

  A whuffle and thump came from under the headboard, where her cat Jimbo slept. Geeze, Shauna already had a good start on the cat part of the old-maid scenario. She was twenty-eight and had two—three, counting Boris. By sixty she’d have six, and by ninety . . . Jake shuddered. It didn’t bear thinking about.

  He’d save her from that fate. Make sure she didn’t fade into this house and never come out, and only cared for by cats.

  He frowned. Maybe he was wrong about the number of cats. How long did cats live, anyway? Boris sure hadn’t looked too old. Beaten up and tough, but not old. How old was old for a cat? Surely one or two would kick the bucket along the way.

  But she’d get more. She wouldn’t be able to turn them away. Jake settled. He could rescue her. Make sure she lived life to the fullest. That was a quality most cops had. They didn’t take life for granted, and they really lived. She would give him comfort and he’d give her excitement and they’d give each other great sex. That’s how this relationship would work. Sounded good to him.

  A faint whish of sound and his head rocked up and down on the bed from the addition of a new body. He stared up into the unblinking, gleaming eyes of Prima Donna, the little delicate Siamese. The snotty one. Boris had his faults, and they irritated the hell out of Jake, but Boris hadn’t stared at him with the complete and utter disregard of the Queen of the Universe for a peasant too low to touch her dainty paws.

  The cat walked over him with the deliberate prick of her claws, stopped near Shauna’s head by his shoulder, then the thing scratched at the bedspread. Shauna mumbled and lifted the covers. Jake stared, appalled. The cat slept with Shauna? Under the covers? This was going too far.

  He was under there, too, and he was naked. And he sure as hell didn’t trust that cat and her beady eyes.

  He picked her up. Her yowl woke Shauna. Prima twisted with a flexibility that amazed him. He dropped her fast over the side of the bed.

  Shauna pushed hair out of her eyes. “Jake?”

  “No cats in the bed under the covers,” he said. “Especially when I’m naked.”

  She looked at him with sleepy eyes. “Oh. All right. We’ll get used to it. I’ll think of something Prima will like better.”

  Not possible. He watched warily as Prima Donna stalked away, tail high.

  “No cats under the covers, eh?” Shauna purred. Her hand slid down his chest, over his thighs, between them. She found him and stroked, long and delicately.

  He swallowed. “I could make an exception. One exception.”

  “And you’re naked?” Her eyes were wide now, teasing. The tip of her tongue darted out to touch her lips, and she smiled. Once he would have said a catlike smile, but this was all woman.

  “I think I’d better verify that you’re naked,” she purred. She ducked under the sheets. The purring stopped when her tongue took the place of her fingers, caressing the length of him exquisitely. She used her teeth, too, with just enough pressure and skill to shatter him.

  Six

  Shauna gripped the phone tightly. The mechanic continued to squawk in her ear, but she didn’t hear him. Her car was dead. He paused and she said, “Thanks, don’t work on it yet. I’ll get back to you tomorrow morning.”

  Blindly she hung up the phone. Wrapping her arms around herself, she slid down the wall of the kitchen, waves of nausea washing through her. What was she going to do?

  For a while she just sat there, sick, until Prima and Jimbo circled her, mewing in worry. Then she pushed to her feet and tottered out to the dining room and the business ledger. She didn’t need to open the pages. If she poured money into her car, she couldn’t make her first payment on her business loan—surely a big, red flag to the bankers who watched. If she didn’t fix her car, she wouldn’t have a business.

  She propped her elbows on the table and put her face in her hands. Was life going to be like this every month? Full of worry as to whether she’d be able to make her business go, pay the loan? Full of moments of pure stomach-rolling nausea as she faced the future? She was doing what she always dreamed of, and this was the dark, nightmare side. She’d mortgaged her house and used all her savings for the start-up. Winter was near, along with an inevitable slowdown in projects. Money was coming in, just not soon enough to pay the loan. She should be all right through the winter unless there was a major disaster. . . .

  After a few deep breaths, options marched through her head. She could set up payments with the mechanic; she’d been a good customer. She could rent out the spare bedroom and take on a roommate. She could find a part-time or a full-time job.

  Or she could quit. Right now. Bury her dream. A last clenching of her stomach reminded her of the benefit
s of that. Less worries.

  How much did she want this dream? Enough to pay the cost of moments of sick terror like this?

