Page 16 of Vow Of Fire

A DREAM TO END ALL DREAMS

Evelyn

Iwas having a disturbingly delicious dream.

Dante Marcelli was standing in front of me. I could smell his cologne, feel his heat. He reached up and ran the back of his hand down my face, just like he had in the gallery, but it didn’t stop there.

Gripping my arms, he turned me around so I was facing my desk. Holding me against his body, I felt his hardness press into my back, warming me.

Slowly, his hands ran down my sides and over my hips. My breath quickened. He pushed me forward, sliding my dress upward, his tattooed hands rough against my skin.

I sucked in a breath, moaned, and opened my eyes.

My heart was pounding. The dream had felt so real, I could almost smell him.

I still smelled him.

A shadow loomed at the side of my bed, and I cried out before a large, gloved hand covered my mouth.

“Don’t make a sound.”

Dante Marcelli.

He was here, in my room. Sitting on my bed.

Or was I still dreaming? Was this some terrifying, erotic nightmare? An apparition created by my overwrought subconscious?

The room was dark. Moonlight slanted through the half-drawn curtains, pooling silver across my duvet. There was no sound, only the racing of blood in my ears as I stared up at him.

“You won’t scream?”

I shook my head and he removed his hand.

“Are you real?” I whispered, pushing myself into a sitting position. His face was mostly in shadow but I could make out the angular features, the muscular physique, and the gray eyes catching the moonlight.

“I’m real,” he replied, in a deep, growly voice, but I heard the hint of amusement in it.

At least I wasn’t losing it. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and stared at him. It was like I’d conjured him. One moment I’d been dreaming about him and the next he’d appeared, right here in my bedroom.

As my groggy brain tried to make sense of it, I noticed the gun hanging loosely in his right hand, like a casual accessory.

A jolt of adrenaline hit me, and my eyes widened.

What the hell?

Suddenly, I was very awake.

“Why are you here? How did you get in?” I demanded, looking frantically around my room. The windows were still closed, but the bedroom door was open. I slept with it shut.

Where the hell was security?

“The concierge let us in.”

“Us?” I looked around again, but there was nobody else in the room with us.

“Rocco is waiting outside.” He gestured with the gun.

“Who’s Rocco?”