Lacybourne Manor (Ghosts and Reincarnation #3)(31)

Sibyl stared in shock at her dog.

“Mallory, get inside,” she commanded and Mallory leaned forward, licked her hand and then decided that, even though he liked Colin Morgan, he liked his sleep better. So he ambled into the house and disappeared.

Sibyl looked back at Colin. “Thank you again, you’ve been very nice tonight.”

Colin didn’t respond.

There was light but it was dim and she couldn’t see his eyes all that well. What she did see was his hand coming up and, before she could react, he traced a finger in a whisper-soft caress from her temple, along her cheek, to the corner of her lip. Then, all the while Colin watching his finger’s movements, it dipped and slowly traced the bottom edge of her lower lip ending on her chin. The whole manoeuvre, in real time, probably lasted five seconds, but it felt like it took a blissful, beautiful, dreamy eternity and that was why Sibyl stood silent and unmoving as he did it.

It was not a goodnight kiss but, somehow, seemed far more intimate.

Then, his eyes coming back to hers, he murmured, “Goodnight, Sibyl.”

And with that, he left.

Chapter Seven

Bargain

Sibyl woke up the next day, her limbs hopelessly entangled with the covers of her bed.

She saw distractedly that Mallory stood beside her bed, looking curiously at her, not in his usual loopy manner, but as if he was standing at attention, awaiting her command.

She was sweating, she was panting and she remembered every vivid detail of the dream she’d just had.

“I’m going insane,” she told the dog and he melted out of his unusual stance and moved toward her, his tail wagging, his body shaking, his cold nose snuffling at her hand.

She lay back on the bed and absently pet her dog.

Last night, after Colin left, she hadn’t allowed herself to think about him, the night or his desire to see her again (and hers to see him). She had definitely not thought about his light caress. She figured it was simply bad luck that she’d run into him. She had managed to live a year in England without ever seeing him and she hoped she could continue with her life and never see him again (or, at least, this was what she told herself).

Unfortunately, that did not include seeing him in her dreams.

The real man was clearly unbalanced, or perhaps not, but she was not going to allow herself to discover the truth.

The dream man was anything but.

Last night, in her dream though, he had been blond. His hair the exact colour of hers, golden and thick. He’d been wearing some sort of tunic, hose and high, soft leather boots with a gold, intricately linked chain settled low on his narrow waist. She had been wearing a gown of soft, pale blue wool, she also had a belt made of delicate silver filigree inlaid with roughly cut aquamarines tied low on her waist.

Sibyl blamed her father for her dream’s medieval wardrobe.

They were riding a midnight black steed, the horse’s muscled power beneath her, her lover’s same power emanating into her back as he held her close to his chest atop the horse. One of his arms was wrapped protectively and possessively about her waist.

This moment was a stolen one, her lover wending his expert way through a heavy wooded area until he found the place for which he was looking. They were not supposed to be out there alone together some foreign part of her knew and felt the illicit excitement of it.

He alighted from the horse then dragged her off, sliding her tantalisingly down the length of his hard body.

Then he bent his head to kiss her and it was sweet and wild and beautiful and absolutely everything a kiss should be.

When he lifted his head, his eyes hooded and sexy as they had been in the entryway to his house a week before, she’d whispered, “Colin.”

This made him grin a very devilish grin.

“Are you trying to make me jealous, wench? ‘Colin’ indeed. Say my name when I kiss you.” Then, his lips on hers, he whispered, “Say it, Beatrice… Royce.”

Confused and not knowing what to do, not knowing why he was calling her Beatrice, and wanting another of those kisses, she did as he commanded and murmured the name, “Royce”.

The instant she did, he kissed her again and it was all the things before but now also hot with need. She felt desire flood through her as she slid her hands into his hair. He lay her down on the forest floor right next to the horse, his body settled on top of her and she gloried in his heavy weight.

The horse shifted and she felt the unsettling feeling they were being watched.

It was then she awoke, the limbs that had been entangled with his were simply wound through the sheets of her bed.

“I am going insane,” she told the dog and Mallory whined.

She pulled the covers off the bed and grabbed some jeans and sweater to wear to take her dog for a walk. She resolutely shoved the dream aside (it was only a dream, just a dream, Colin Morgan was forever out of her life, forever and ever, she vowed).

So it was a lovely dream.

So it was a particularly delicious and lovely dream.

It was just a dream.

She went through her morning regime, thinking only of the things she needed to think about.

Walk the dog, feed her pets, brush her teeth, wash her face, take a shower and so on.She sat at her dressing table, lightly applied her makeup and attempted to do something with her hair.

Sibyl loved her bedroom, it was (as was the whole of Brightrose Cottage, but especially her bedroom) her sanctuary, perfectly, splendidly her.