He looked good when he moved.
Boy, she loved this new dream.
He stopped to tower over the bed and she dropped to her back to look up at him.
“I’m liking this dream,” she informed him on a grin.
He sat beside her on the bed, his brows still drawn.
“Sonia, you aren’t dreaming,” he told her.
She put her hand to his forearm and tugged it toward her while saying through her grin, “Right.”
He leaned forward so both of his hands were in the bed at her sides and he replied gently, “Right, little one. You’re awake, this isn’t a dream.” His blue eyes moved over her face before he asked, “Do you feel okay?”
“I feel great,” she answered. Though she had to admit, even though it was weird in a dream, that her head hurt a little and she felt kind of groggy, like she’d slept a bit too long.
His hand came up and he placed it at the side of her head. It was so big it nearly covered the entire area.
His thumb smoothed over her eyebrow but his eyes never left hers.
“You called me ‘wolf’,” he stated softly.
She didn’t reply. She sat up, dislodging his hand, her body getting closer to his, her face getting closer to his. His body, she felt, went solid but she ignored that too and placed her hand on the side of his face.
“I get to do the touching,” she told him, as if he didn’t know.
She touched his face in her dream.
Always.
She did it again, fingertips in his thick hair, thumb gliding along his brow, down across his sharp cheekbone then over his full lower lip.
“Sonia.” His mouth moved against her thumb. She lifted her gaze from his lips to his eyes, which were searching but had not gone tawny (alas). “Does this mean you feel it?”
She nodded.
Oh, she felt it all right. She always felt it in her dream.
And she hoped this dream, which was not only sharper, clearer and more vivid than any of her other dreams but was also lasting a lot longer, would not end in her reaching toward the nightstand.
He smiled.
She sucked in breath.
God, she loved, loved, loved his smile.
“You feel it,” he murmured, his deep voice deeper, so much so it was almost a physical thing and he looked really, really, really pleased about something.
It was a good look.
And the depth of his voice was an excellent depth.
She got closer and placed her hands on his broad shoulders, put her mouth to his and, her eyes never leaving his own, demanded, “Are you going to kiss me, wolf, or what?”
She watched with great anticipation as the tiger’s eye shot from his pupils and erased the blue of the iris.
She’d never seen the gold obliterate the blue so fast.