Dreams of Seduction (2 page)

And sex. Well, she was quite capable of taking care of her needs herself.

Hurrying back to her bedroom, she tugged back the covers and climbed into bed. She turned off the light and lay there listening to the creaks and groans of the house as it settled for the night. Rolling onto her side, she peered out the closest window. The stars twinkled against the inky curtain of the night like her own personal nightlight.

A sense of restlessness possessed her. It was all that talk about sex tonight. This was all Rhiannon’s fault.

Flopping over onto her back, Maggie closed her eyes and sighed. What she needed was a lover. A dream lover. A man who came to her bed at night and loved her until she was breathless and sated. A man whose touch ignited flames under her skin, whose voice made her shiver with longing.

An image of a man popped into her head—Jed Bearson. Heat suffused her face, flowing down to her breasts and lower still. Her sex pulsed and she could feel the sensitive flesh swelling slightly as blood rushed to the area. Her breasts ached with the need to be touched.

Now there was a man worthy of fantasizing about. He was tall, his legs thick with muscles, his chest broad. Dark black hair fell to his impossibly wide shoulders. He was a self-contained man, but anyone with half a clue could feel the quiet power radiating from him.

He was at least six inches taller than she was. Which meant that he was at least six-three. His face wasn’t exactly handsome, not in the classic sense, but rugged, a mixture of rough-hewn features that somehow came together to look completely right on him. His nose was large and slightly hooked, yet it suited him well. His eyebrows were thick slashes of black that sat above his expressive eyes. Thick, dark lashes framed eyes the color of old amber. His cheekbones were high, his lips full.

She shivered beneath the covers. What would those lips feel like against hers? What would they feel like brushing against her skin? Maggie groaned and shifted restlessly against the sheets. The bottom of her gown slid upward, pooling around her hips.

And those hands. Oh God, he had the most incredible hands. Large and work-roughened, they were the hands of a man who worked hard. Yet she knew he could be gentle too.

She knew all too well what those hands felt like.

She’d been coming out of the grocery store a few weeks ago when he’d been going in. Paying more attention to him than to where she was going, Maggie had tripped in the doorway where the edge of the door met the pavement of the sidewalk. Jed had caught her before she’d taken a header straight to the ground. His hands had lingered on her hips before sliding around to her stomach and then dropping away.

She’d felt an acute sense of loss when he’d released her.

“Are you okay?” Goose bumps ran down her arms as she remembered the exact tone of his voice—a low and intimate rumble that seemed to stroke her skin from the inside out. She’d managed to stammer out her reply and then he was gone.

Maggie groaned and wrapped her arms around herself, but it did no good. Her breasts were swollen, the tips pushing against the silky fabric of her nightgown, and the notch between her thighs was wet. There was no way to get Jed Bearson out of her brain.

She licked her lips and slowly released her arms, letting them slide over her stomach. Curling her fingers around the edge of her gown, she pulled it up until it was bunched around her waist.

Taking a deep breath, she shoved the fabric higher, exposing her stomach, torso and finally her breasts. She palmed the firm mounds and sucked in a sharp breath. Her nipples stabbed the center of her hands as she teased them.

Using her thumbs and forefingers, she lightly pinched the tips, moaning as pleasure shot straight from her breasts to her sex. Her legs fell open and her breathing got faster, shallower. Cream, warm and thick, slipped from her core. Letting her imagination go, she pictured Jed’s hands on her body, Jed’s fingers plying her nipples.

A low groan filled the bedroom. His hands were so much larger than hers and would have no trouble covering her ample breasts. Her imagination was so vivid she could easily feel the heat of his hands on her skin as they slid from her breasts. Down her torso, tracing her ribcage. Cradling her hips.

Her body was pliant in his hands. She pushed the covers away, not wanting anything between her and her phantom lover. Cool air stroked her, but her flesh quickly warmed as hands caressed her from breasts to hips and back again.

Her legs shifted again and she pushed her thighs wide. The slither of bare skin against the sheets mingled with her breathy sighs was like the first notes of an erotic symphony that would only culminate when she climaxed.

