by Rachel Grant
“No problem.” He nodded toward the utility room off the kitchen. “Help yourself.” He’d offer to start the laundry for her, but the last thing he needed right now was to know if she had sexy underwear.
She grabbed her clothes and disappeared into the utility room. “Pizza almost ready?” she asked when she returned to the living room a few minutes later.
He nodded, retreating into the safety of silence.
She wandered around the room, studying the photos on the mantel, wall, and side table. She glanced over her shoulder at him. “You’re only in two of these. There are a whole lot of this couple, though.”
“My cousin and his wife.”
She paused before an array of photos of Jana. Then turned to him with that adorable brow raised in question. She must be wondering if he carried an unhealthy fascination for his cousin’s wife.
“She died, six months ago. Snow machine accident. My cousin was—and still is—devastated. He likes seeing pictures of her.”
“You put pictures of her all over your house for your cousin? That’s really sweet. Better than pretending the deceased never existed, which is what so many people do.”
He felt vaguely uncomfortable with her undeserved praise, but even more curious to know whom she’d lost to give her observation that painful edge.
The timer for the pizza beeped, offering retreat, which he gladly took.
They ate dinner in companionable silence, and it was clear she wasn’t faking her exhaustion. “I take it you don’t want to stay up to watch the last sunset for thirty-six days?”
“Stay up until three in the morning to watch the sun set for about fifteen minutes? I think I’ll pass.”
During her shower, he’d found bedding and laid it out on the sofa. “I’m sorry there aren’t room-darkening blinds in the living room. If the light will bother you, you’re welcome to the master bed. I can sleep out here.”
She shook her head. “I’m too tired to care how bright it is outside. Plus there will be that fifteen minutes of almost-darkness. Can’t wait.”
He smiled and fought the urge to kiss her on the forehead, a gentle and entirely inappropriate goodnight. Tomorrow, when they weren’t both dead on their feet, he’d grill her about the artifact and come clean on his identity. But now, he needed sleep.
Sienna watched him leave the room, feeling rather melancholy knowing he was obsessed with his cousin’s dead wife. Not that she doubted his story about his cousin appreciating photos of the vibrant woman, but no man displayed so many pictures of a woman he didn’t have feelings for.
It was just as well, because the Itqaklut cultural resources manager was off-limits, and not just because he was in love with a dead woman. She stretched out on the couch and pulled the blankets around her, silently acknowledging that the bright sunlit night could be a problem. The mask had prevented her from having a decent night’s sleep in weeks, and she’d been on the go for the last twenty or so hours. If there were ever a night in which she should sleep deeply in spite of the light, it was tonight.
She just prayed the damn mask would leave her alone.
She drifted off into floating ether where aches and anxieties disappeared. In a sleepy dream state, she checked in with her sisters, met the sweet woman from the photos on the mantel, visited a long-ago childhood home in Seattle, then argued with her client, the museum curator. Again. The curator was angry, yelling at her. Threatening her. Then his eyes widened with fear as he looked past her into the shadows.
She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned. Her host, the Itqaklut CRM, stood behind her and stared down the curator with a menacing gaze. In a transition that only made sense in dreams, the curator faded and his office morphed into the small house in Itqaklut. The CRM no longer stood behind her, nor was he angry. Now he leaned against the bedroom doorway, staring at her with hot, penetrating eyes.
She stared back, aware her gaze reflected the same raw desire she saw in his.
Was this a dream, fantasy, or real?
In her mind, she tried to make him step forward. If this were fantasy, she could control everything he did.
He shook his head and said, “No, Sienna. This goes both ways.”
Okay, not a fantasy.
He peeled off his T-shirt, revealing thick, muscled shoulders, hard pecs, and six-pack abs. Okay. No tribal cultural resource manager she’d ever met was so ripped, so this couldn’t be real.
It must be a dream.
She sat up on the couch and tested the dream by reaching for the hem of her shirt, but paused, waiting for instructions. He took what appeared to be an uncontrollable step forward, his breathing shallow. “Take it off, Sienna. I want to see you.”
