“Will you quit with the mind games already?” I snapped. I wanted to try to sit up, but I had a feeling I’d end up flinging myself into his arms if I did. Besides, silk sheets are kind of slippery, and it might be hard to keep this one over my naughty bits if I sat up.
He laughed again, the sound peppering my skin with goose bumps. “Is that what you think this is?” he asked, sounding terribly amused. The bed shifted under him again, and suddenly I felt the touch of bare skin against my hip.
Cool, sophisticated grown woman that I am, I let out a little yip of surprise and jerked away. My eyes popped open, and I tried to sit up while clutching the sheet to my chest.
Lugh was lying on his side beside me on the bed, under the crimson silk sheet. Well, some of him was under the sheet. If he so much as twitched—or if I pulled on the sheet any harder to keep my boobs covered—I’d be unveiling something I didn’t want to see. Or at least, something I didn’t want to want to see.
Lugh’s head was propped on his hand, his hair draping his chest and shoulders like a shiny black cape, his sensual mouth lifted at the corners in a subtle smile. His skin was golden over his well-defined but not-too-bulky muscles.
I couldn’t imagine a single thing he could have done to make himself look sexier. It just wasn’t fair!
Lugh patted the bed beside him with his free hand. “No need to move on my account,” he said, his voice a bass grumble that made my toes curl. I’ve always had a thing for men with really deep voices. But of course, Lugh knew that—had known that from the very beginning when he’d first spoken to me in my dreams.
“Knock it off!” I said, but my own voice sounded breathy. I wasn’t convincing myself, much less Lugh.
Lugh sat up. The silk sheet probably slid down, but I didn’t get to see, because before I could even begin to guess what he was up to, he had grabbed me and rolled me under him. The movement should have sent us off the side of the bed, but I guess that wasn’t how Lugh wanted it to work, so it didn’t.
I put both hands on his chest in a fruitless effort to shove him off me, but I doubt I’d have been able to do it in real life, much less in a dream that he controlled.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I snarled at him. He’d been pushy with me before, but never anything like this. I punctuated my question by banging my fist on his chest, which had zero chance of hurting him.
To my shock, Lugh sat up a little—just enough to grab my wrists, gather them both together in one of his large hands, and pin them over my head. I was too surprised to struggle. My mouth gaped open, and my heart suddenly hammered from what felt like my throat.
Lugh’s head lowered toward mine, and I realized he meant to kiss me. I quickly turned my head away.
“Haven’t you ever heard that no means no?” I demanded. I couldn’t figure out what I was feeling right at that moment. I should have felt helpless, and scared, and maybe even betrayed. He could control this dream, effortlessly destroy my every defense, do whatever he wanted to me. And even though it was a dream, anything he did to me, I would feel. I might lust after him in theory, and might have let him take certain, er, liberties in the past. But I didn’t want to have sex with him, despite the temptation he offered.
So why couldn’t I help noticing how good his body felt against mine, how warm, how strong? And why couldn’t I help noticing his unique, spicy, musky scent? When his lips feathered over my cheek, it was all I could do to keep my face turned away.
What the hell was the matter with me?
Lugh’s breath was a flush of warmth as his kisses trailed over my face down to my jawbone, then up to my ear, which he nipped very gently. “What’s wrong with you is that you trust me,” he whispered in my ear.
His words were startling enough that I turned my head toward him after all. He pulled back enough for our eyes to meet comfortably, though he didn’t get off me or release my wrists.
I swallowed hard, part of me trying not to believe what he’d just said. Trusting was something I sucked at. I didn’t trust anyone, not deep down inside. I was always on the lookout, afraid of wounding words or actions, braced to defend myself. I’d known that about myself for a long time, and although I didn’t like it, it was just the way I was. I’d made progress at trusting Brian. But I’d had no idea I’d made this much progress at trusting Lugh.
And yet, I did.
Whatever he was up to at the moment, I knew with unnerving certainty that he wasn’t going to rape me, wasn’t going to hurt me, despite the evidence of naked skin on naked skin, or his dominant position, or his hold on my wrists.
“You bastard,” I said, but it came out in a whisper.
He smiled softly and stroked a finger down the cheek he had kissed. “Telling you things never seems to work. Showing works better.”
“If you had real balls, I’d be putting my knee in them right now,” I informed him. He had positioned himself in such a way as to give me a clear shot, but how do you hurt a dream?
He planted a chaste kiss on my forehead, then let go of my wrists and rolled off me. The sheet went with him, and I gave a little squeak of alarm as I grabbed for it. But suddenly, I was wearing a pair of silk pajamas in a midnight blue that looked almost black against the crimson sheets.
I sat up slowly, keeping a wary eye on Lugh. He’d put pajamas on me, but as far as I could tell, he was still naked himself, the sheet draping across his hips artfully. I tried not to imagine what lay beneath that sheet.
His head was propped on his hand again, and his smile was sin and temptation rolled together. “You don’t have to imagine,” he murmured. “All you have to do is give the sheet a little tug.”
Lugh had been trying to seduce me from the moment we first “met,” and he’d never been subtle about it. But as aggressive as he’d been at times, he’d never been like this before. The strangeness of it helped me fight off some of the temptation.
“What’s gotten into you tonight?” I asked, keeping my eyes firmly focused on his face. “And what was with the silent treatment?” I couldn’t have said exactly why, but I was sure now he’d been silent of his own accord, that it hadn’t been my subconscious blocking him out after all.
“Brian wants you to get rid of me,” he said. “I wanted to remind you what you’d be missing if you did—just in case the idea started to sound appealing to you.”
Anger, hot and sweet, swelled in my chest, and my hands curled into white-knuckled fists. I was so furious, I couldn’t even speak.
He’d put me through all that anxiety and discomfort just to prove a point. A point he could have made just fine by letting me know he was still there, even if he refused to talk to me.
“It wouldn’t have been the same,” he said. “If you’d known for sure I’d be back, the silence wouldn’t have bothered you. But if I take a different host, then I won’t be back.”
My eyes prickled and burned with angry tears—tears I absolutely refused to shed. Lugh, who knew exactly what I was thinking and feeling, regarded me with an expression of mild regret.
“I’m sorry I distressed you,” he said. “But, as I said before, telling you things rarely works. You needed to see that you would miss me if I were gone.”
I knew it wouldn’t hurt him, but I couldn’t stop myself from hauling back and slapping him across his smug face. My palm stung and burned from the blow, but Lugh didn’t even wince. Of course not. The cheek I had slapped wasn’t real. The hand I’d slapped him with wasn’t real either, but Lugh could make it feel real.