Fingers slid through her curly pubic hair and still lower, parting her slick folds. Gasping, she pressed her hips upward, searching, seeking. A light brush against the swollen nub of her clitoris had her crying out in ecstasy.

Her inner muscles were clutching and relaxing in a never-ending rhythm, as if searching for a hard, thick cock to fill her core. Maggie turned her head to one side, her mouth open on a silent cry as two fingers slipped past the entrance to her passage and pushed deep.

The fingers curled upward as they were pulled almost all the way out, finding her sweet spot and making her moan. “More,” she sobbed. Her phantom lover complied, pressing fingers deep once again, this time harder and faster.

Maggie undulated her hips, keeping time with the thrust of fingers. A thumb brushed over her clitoris.

For a moment, it was as if she could feel the barest touch of warm, moist breath on her sex.

Her scalp tightened and her skin tingled. With each press of fingers into her hot sheath, her body soared higher. Her hips were pumping hard now. Sweat dotted her forehead. The bedsprings squeaked, adding another layer to the erotic song her body was singing.

Fingers plunged deep. Maggie cried out, “Yes!” Her body exploded, inner muscles contracting hard, clutching against her fingers. A tear slipped from the corner of her eye and rolled down her temple, disappearing into her hair.

Even as her body rocked with pleasure, Maggie felt an acute sense of loneliness fill her. There was no dream lover. No male hands touching her. There was only her own. It was nothing but a cold, empty fantasy.

She gave one final moan as cream covered her fingers and seeped from her slit. The final note in her erotic song for one.

Jed Bearson was not here. She was alone.

Still shuddering with the aftershocks from her climax, Maggie pushed down her nightgown and yanked up the covers. She felt hollow inside in spite of just having come. Ignoring the sensation, she turned on her side and snuggled into her pillow.

She sighed as exhaustion overtook her. As she drifted off to sleep, she thought she felt the lightest brush of a hand touching her hair, her cheek and her lips. She murmured Jed’s name and drifted off to sleep.

Jed Bearson sprawled naked across his king-sized bed with the covers thrown back. It had been a long day. He usually enjoyed his part-time job with the Burnt Cove sheriff’s office, but today had been extra busy.

Thankfully, the crimes he’d had to investigate weren’t overly serious. Unlike major-city crimes of murder, assault and drug-related events, the crime here was relatively minor. With Halloween inching closer, there had been two reports of decorations being stolen from people’s front yards, and one of graffiti being sprayed on an abandoned mill building on the outskirts of town. If a man had to deal with crime at all, then these were the type he didn’t mind. They were annoying, but no one got hurt.

He stacked his hands under his head and stared up at the ceiling. He needed to start work on another painting soon. He’d had some ideas floating around in his brain, but hadn’t quite decided on the final subject. Jed had been drawing and painting for as long as he could remember, even taking art classes in high school and college. He’d never thought to make a living from it, painting solely for his own enjoyment.

That changed about five years ago when a tourist had seen one of his paintings hanging in the lobby of a local B & B. The tourist had fallen in love with the large oil canvas depicting the nearby forest in the fall. Small animals had hidden among the trees and fallen leaves, peeking out at the unsuspecting bear that lumbered by. Not wanting to go home without the painting, the tourist had offered an exorbitant amount of money. The owner of the B & B had sold the painting and contacted Jed, giving him the bulk of the proceeds.

A month later, a gallery owner from New York who’d seen the painting had shown up in Burnt Cove looking for Jed. They’d come to an agreement and the dealer had taken several dozen of his works. Two months later, a huge check arrived in the mail along with a demand for more.

All in all, Jed was content with his life. With the proceeds from his paintings he’d paid off his house and was building a nice nest egg for himself.

He could have quit his job with the sheriff’s office, but stayed part-time mostly because they needed him, and partly because he enjoyed helping people, making a difference in his community. Mostly, he was on an on-call basis these days, filling in for the occasional shift here and there, but today had been one of those long days.

It was late, and he should be exhausted after the day he’d had. He needed to sleep because he was back to work tomorrow morning, filling in for a deputy who was off sick. But he wasn’t the least bit tired.

