“You,” she agreed, caressing that powerful chest.
After a heartbeat of hesitation, he stroked her arms with a tentativenessthat was inconsistent with her impression of her Adonis. “Okay.”
But it was her dream. Was that what she actually wanted?
She explored his body the way she’d imagined doing countless times while staring at her sketch of him. The broad shoulders that tapered to a lean waist. That flat belly and tight butt. If there were a male version of Pygmalion’s Galatea, it’d be him.
Her sex moistened as her pat-down revealed only firm muscle.
And then there was the thick cock that her hand had stretched to measure, standing tall and proud, so utterly nonclassical in its dimensions.
“I’m much bigger than that.”
Rory had to laugh at the familiar disgruntlement in his voice. Then his statement registered. Why did her own dream insist on arguing with her? She frowned and the details of the dream started to fray, the greenery fading to formless gray as she stepped away
from sleep. Shouldn’t he just reciprocate her attentions? So why wasn’t he doing so?
Alarm stirred faintly. Something wasn’t right.
When Rory tried to back away, he stopped her, wrapping his arms around her in a tight embrace.
Pushing against his chest, she arched back to glare at him. “What are you doing?” Being overpowered in real life was one thing; she wasn’t about to tolerate a repeat of it in her dreams.
She tried to break his hold, but he held her close, no matter what she did.
“Meet me.”
“What?” Rory twisted around, struggling to escape. This was her dream, damn it. Why couldn’t she control it?
“It’s no use fighting.” Golden strands formed out of nothing to bind her to stillness, holding her in place before him, apparently in obedience to his instructions.
About to Change to escape her bonds, a sudden realization chilled Rory, made her wary. This was no ordinary dream. “You’re the one behind those dreams about the dildo.”
Stepping back, he frowned, the slashing brows meeting above his nose. “Something like that.”
She recoiled, outraged by his tacit admission. He’d invaded her sleep! “Why?”
“I have to talk to you.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me!”
“No, we need to talk.”
“We’re talking now.” She wanted to wave her arms, but her bonds prevented even that.
“Seriously, we have to meet, discuss things.”
“And why should I?” Rory braced herself to wake up. Surely she could do that. He couldn’t keep her asleep.
He shifted to one side and shot her a calculating glance across his shoulder. “For a challenge like you’ve never faced before.” With that cryptic statement, he stepped behind her.
The golden strands restraining her vanished.
She twisted
—
And found herself awake, crouching on her bed in the hotel, grappling with a blameless pillow, the blanket twined around her body.
It had all been a dream.
Rory exhaled sharply, dropping to her knees as the absence of a particular, infuriating male registered. Another dream. Yet unlike the ones that had haunted her lately, not one that left her aching for a lifeless dildo. Just for a living, breathing Adonis. That had to be an improvement.
Of sorts.
She flung herself on her back in disgust. As the mattress quaked from the assault, she tried to explain away the haunting as the result of an overactive imagination.
Only she couldn’t.
That dream had been too consistent. It had been the only reason she’d come to this particular city in Florida—where he’d found her. And now she knew he could enter her dreams. It didn’t take a flight of fancy to wonder if he could do more . . . like manipulate her fantasies.
Could he have been responsible for the one about the dildo? Was that why he’d known she’d hit that specific museum when even her father didn’t know?
Which reminded her that she still hadn’t called in, to apprise Felix of her plans.
She reached into her purse for her cell phone, then paused as her hand closed around the quiet device.
What were her plans?
Vacation first. Right.
Maybe she was just too wound up and needed to relax, time off to make like a beach bunny, like she’d originally intended.
Steeling her nerve, Rory pressed the buttons that would put her in contact with her father, starting her down the road to dealing with her dream stalker.
“Do you know what time it is?”
“Hey,” she responded, the irascible rasp of Felix’s ruined tenor bringing an automatic smile to her lips. He’d have greeted her with the same words even if she’d caught him at noon; anything else would have meant it wasn’t safe to talk freely. “I’m going off for a bit.”
“You okay?”
Rory blinked at the abrupt question. “Of course. Why’d you ask?” She wanted to smack herself as soon as the words were out of her mouth.
Way to go, Rory! Raise his suspicions, why don’t you?
She didn’t need him worrying about her.
“Paternal instincts. I know when my favorite daughter is up to some mischief.”
“I’m your only daughter.” Despite the familiar refrain, she glanced around guiltily. Suspecting her Adonis could manipulate her dreams made her wonder if there was more to her father’s claims than she’d believed.
“Even better. Only one target. That’s why they’re infallible,” he insisted incorrigibly.
She shook her head, her smile widening on a surge of filial affection. “I’m just going to have some fun.”
A loud harrumph came through the phone, his doubt loud and clear. “That’s the same thing you said when Lucas started you roof-walking.”
Rory rolled her eyes. Felix had never forgiven her eldest brother for being the one to introduce her to that; he’d wanted to do it himself. “It was fun. Anyway, I just called to let you know I might be out of cell phone range.”
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“Too late.” She shut off the phone on his sputters. Her father would only worry more if he knew the lascivious thoughts she was entertaining about a Fed.
Without her verbal sparring with Felix to occupy her, Rory’s mind returned to her dream conversation with her Adonis. Had it even been real? Couldn’t it merely be due to a driving need to explain her near capture that followed her into sleep? But how did that explain his foreknowledge when her decision to fly to Florida had been on the spur of the moment?
A challenge like you’ve never faced before.
How could someone she’d hardly exchanged ten words with know her so intimately—and not just in the carnal sense? Knew what kept her in her line of work despite having enough stashed in various numbered accounts to walk away from it all? Knew just what would intrigue her damnable curiosity?