  Another minute of deep breaths and visualizations—how she’d loved the designing and, most of all, the planting. How she’d anticipated going by her projects next spring and summer and seeing the fruition of her work. She set her shoulders and opened the ledger.

  Jake banged the door as he came in. “I’ve got Chinese,” he said. His footsteps stopped in the living room as he saw her. “What is it?”

  She didn’t want to look at him and let him see her failure or the tears in her eyes. Was torn for an instant as to whether she could share this with him. “Car is dead.”

  “Oh.” He passed her on the way to the kitchen, and the smell of the Chinese food sent another rush of nausea through her. There was the crackle of bags as he set the food on the counter.

  The next thing she knew, he was stroking her head. “Don’t worry, Shauna.”

  She braced her shoulders so they wouldn’t tremble. “I’ll think of something. I’m not going to quit.”

  “Of course you won’t,” he said, but his soothing hand left her and she felt bereft.

  Then he flipped open his cell phone and punched in a number. “Roy?” Jake said. “You still have that used truck that looks like hell but runs good in the back of your place? Can I borrow it for a friend?”

  Jake looked at Shauna. She stared up at him, heart thumping hard. “How long?” he asked her.

  Her brain scrambled, but she knew her finances and when more money was coming in. “Two weeks?”

  “A coupla weeks,” Jake said into the phone. He smiled at her. “Yeah, yeah, we’ll get an oil change and a lube job. Promise.” He glanced at his watch. “How about we pick it up at seven-thirty? Fine, see you then.”

  Shauna stared at him. Just like that. Jake, the man of action, had just given her two weeks of breathing room. With that she could look around for a truck of her own. She jumped up and her chair fell to the floor, and flinging her arms around his neck, she kissed him hard. “My hero.”

  “Oh, yeah!” He pulled her hard against him.

  With the relief rolling through her body, she felt a little light-headed, but she knew what she wanted. “I feel like wild sex.”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  Later that night Jake still felt like a hero. He’d had no doubt that Shauna could have fixed her problem on her own, but it was great to be able to help her. It was great to know that Roy trusted him—and Shauna—with his truck, too.

  The world was fine, or would be after another bout of sex.

  He pulled Shauna close, fitting her against him. Her smooth skin and soft body moved all along his own and he hardened, fast. But he fit his mouth on hers, slowly teasing her lips apart, probing with his tongue, and she gave the little moans that told him he was arousing her. He’d make her moan, then writhe, and then surrender.

  He kept his thrusts slow and steady, bringing them both to the brink, then retreating, letting them calm a little before he began again. Her eyes glazed and her breaths became one long crescendo of whimpers for fulfillment. A fine sweat shone on her skin, accenting her breasts, dampening the hair along her brow—and lower. She was lost in the spell he wove for them, not thinking at all, only feeling what he was doing to her, and he was supremely pleased.

  Finally the demands of his own body and the pressure building in it snapped his control. He plunged and groaned and thrust until she shuddered and clamped around him and his mind exploded.

  “I love you!” Shauna cried.

  He froze, then realized she didn’t really mean it. He could breathe again, though his heart hurt. A woman like Shauna would rationalize great sex with love. Her words had to be just bedroom words, like sex words. He’d heard them before without any meaning, and said them himself. But he wouldn’t with Shauna.

  All right, maybe they meant more than that to Shauna. She’d said the words because she’d been sleeping with him for more than a month now. She was a spiritual person and would need to justify the passion and hot sex and spending time with him as something more than . . . dating, a hot affair.

  He shut his eyes and his mind and his heart and slipped into sleep.

  Shauna bit her lip. Jake hadn’t wanted to hear she loved him. Tough. She’d needed to say it. Difficult to believe she loved Jake so quickly, but they . . . connected. She admired him and his work.

  She smiled in the darkness at his snoring. Jake was real and she’d needed a man in her life for a long time. He might not be a “good” man—she still knew he was dangerous to her heart if she got attached and they broke up—but he’d be worth the effort to forge the relationship between them. She didn’t mind doing 75 percent—for a while. But only for a while.

  She’d been set up by fate, and by the iridescent Angel. She turned and rubbed her nose against Jake’s shoulder, inhaling his scent and the fragrance of them together. Not to mention the sex was incredible. . . .

  Her saying she loved him changed their relationship. They still dated, still spent a lot of time in bed and out of it, but Jake looked at her as if always measuring her words. She was sorry the phrase had slipped out, but she’d been biting her tongue for days and wasn’t ashamed of her feelings—her love.