He was wired. Alert. His skin felt as though it was pulled tight over his large frame, his muscles tensed in anticipation.

In anticipation of what, he wasn’t sure. His cock was fully aroused, pushing up toward his belly button. He was primed and ready for a lover. Problem was, he was alone.

Closing his eyes, he allowed his breathing to slow. Taking long, even breaths, he started to relax his overactive brain. His body had a mind of its own and was fully aroused and ready for a night of hot, steamy sex. Separating mind from body, he allowed his thoughts to wander.

Whether it was a gift from his Native American father or his Irish mother, Jed didn’t know, but since he was a boy he’d had the ability to leave his body behind and travel to other places. His father called him a spiritwalker. An astral traveler, said his mother. It didn’t matter what they called it, the fact remained that Jed could move beyond the physical confines of his body and seek out the world around him.

Usually he drifted in that out-of-body state until something interesting caught his attention. He was cautious during his travels, always making certain not to stray too far or stay too long.

With any gift of such magnitude came rules and responsibilities, and both his parents had schooled him well. He never intruded on someone else’s privacy and he always surrounded himself with white light and the protection of his totem animal—the bear—while he traveled in the nether realms.

Tonight, he didn’t linger. As soon as he released his essence, his soul, from his physical body, he felt an unmistakable pull. He stood beside his bed, peered down at his physical body and frowned. This was the first time he’d ever felt an invisible force urging him to go in any particular direction. At first he resisted the insistent tug. He didn’t like the idea of someone or something being able to direct him.

He thought he heard a whisper of his name. The low voice was distinctly female. Cocking his head to one side, he listened. A breathy moan swept around him, caressing his bare chest like a lover’s hands. His physical body was still, but he could
feel
the hairs on the back of his neck rising.

Centering himself, he gave a prayer of thanks to the Great Spirit, asking for guidance and protection.

He felt the presence of his animal totem beside him and glanced down. The large brown bear waited by his side, ready to travel wherever Jed chose to go.

The compulsion to follow the voice grew with each passing second, and Jed finally relented, giving in to its call. His spirit rose and drifted through the ceiling of his room. As he glanced at his physical form one final time, he satisfied himself that all was well. A thin golden thread connected his spirit to his body. As long as it was unbroken, he would have no trouble returning to his physical self.

The air was chilly and a stiff breeze whipped around him, but he felt neither cold nor discomfort as he traveled through the dark. The town was quiet below him, the occasional car passing beneath the streetlights. Burnt Cove had settled down for the night.

A dog barked when he passed overhead, canine eyes seeing him where human could not. Jed usually enjoyed these moments, the stillness, the sense of being able to see the larger picture, not just of the town, but also of life itself. But tonight, not even the clear sky and bright stars could hold his attention.

The tips of his fingers began to tingle, jolting him. He curled his hands into fists as he drifted toward the unknown. Houses thinned as he reached the outskirts of the town. Here, beach houses ranged all up and down the shoreline like colorful rocks on an otherwise barren landscape. Fall in Maine was beautiful in the woods, the trees donning the capes of many colors. But here on the coastline there was a stark, rugged beauty that was as captivating as it was deadly. The Atlantic Ocean pounded the shoreline, waves beating the rocks before receding back to the sea.

His gaze was drawn to one house in particular. He knew it well. Bride O’Neill had lived there from the time she was a young married woman until the day she passed six months ago. Now it was occupied by her granddaughter, Maggie.

Jed’s body heated as he drew closer. His balls ached and his cock throbbed. Beautiful, elusive Maggie O’Neill had attracted him from the first time he’d set eyes on her. Her waist-length hair was thick, its red color a beacon, drawing him. Jed wanted to wrap his fist around that hair, anchoring her to him as he pounded into her sweet, soft body.

Maggie had the kind of curves that made men sweat. Lush and lovely, he wanted to trace every arch, every hollow of her body, mapping each one until he knew it by heart. He wanted to run his tongue over her smooth skin. It looked like fresh cream, but would taste sweet and salty. Her breasts were large and Jed had the deepest desire to know what color her nipples would be.