The moonlight—dream elevators had moonlight—lit up his dark, gleaming eyes, heavy-lidded and seductive. They looked hungry, amused.
“You’re a very naughty girl,” he said. “I can’t wait to teach you a lesson.”
Her dream body began to melt like ice cream in a supernova. “Are you sure you have the energy left for me? You’ve had so many pupils already. So many women. Maybe you’re ready to retire from teaching. More than ready. Maybe you’re burned out.”
His hand, as big as a dinner plate, shot out and covered her mouth. Gently but firmly he pressed it against her lips and drew her close. His scent filled her lungs, her soul. “I’m burning, all right, Jessica Murphy.” He rotated his palm and cupped her cheek. “And so are you.”
“Maybe I am,” she whispered. “What are you going to do about it?”
The elevator doors opened. In front of them was the lounge at the Platinum Club. Except now the sofas and chairs were empty, and the moon shone overhead in a clear, indigo sky. There was no ceiling to block the view.
“Whatever I want,” he said, grabbing her hand and pulling her with him into the club.
It was pointless to resist. And she didn’t want to. She wanted whatever he was going to do to her. “Don’t make me wait too long,” she said.
He pointed at the bar where there was a tray holding two glasses. “Those are for us.” He released her, strode to the curved sofa where he’d sat that night in real life, and sank into it with surprising grace for such a large man. He stretched both arms along the back of the seat and gazed at her, his eyes drilling into her. “Nice outfit.”
She looked down at herself, amused to discover she was wearing a push-up bra and thong, knee-highs, and shining silver stilettos. Every inch of her was on display. The moonlight lit her exposed curves in a hazy, shimmering blue.
The real Jess would have run screaming.
This wasn’t the real Jess.
She sauntered to the bar—knowing he was studying her ass—and lifted the tray. Holding his gaze, she carried it over to him, her heart pounding. As she bent to set the tray on a table, he suddenly leaned forward and licked the hollow between her breasts, his rough jaw rubbing the tender swells of flesh on either side. His hands caught her waist, stroking and kneading her body, and she forgot the tray and the drinks and the world and climbed into his lap, knees spread, eager to ride him.
“Jess,” he moaned, biting her nipple through her satin bra as his hand, following the tight band of the thong, reached around and stroked her wet vulva from behind.
His belt buckle was gone. His pants were gone. He was naked, a glorious male specimen, huge and powerful, broad shoulders, heavily muscled chest, and an erect cock thrusting up between them, seeking entry, hungry for her—
High, feminine laughter spiked into her consciousness. “Derry, what’s the matter with you? Couldn’t you wait for me?”
“Or me?” said another woman, also laughing.
A third chimed in. “You can’t be that desperate.”
It was the women from the club. The ones he went away with in the limo.
Suddenly they were there, surrounding them. Jess was completely naked now, but Derry wasn’t holding her anymore. Now he was in a tuxedo, freshly shaved, holding a drink in one hand and leaning away from her as if she’d just fallen on him and he didn’t want her to spill the fine liquor on his suit.
“Just kidding around,” Derry said, pushing her aside. “Shall we go, ladies?”
She fell off his lap and never hit the ground, just kept falling. She fell and fell and fell, hearing the laughter pour down on her as she drowned in the darkness.
Her own stifled cry woke her. Damp with sweat, she shot up in bed and clutched her chest, struggling to catch her breath. Her dog, Smoky, the stray that she and Lilah had adopted after Gavin had run over the poor mutt the night he’d met Lilah, whined and nuzzled against her arm, trying to give her comfort. Lilah had been kind enough to leave him with her when she’d moved out. Jess needed to live with someone, even if it was an animal.
Arousal clung to her; she could feel it. The nightmare hadn’t erased the pleasure that had come before.
“Damn it.” She kicked the covers away and doubled over the edge of the bed, her heart still pounding. Smoky turned his nose down, resting it on his paws, just watching her.
This was why she hated dreams. You couldn’t control them. And in the end, they only brought pain.
Chapter 7
“This better be important,” Gavin muttered as Derry entered the expansive penthouse. A warm glow from the living room indicated a roaring fire, and the room smelled heavenly, a mix of lavender and sage, of garlic and savory delights. Empty dishes dotted the countertop around the sink, and a scratchy blues record, something deep and old from New Orleans, tickled his ears.
And then he heard a very feminine snore from the couch.
Although Manny had dropped him off near the elevator in the garage downstairs, Derry had spent the past hour, possibly longer, pacing the Boston streets alone. Only when he’d regained his composure did he return to Gavin’s and take the elevator up to his brother’s penthouse.
Derry had questions. Questions only Gavin might be able to answer.
“Lilah’s here?” Derry asked softly. He suppressed a sigh of frantic disappointment. He would leave. What he needed most was the comfort of his brother’s company, but he was enough of an adult to step back.
“Of course she’s here,” Gavin said, a touch of irritation peppering his words. “She lives here.”
“I’m sorry,” Derry replied, starting for the door. “I would never have come if I’d—”
“It’s fine. She’s sleeping. We’re… it’s fine.”
“Trouble in paradise?” Derry joked, taking Gavin at his word and walking into the kitchen, picking up and putting down several mostly empty wine bottles until he found a decent merlot with a few glasses’ worth left inside. Without manners or any shred of grace, he upended the bottle and drank it in one long, glorious guzzle.
“You are treating my ’92 La Mondotte like Gatorade, Derry.”
Making a face as the slightly bitter red wine finished its path down his gullet, Derry answered, “I’m not exactly in need of electrolytes now. Besides, Gatorade does nothing for helping me achieve the state of oblivion I seek.”
“Oblivion? I heard you left the club with three women. You can’t get further away from reality than that, little brother.”
Derry snorted. Oh, how right you are, he thought. More right than you can imagine.
He didn’t answer Gavin, instead walking across the room, his eyes flitting over Lilah. She was gorgeous in repose, like a famous painting he couldn’t quite name but that haunted his dreams.
Except darken her hair and make her look exactly like her sister.
Gavin’s eyes narrowed. “This has to do with a woman.”
Damn it.
“I’ve just been with three,” Derry said, forced gaiety in his voice. He wasn’t sure why he bothered. Gavin could always see through him. “Can you smell them on me?”
Gavin sniffed. “The only scent I detect from you is desperation.”