“I would prefer for you to get out of my bed.”
“Happy to oblige.” He grinned and threw back the covers.
He lay there naked. Very naked.
His chest and stomach I had already seen, hairless, and stone hard. But he stretched like a cat, slowly and languidly (the bastard), and every muscle of his thick thighs, stomach, chest, and arms contracted and flexed. My gaze traveled down and down, from the hard muscled V at his hips pointing down to his…
“Okay,” I said. “Now I know this is a dream.”
“Because I’m everything you’ve ever desired? Because my body is even better than your dirty, secret fantasies? Because you want what you see?”
“No.”
“No?”
“No, it’s none of those things.”
“Then?”
“This is a dream, and you’ve found a way to get into it from the waking world because there is no way I would dream you so conceited, egotistical, or large.”
His smile slipped to a scowl. “Large? You’ve seen me almost every day. I am exactly this large.” He waved at his entire body.
I raised an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. Nopaddingthe truth a little here and,” I tipped my gaze down, “there, since we’re in dreamland?”
The most amazing thing happened: He blushed. Or maybe it was anger that flushed his naturally olive skin darker.
“I am a prince of Hell! I don’tpadanything!”
I waved my hand back and forth to cover the “anything” in question and pursed my lips as if I were unconvinced.
The scowl went hard, fury just pouring off of him. “You are the mostfrustrating,maddening,infuriatingwoman I have ever had the misfortune to meet!”
He stood and turned toward me, hands on his now-pants-clad hips.
“You should addnot gullibleto your list. Get out of my dream, demon. I don’t have time or a care to spare you.”
He inhaled, his nostrils flaring, then he smiled, all the anger melting away. “How do you feel about angry sex?”
“Opposed.”
I shifted around, fluffing my pillow and shoving the one he had been using to the floor. I propped myself against the headboard. “You aren’t gone yet?”
I plucked an imaginary fluff from my sleeve, ignoring him.
“Until next time,” he said, “remember I can see you when you sleep, and I know what you’re dreaming.”
“Stalk me in my sleep again, and I’ll find a spell that staples your tongue to your balls.”
He laughed. Deep, loud, from-the-gut, making me think of barbarians and beer. It was a good sound, and it took some work to remind myself that he was not a good man.
“Fair enough,” he chuckled.
“And Bathin?” I finally looked up. He cocked one eyebrow. “If you enter anyone else’s dream, if you stalk them in a dream or outside a dream, if you stalk me, in a dream or outside a dream, I will throw you in a hole so deep, not even the gods will hear you scream.”
He was still smiling when he raised his hand. “Promises, promises.” He snapped his fingers and was gone.
I jerked and opened my eyes. I was in my bed—my real bed. The house smelled of cinnamon, vanilla, and warm butter. The bed beside me was cool and undisturbed, the sky beyond the curtained window still dark.