  He just wasn’t ready to hear it, though he hadn’t said anything about her declaration. And he hadn’t made one of his own, and for that lack her heart ached. She knew more of his background now; they talked in bed. Shauna learned that he would open up to her in the dark, whether or not they made love.

  Another week passed and Indian summer slowly died. A couple of gray days brought rain and a spitting of snow, and when they were gone the days were noticeably cooler. Shauna worked from sunrise to sunset landscaping clients’ yards and a couple more hours at her desk drawing plans. She’d been very lucky and was sure the business would survive the winter, though she might need a part-time job to keep her and the cats—and Jake—in food.

  One late afternoon, as Jake and his partner Maggie were on their way back to the station, a report of shots fired and units responding came over the radio.

  Jake was driving. “Sweet Motel, South Sheridan. We’re closest.” He glanced at Maggie from the corner of his eyes.

  “Not our job,” she said.

  The dispatcher’s tone rose slightly as she added that a child was involved. Maggie looked at Jake. “Let’s do it.”

  “Right.” He hit the radio and called it in. An image of the place formed in his mind’s eye, and his gut tightened. It had a door—several doors that reminded him of doors he had not wanted to go through. “Put your vest on, Maggie.”

  “Huh?”

  “Do it!” he said.

  “Yeah, yeah. I’m senior here.” She twisted and got it from the back. Slipped it over her head, and he felt her stare. “I’ve got to be sure of you, Forbes.”

  “I won’t clutch ’cause I was shot earlier.”

  “Wasn’t thinking of that.” She cleared her throat and leaned into a turn Jake took fast. “You don’t have a great rep for working with women. You’ve been fine with me, but I have to know you’ll follow me into that motel room. I always go through the door high; you go in low so we’ll cover the room.”

  “Yeah, well, I go in high, too, but for you, I’ll go in low.” He grinned, adrenaline rushing through him. “And I’ll be right on that hard ass of yours.” She was a good partner and a good woman. He reached out and yanked one of her vest tabs tighter.

  She sucked in a breath. “Shit, Forbes, take it easy.”

  “Nope. That was the old me, pretending. I’ve got a bad feeling about this, about you.” The car laid rubber as he stopped. Jake slid out, yanked on his vest, and pulled his gun.

  Maggie kept up with his run to the front of the seedy motel. “Fasten your vest better!” she gestured with her free hand.

  “Not my time to die,” Jake said, thinking of Boris.

  Maggie froze a second, hopped to keep u
p. “What, those trees you visit every Sunday told you so?”

  He should have known that would get out. It couldn’t bother him now. Wouldn’t bother him, ever. What his buds thought of it didn’t matter. “Yeah, they whisper to me. I’ll know my time.” He knew that with complete certainty.

  People huddled in front of the motel on the cracked asphalt of the parking lot, fear mixed with fascination on their faces. Some looked at a broken second-floor window that had screams coming from it, some watched Jake and Maggie.

  “Got news for you, Jake. There ain’t no trees here,” Maggie said. “What’s going on?” she demanded of a potbellied guy who stepped forward.

  He looked at Jake, but answered Maggie. “I’m the manager. I dunno. Guy just started shooting up the place.”

  “Is there a child in there?” asked Jake. “Who else is in there with him? What do you know about him?”

  “A little girl may be in there. His wife, maybe. His name is Jones and he’s paid through the end of the month.”

  Maggie jerked her head and they took off up the outside concrete stairs. “Police!” she yelled. “Put down your weapon and come out with your hands up!”

  Shots peppered the window.

  “Police!” Jake shouted, flicking off the safety of his gun.

  They stopped short of the door. “Mr. Jones, this is the police. Put your gun down and come out with your hands raised.”

  “Davis—” A woman’s cry cut short on a slap. Another shot zinged through the window.

  “On three,” Maggie said. “One. Two. Three.”

  They went in. A shot took Maggie high in the shoulder and she went down. Jake fired and killed a skinny man with wild red hair. A woman screamed and waved a knife she clutched. She stared at Jake, looked down at Maggie. Blood trickled from scratches on the woman’s face next to her eye, her mouth. She gaped and Jake noted missing teeth.

  “You killed my man. My Davis.” She staggered toward Jake.

  Taking a long stride, he twisted the knife from her hand, pushed her into a chair. “Sit. Stay.” The situation reminded him of his childhood. Only worse. At least he’d been spared this ending. “You have a daughter?”