Page 7

Wonderful.

Another Friday night wasted on a man who can’t love me back.

At least this one has an excuse.

I switch off the examination lamps, gather my things, and head toward the door.

Before leaving, I glance over my shoulder.

The statue stands motionless in the dim laboratory, his damaged face turned toward the windows.

For one ridiculous second, I could swear he’s watching me.

“Goodnight, Morpheus.”

I smile.

“Try not to dream about me.”

Three hours later, I wake to the unmistakable sensation of someone standing in my bedroom.

Except I’m not awake.

At least, I don’t think I am.

My room looks exactly the same. The rumpled sheets. The rain tapping against the windows. The little brass lamp on my nightstand.

But the air smells different.

Like rain on hot stone.

And moonlight pours through the curtains, far brighter than it should be.

Someone moves at the foot of my bed.

A man.

Tall.

Broad-shouldered.

Bare-chested.

My breath catches.

I know that body.

I’ve spent the entire evening examining every magnificent inch of it.

Except this man isn’t made of marble.

His chest rises and falls.

His dark hair is tousled.

And his eyes…

God help me.