An Excerpt From: WHAT SHE WANTS AT MIDNIGHT

© Copyright KIMBERLY DEAN, 2008.

Pocket Books, March 2008.

            Slowly, she opened her eyes.

            It was the same as it had always been.  The room was dark, save for the moonlight slanting through the window by her head.  Yet, as she listened carefully, she could hear breaths other than her own.

            Her pulse began to thud.

            Hesitantly, her gaze shifted upwards.  Dark, fathomless eyes stared back at her.  The distress in them nearly matched her own.

            A soft whimper left her throat.  Why must it always be this way?

            She tried to lift her hand, and her breath hitched.  Her arm drifted upward, almost weightless.  She turned her hand to look at her palm, amazed when her muscles effortlessly obeyed.

            Freedom!  The crushing lethargy was gone.  She was free to move! 

            She surged upright.  She heard his sudden intake of breath and felt the air about her shift as he stepped backwards.

            “No!  Don’t leave me.  Not this time.”

            Kneeling on the mattress with the covers bunched around her feet, she hesitantly reached for him.

            And found him.  Warm and real under the gentle touch of her palm.

            She watched in wonder as the moonlight haze cleared.  The fog dissipated as particles assembled.  Energy and matter collected at the point where she touched his cheek, and a rugged face appeared.  Devon froze, afraid to move, afraid to breathe.  She didn’t want to do anything to accidentally make this all go away.  In awe, she stared into those dark eyes.

            He let out a shuddering breath at the feel of her touch and, suddenly, he was there.  Tall, muscled, and alive.

            Her hungry gaze took in every inch of him.  He had dark hair to match the dark eyes, a wicked slash of a mouth, and wide shoulders.  She swallowed hard as her gaze drifted lower.  Good God, he was ripped!  Unable to stop herself, she slid her hand down to his muscular chest.  She understood now why she’d always been able to feel his heat.  He generated it like a furnace.  Entranced, she watched as her fingers traced the lines of his body.  She’d imagined him for so long.  Now, he was here, and he was a thousand times better than anything her imagination had ever conjured.

            “Devon?” he asked, his voice hoarse.  His heart thundered under her palm.  Shock shone in his eyes as his body went on the alert, but he didn’t pull back.  Instead, his gaze dropped to where she touched him. 

Hearing her name on those lips sent a shiver down her spine.  “I finally found you.”

Confusion wrinkled his brow.  “But what…  How?”

            “I wished it,” she whispered.  “I made the dream continue.”

Her inquisitive fingers began to slide down to the well-delineated muscles of his six-pack abs.  Her senses were bombarded with him.  She’d always been able to sense him.  Now she could see him.  Touch him.  Hear him.

She wanted to taste.

            She swayed forward, but he drew back.

“What dream?”  His dark eyes were lit with fire.  She could feel the heat as he searched her face. 

            “This dream, my dream of us.”

            She slowly reached for him again, and this time he didn’t stop her.  Her fingers shook as she traced the line of his jaw.  “I dream of you every night.  You stand over me while I sleep.”

He stilled.  “You’ve watched me?”

Her lips twitched.  “I’ve watched you watch me.”

His muscles tensed, and he gradually stepped away from her.  Putting the wall at his back, he quickly searched the room.  When his gaze finally landed on her again, it was hot.  Blistering hot, yet guarded. 

“What’s happening here?” he asked, his voice tight.

Devon could see his wariness.  She felt his desire more.

            She slipped off the bed. “Why are you so upset?  I thought you’d want this.”

            He froze.  Shock lit his face as he looked first at her and then back to the bed. 

            He caught her then, pulling her to him protectively.  She gasped aloud.  His touch on her flesh sizzled.  He felt it, too.  For a long moment, his hands lingered.  Finally, he looked into her eyes.  “Devon,” he whispered.  “How did you ‘make the dream continue’?”

God, she loved his hands on her.  “The power of suggestion,” she nearly purred.

He caught her chin.  “Red, what did you do?”

She looked into those eyes that had tempted her for so long.  “A love spell.”

            Unbidden, the spaghetti strap of her nightie slid down her shoulder.

            The glide of silk was inexorable.  They both watched, unable to stop it as it slipped over his fingers, brushed against his knuckles, and bared the upper curve of her breast.

            The air in the room thickened as they both went dead still.

            Devon lifted her gaze slowly to his face.  The muscles in his throat worked as he stared at her.  Hungrily.  Achingly.  Devotedly.  Desire hit her so hard, her knees nearly buckled. Those were the dark eyes she knew.  This was the connection she’d always felt between them. 

            He looked at her helplessly. 

            Then turning his hand, he caught the teal blue strap and slowly tugged it down the rest of the way.