With Everything I Am (The Three #2)(12)

“I know you’re awake,” his deep voice sounded and she blinked.

She knew that voice and its strange accent. Not American, not Scottish, not English, not French, a beautiful mixture of all of them.

Her handsome wolf.

Yes, definitely dreaming.

But this one was new.

She’d never had it in her cabin before. It was always either in her bedroom or some dream room lit by firelight, a room she’d never been in but sensed, strangely, was home.

And it had never been this vivid.

She dreamed vivid dreams her whole life. It was another gift she had that she knew others didn’t. Her dreams weren’t weird or disjointed. They were clear, they told stories and she always remembered every second.

She liked this new dream.

“No, I’m not,” she told his back as he laid down the last log. “I’m dreaming.”

He rose, turned and she sucked in dream breath.

God, he was handsome.

She loved every plane and angle on his face and there were lots of them and there was lots to love. He was, put simply, beautiful.

Dark eyebrows, sky blue eyes, strong jaw, interesting nose, full bottom lip.

He could, she noted with surprise, use a shave. He’d never been stubbly in any of her other dreams. With the thick, dark growth on his face, he looked like he hadn’t shaved in days.

She’d never been one for facial hair but on him she liked it.

She tore her eyes from his face and noticed he had on a dark gray, thermal henley under the flannel.

And he had on a great, black belt with a heavy buckle.

His outdoorsy outfit, not usually Sonia’s thing, was delicious, especially on that big, muscular, broad-shouldered, slim-hipped, long-legged body.

Hell, if he was real and lived in a real cabin in the mountains and one woman caught sight of him, it would be all over. Word would get out and women would be crawling all over this place like ants on the remains of a melted, fallen snow cone.

He was watching her enquiringly, so she got up on an elbow and called softly, “Why are you all the way over there, my handsome wolf?”

At her words, his brows drew together and it was a decidedly ominous look.

Sonia stared at him.

He’d never looked even close to ominous in any of her other dreams.

“What did you just say?” he asked, his voice strangely low and not-so-strangely (given the look) ominous.

She decided to go with it. He was always somewhat teasing and often even playful in her dreams.

“You heard me, wolf.”

He pulled off his gloves and dropped them on a chair as he strode toward her.

Sonia watched him.

His grace was astonishing. He’d always been close to her bed when she dreamed of him. She’d only ever felt him join her there. She’d never seen him move.

He looked good when he moved.

Boy, she loved this new dream.

He stopped to tower over the bed and she dropped to her back to look up at him.

“I’m liking this dream,” she informed him on a grin.

He sat beside her on the bed, his brows still drawn.

“Sonia, you aren’t dreaming,” he told her.

She put her hand to his forearm and tugged it toward her while saying through her grin, “Right.”

He leaned forward so both of his hands were in the bed at her sides and he replied gently, “Right, little one. You’re awake, this isn’t a dream.” His blue eyes moved over her face before he asked, “Do you feel okay?”

“I feel great,” she answered. Though she had to admit, even though it was weird in a dream, that her head hurt a little and she felt kind of groggy, like she’d slept a bit too long.

His hand came up and he placed it at the side of her head. It was so big it nearly covered the entire area.

His thumb smoothed over her eyebrow but his eyes never left hers.

“You called me ‘wolf’,” he stated softly.

She didn’t reply. She sat up, dislodging his hand, her body getting closer to his, her face getting closer to his. His body, she felt, went solid but she ignored that too and placed her hand on the side of his face.

“I get to do the touching,” she told him, as if he didn’t know.

She touched his face in her dream.

Always.

She did it again, fingertips in his thick hair, thumb gliding along his brow, down across his sharp cheekbone then over his full lower lip.

“Sonia.” His mouth moved against her thumb. She lifted her gaze from his lips to his eyes, which were searching but had not gone tawny (alas). “Does this mean you feel it?”

She nodded.

Oh, she felt it all right. She always felt it in her dream.

And she hoped this dream, which was not only sharper, clearer and more vivid than any of her other dreams but was also lasting a lot longer, would not end in her reaching toward the nightstand.

He smiled.

She sucked in breath.

God, she loved, loved, loved his smile.

“You feel it,” he murmured, his deep voice deeper, so much so it was almost a physical thing and he looked really, really, really pleased about something.

It was a good look.

And the depth of his voice was an excellent depth.

She got closer and placed her hands on his broad shoulders, put her mouth to his and, her eyes never leaving his own, demanded, “Are you going to kiss me, wolf, or what?”