A small taste of reality entered her dream state. “No. You’re in love with your cousin’s wife. I won’t be a stand-in for a dead woman.”
“This isn’t my house. It’s Chuck’s house. I’m his cousin, Assistant US Attorney Rhys Vaughan, Western District of Washington. The photos aren’t mine. They’re Chuck’s.”
She wanted to be outraged that he’d lied to her, that he wasn’t the man he’d just spent hours pretending to be. But she was too hot, too aroused to care. If he wasn’t the Itqaklut CRM, and wasn’t in love with a dead woman, then she could have this dream. Or whatever it was. She could enjoy it without fear. Without guilt.
“Take off your shirt, Sienna.”
She slipped it over her head, but then she covered her bare breasts with her hands.
“No. Drop your hands,” he commanded.
She obeyed.
“Slide your hand into your pants. Touch yourself for me.”
She did. She was slick, hot, and ready, and let out a soft moan as she stroked herself.
It was a dream. The most intense, vivid dream of her life, and because it was only a dream, she could do whatever she wanted, even be submissive, without guilt. Her id could play with Rhys and her ego needn’t worry. She rubbed the slick moisture of her arousal across a nipple. He dropped to his knees before her and licked where she’d touched and groaned as he sucked on the pert tip.
Pleasure shot to her center, and she gripped his thick, light hair. They hadn’t even kissed yet, and she wanted him inside her. She wanted to let go of every inhibition she’d ever had and indulge in a wild, carefree night with this man whose name she’d just learned.
His mouth found hers. He nibbled on her bottom lip, then slid his tongue between her lips in a sweet, hot stroke. She accepted his invasion by sucking on his tongue. Intense heat shot across her nerves. He lifted his head and met her gaze. “I don’t know what this is. All I know is I want you. Now. In the same way I need oxygen.”
“We’re dreaming.” She kissed him, sliding her tongue against his, already imagining the feel of his cock in the same way. She pulled back and caught her breath. “This is a perfect, consequence-free fantasy fuck.” She couldn’t believe she’d used the word fuck like that. The word had always been a secret, even embarrassing, turn-on. One she’d never dared use during foreplay or sex. She’d never been with a man she’d been comfortable showing her raunchy side to. Hell, truth was, she’d never indulged her raunchy side. Not with a partner, anyway.
Rhys grinned and pulled her to her feet as he stood. “Well then, I’m going to fuck you and enjoy every consequence-free inch of your body.” He scooped her into his arms. “But first I’m going to suck on your clit until you come against my tongue.” He carried her into the bedroom and dropped her on the bed, then tugged at the tie on her sweatpants.
She shook her head. “Tell me what you want. Order me to do it.” She flushed, unable to believe she’d asked for that. But it was a dream, and she could lay her deepest fantasies bare. She didn’t want pain or hardcore kink, but she wanted to be pushed to lose the inhibitions that prevented her from giving freely with her body. Those inhibitions had made her two one-night stands disastrous. Well, that and the fact that she wasn’t cut out for sex with strangers. But this wasn’t a cheap pickup. This was her consequence-fre
e fantasy, and she wanted to cut loose and enjoy. Which she could do if he told her what to do. If he commanded her.
He could break through the reserve that held her in check.
She didn’t want Rhys to be a considerate lover. She wanted aggressive. Primal. To be fucked. Thoroughly and completely.
“You want to be submissive?”
She nodded.
“Tied up?”
“Not this…dream. Maybe…later?”
He grinned. “Okay. Take off your pants and spread your legs for me.”
Just the way he said it shot heat through her. She obeyed.
“Bend your knees. Open yourself to me.”
She’d never felt so exposed. And this was only a dream.
“Touch yourself.”
She pressed her fingers into her slick folds. She was swollen, wet, and ready. He bent down and licked her, and she bucked with the sharp jolt of pleasure. He grazed his teeth over her clit, and she moaned as he straddled the fine line between pleasure and pain.
