my tall figure well. Simple but stunning, it was done in a deep garnet color—a haltered number that highlighted my long arms and pale complexion. The slit on the side of the dress ran nearly to my hip and gave no question as to my length of leg or the fact that I was built like a woman. The lack of a true neckline combined with the plunging back made my neck appear longer, and left no doubt about my lack of a bra. I wasn’t the type of woman who should, or really could, go without and I felt slightly self-conscious, even in sleep. My short, dark hair was tousled as if I’d just rolled out of bed. It was all sexy as hell, and I was talking about me. I’ve never thought of myself as beautiful, but in the dream I was. My only accessories were a large diamond pendant hung on a white gold chain and white gold wrist cuffs. I was barefoot.
I walked across the ballroom, the only person inside. Music played somewhere else, a waltz, and I wondered if I could learn to dance to it. I stopped and swayed for a moment then began to walk again, but this time my step was in time to the music.
“With only a little modification, my love, you’ve learned the steps,” said a deep male voice behind me. I knew I was dreaming because I didn’t spin around in fear. Instead I turned, focused on being graceful. Anyone who knew me would know that grace and I didn’t have a long and happy history. Anyone who knew me…for one moment I thought of my parents and the ache in my heart was like a mortal wound, my shoulders hunching to protect my heart. Time froze for a moment, and then the pain loosed its grip, and I stood straight again under the heavy burden of my grief.
Oh the beauty of dreams. The owner of the voice stood close to me, clothed in a light blue silk shirt over faded out jeans. He, too, was barefoot. Odd, I’d never had a foot fetish before. But I did have a thing for tall guys, and this guy fit the bill. He was easily 6’7”, with broad shoulders, lean but evidently well muscled as the shirt slithered across his shoulders and around his waist as he moved. It was almost like the shirt was a living thing, and my fingers twitched with the need to rub it between my forefinger and thumb. His hair was a dark brown, shot through with strands of gold and copper and it brushed the tops of his shoulders. He had a square jaw with firm, full lips, and gorgeous shaped eyebrows sitting on a perfectly proportioned face. But the eyes were what did me in. His eyes were an almost sapphire blue, dark with an even darker ring around the iris. How did I know? I’d drifted toward him as I took him in, almost as if he’d called me to him. I stopped. Had he called me?
“Only out of sleep, my love,” he said, his voice hinting at the potential for a deep Scottish brogue. Oh sweet hell, I could fall for the voice alone.
I closed my eyes. “Say something else,” I said in a cool, commanding voice.
He chuckled, an almost sinister sound that echoed in the ballroom. “Something else,” he parroted.
My eyes snapped open. “Very funny.” I glared at him. “This is my dream, so lose the pathetic humor and just stand there and look pretty.”
“‘Look pretty’?” he asked, incredulous. “Did you just tell me to look pretty?” His eyebrows rose, mocking my choice of words.
“I don’t read romance novels, so I refuse to use the words burgeoning, smoldering, blazing, heroic, manly, or turgid in any of my conversations—even in my dreams. So yeah, look pretty. Besides, this is my dream. You shouldn’t be provoking me.”
“Is it your dream?” he asked, moving even closer to me. He smelled like sunshine and night air combined right after a new rain. It was a mouthwatering smell. I leaned in to breathe him in since there are no codes of decorum in sleep.
He chuckled again.
“What?” I demanded.
“Already you’re drawn to me,” he said softly.
“Arrogant much?” I stepped back, agitated. He raised a hand to caress my cheek. In a move as natural as breathing, I laid my face in his hand and sighed, my irritation immediately forgotten.