“You taste so fucking good,” he said in a husky voice.
Again the word turned her on. His fearlessness in using it made her hot. Eager. Everything about him had her slick, ready, and impatient for his next command.
He scooted off the bed and removed his sweatpants and briefs. She reached for his erection, wanting to slide her hands along the thick length. He stepped back, shaking his head. “Move your head to the edge of the bed so it’s just over the side, and open your mouth.”
Her vagina clenched in anticipation as she complied. Standing beside the mattress, he slid his cock into her mouth, and she purred with pleasure at the feel of him on her tongue. She reached up to wrap her hand around the base of his cock, but he stopped her. “No. I’m going to fuck your mouth. I’m in control.”
He thrust into her, but not so far as to trigger her gag reflex, and when he pulled back, she sucked on the tip. His hand slid down her belly and into her curls, where his fingers caressed her clit, sliding inside her vagina in time with the strokes of his cock in her mouth.
It was the most intense, pleasurable sexual experience of her life, and she hadn’t even orgasmed yet.
His fingers brought her to the edge of climax, and she knew from his panting and the intensity on his face that he rode the same edge. Finally, he pulled out of her mouth. “Move up on the bed. I’m going to fuck you now.”
He settled between her thighs and groaned. “Condom. We don’t have a condom.”
“This is a dream,” she said. “We don’t need one.”
“Right. I keep forgetting. This feels too real. Too perfect.”
“You’re perfect. Exceptional,” she said. “So it must be a dream, because I’m not that lucky.”
“Neither am I, gorgeous. And you’re the one who is exceptional. I’ve never been this turned on. This hard. This desperate to fuck a beautiful woman.” The thick head of his cock pressed against her opening. She shifted and pressed down. He slid inside, filling her as her body rippled with heat and pleasure.
She wrapped her thighs around his hips and met him thrust for thrust. He buried his lips against her neck and groaned. The intensity built with each stroke, but orgasm remained just out of reach.
“If you want to come…” he said against her neck.
“We need to wake up,” she finished for him.
“Do you want this?” he asked.
“God, yes. Do you?”
He nibbled on her collarbone as he rocked his hips against hers. “More than I’ve ever wanted anything, ever.”
She curled her fingers through his thick hair. The slide of his cock inside her gave her the most intense edge-of-orgasm pleasure she’d ever experienced.
She took a quick breath and said, “Wake up,” at the same time he did.
Her eyes popped open. She was in the master bedroom, her body wrapped tightly with Rhys’s. His mouth was on her neck, her fingers in his hair. His hips nestled tightly between her thighs, his erection pressed against her center.
But they were both fully clothed.
Chapter Three
“Holy shit!” Rhys said, his chest heaving as he jolted away from her. “That couldn’t have been real.”
Sienna teetered on the edge of the bed, trying to catch her breath, as reality sank in. She gripped the soft fabric of her T-shirt. A shield. Proof the sex had only been in their minds. But considering they’d shared the dream, it had, for all intents and purposes, happened.
Anger suffused her as his words in the dream sank in. “Your name is Rhys? You lying sonofabitch!”
His eyes widened. “How could you possibly know that?”
“You told me.”
He ran his fingers through his hair. “So we…just did—and didn’t—have sex. How is that possible?”
“The mask. It’s been sending me dreams, thoughts, and emotions for the last two months. This was the first time it invited anyone else to the party.”
His handsome lips twisted in a sexy smile. “That was some party.”
She felt her cheeks redden as the finer details of the dream sank in.
He shook his head and lost the grin. “This is nuts. I don’t want to believe it, but… When I first came to you, we weren’t here. We were in a storage space, overloaded with boxes and crates. There was another man there. Tall, gray hair, heavy lines on his face, which was red—from yelling at you?”
“My client, Adam Helvig.”
“Was he…with us in the dream?”
“No. At least, I don’t think so. That part felt like a normal dream—my dream, which you glimpsed. Then he faded out, and we were here.”
“And it changed from being your dream to our dream.”
Her flush deepened, and she imagined she looked like a damn cherry. She’d told him her deepest sexual fantasy, and they’d both acted on it. She cleared her throat but could no longer meet his gaze. “You still haven’t told me why you lied and claimed to be Chuck Vaughan.”
“I never said I was Chuck. You assumed I was, and I went with it. You even asked if I’m ‘Mr. Vaughan,’ which I am. Rhys Vaughan.” He offered a hand. So polite.
She glared at his outstretched appendage. “I think we’re beyond that, don’t you? And don’t quibble with semantics. You pretended this house is yours. That was a lie.”
He dropped his arm and shrugged. “I’m an attorney. My life is semantics. For the record, I never actually lied. I just let you continue believing what you’d assumed. I didn’t say one word claiming this house is mine.”
She frowned, remembering how he’d had no clue what NAGPRA stood for. If she hadn’t been so intent on unloading the mask, she’d have realized immediately he wasn’t the tribal CRM. She was such a fool. “Semantics to you, but still lies in my book.”
“Hey, I came clean before we had sex. And you didn’t care then.”
She wanted to deny they’d had sex, and yet... couldn’t. More semantics. She hadn’t done anything she didn’t want to do, and part of her wanted to finish what they’d started in the dream right here and now.
Goddamned cursed mask.
The sound of breaking glass chimed, and they both came to attention. A jolt of pain stabbed her in the occipital nerve. “The mask,” she whispered through the pulsing agony. She gripped her head, which throbbed in time to her heartbeat.
Rhys held his head in the same manner. The mask must have claimed him too.
Well, at least she wasn’t alone in her insanity. Nice of the mask to pick a hot man to join her in loony land. Except he’d deceived her, so the desire she couldn’t help but feel after the dream they’d shared was now unsettling.
The pain ceased as quickly as it had begun. From the next room, she heard the squeak of a window being raised.
Rhys bolted to his feet and pressed a finger to his lips. He made a beeline for the closet and eased open the door, then plucked out a shotgun. He paused before her, leaned down, and kissed her—a quick, hard, familiar gesture—as if t
hey’d been lovers forever. His blue eyes burned into hers as he whispered against her lips, “Stay here. Don’t make a noise.” He silently slipped from the room.
A moment later, she heard the spine-chilling sound of the shotgun cocking. Banging and thumping sounded from the adjacent room, followed by more shattering glass as, she assumed, the intruder exited through the window.
She raced to the bedroom window, which overlooked the backyard, as did the window in the room where she’d left the mask. The window, she knew from the flash of imagery the mask had sent as it stabbed at her brain, that had been broken moments before.
It was a shade darker outside now than it had been when she went to sleep—just shadowy enough that she didn’t catch anything recognizable from hair color to clothing as the intruder raced around the corner of the house. He’d broken in during the fifteen minutes of sundown. All she could be certain of was male, average height and build.
“Get away from the window!” Rhys said from the doorway, his voice tight and low.
She swung around to face him, feeling her face reddening at the censure in his tone. “He’s gone. I was trying to see who it was.”
“He might not have been alone, and you’re presenting a target.” He frowned at her. “If I’d been alone, I’d have cornered and questioned him, but with you to worry about, I chose to scare him off by cocking the shotgun.”
He said it like his decision was her fault. “If you’d been here alone, there wouldn’t have been an intruder. He was after the mask.”
“You don’t know that. He could have been breaking in because he had something to do with Chuck’s poisoning.”
“Poisoning? What poisoning?” Then she shook her head. “And we do know he was after the mask, because it told us.”
Rhys grimaced and, with the hand that wasn’t holding a loaded shotgun, rubbed his temple. He glanced at the bed’s rumpled sheets, proof they’d done more than cuddle in the dream state, then down at his T-shirt and sweatpants, proof there was a line between dream and reality that hadn’t been crossed. “Let’s move this conversation into the living room. We need to talk.”