Rory’s heart picked up speed at all the questions—questions she had no answers for. She felt exposed, her skin scraped raw and prickling from a whirling dust devil, at the thought of someone studying her like a bug under a microscope. Probing her secrets with clinical detachment.
Hopefully, he hadn’t gotten that far yet. Otherwise, he’d have penetrated her disguise when he’d followed her into the restaurant that afternoon.
The sound of the waves crashing into the shore gradually impinged on her consciousness, soothing in its repetitive beat the longer she listened to it. An assurance that life went on, no matter the strange curve she’d been thrown.
Her equanimity recovered, Rory considered her next step. He’d said he wanted to meet her to discuss something, a challenge. Should she agree?
On the face of it, there wasn’t much of a risk. He couldn’t have anything to link her to her jobs, nothing that would stand up in court, not even fingerprints—she altered even those when she Changed.
Besides, there was the fact that he’d nearly caught her once. He’d been at the park even before she’d first dreamed of the jade dildo. His presence there couldn’t have been a coincidence. How had he found her? She’d have to find out before she could risk accepting another commission. If some habit of hers made her predictable, she’d need to fix it before someone else figured it out and nabbed her. Or used her to get Felix or some other diScipio.
That decided Rory.
She knew herself well enough to know she’d never give up burglary while she could still do the work. Nothing else gave her the same charge as pitting herself against a tough system. To continue as she’d been doing, she’d have to face the Fed and learn how he’d predicted that she would hit the museum when it hadn’t been on her job list.
Too, she was cursed with the curiosity of a cat, and it would nag her until it was satisfied. Why hadn’t he called to the museum guards for backup to catch her? She had to know, which meant agreeing to meet him. But that didn’t mean she was about to abandon all her vacation plans. She’d wanted sand and surf, and intended to get some.
Rory fluffed her pillows into the configuration she preferred, then snuggled in, her body hyperaware of the smooth cotton sheets thanks to that sexy Fed’s visitation. If her experience with the jade dildo’s haunting was anything to go by, he’d be waiting in her dreams.
Might as well give him his answer.
With a leisurely stretch, she went to sleep, a smile of anticipation curving on her lips.
Time to get some of her own back.
CHAPTER FIVE
Damon paused before the doors leading out to the hotel’s terrace to give his eyes time to adjust to the sudden brightness. The manicured tropical paradise with its lagoonlike pool was replete with bikinied women on towels and loungers soaking up the sun. At any other time, he might have lingered; he was a healthy, red-blooded male after all. But today the lure of eye candy did nothing for him. He had more important things to do.
Beyond a low retaining wall, the sea called to him, speaking of endless possibilities, its crashing waves punctuated by the shrill cries of hovering seagulls. The sun hung high in a clear blue sky unbroken by even a single cloud. A strong wind blew, lifting his hair off his shoulders, the salt air heavy with heat and humidity and nothing else. Altogether, it was an auspicious morning. Perhaps today he’d finally pin down his mysterious master thief.
He could only hope he would. Time was running out.
Ignoring the looks of invitation and darts of heated interest aimed in his direction, Damon crossed the sheltered pool area and made his way to the beach behind his hotel, a white towel slung over his shoulder. He felt almost as underdressed as he could be in the snug, dark blue racing trunks—not his idea of suitable attire for meeting an elusive and internationally renowned cat burglar— but it was one of the conditions she’d set for this meeting. He’d had to buy a pair, since he hadn’t brought one with him.
So much for thinking he was prepared for anything.
I wonder how the Old Man will take
that
entry in the expense accounts.
Guns and ammo were one thing; overpriced fashionable swimwear was something else altogether.
The stray thought didn’t distract him from his discomfiture for long. He was supposed to take a swim and get his trunks wet . . . to prove he was unarmed? That doing so would also short any electronics he might have planted on him was probably an added benefit.
It was funny how he wouldn’t have noticed his lack of clothing if this had been one of his seduction dreams, though his forays into his master thief’s dreams had had predictably frustrating results for his libido. As it was, he didn’t like the feeling that the situation was out of his control.
Problem was, she had him over a barrel. If he wanted to meet her, he had to follow the very specific instructions she’d conveyed in her dream. He could only hope he’d interpreted them correctly. Dreams weren’t exactly verbal communication, and he’d never had anyone try to pass a message to him through one before.
The pristine expanse of pale sand stretched out on either side of him, almost blinding in the high noon sun and radiating a tangible wave of heat. Despite the parade of hotels up and down the shoreline, the festive umbrellas dotting the beach were nearly deserted. The crashing surf was loud enough to make casual conversation—and recording any discussion—difficult. Which was probably what she wanted.
Damon dropped his towel under the first unoccupied umbrella he got to, checking his surroundings with cautious eyes.
His nearest neighbor, several feet away, was a voluptuous platinum blonde in a skimpy red bikini that hid none of her charms. She was slathering suntan lotion over her gold-touched skin, obviously intent on catching some rays. As he watched, she lay facedown on her arms, exposing exceptional curves to the sun, her mind projecting only simple satisfaction.
If he weren’t here on business, Damon wouldn’t have minded joining her; maybe he’d even offer to oil her back. As it was, he had to calculate whether her presence might discourage his master thief, and he briefly considered transferring to another umbrella—except instinct told him he was right where he was supposed to be. Hopefully, she was far enough away not to pose a hindrance to his meeting. He couldn’t exactly ask her to move without a good explanation.
There was no one else in the immediate vicinity. No hint of dark skin—hereditary or otherwise—anywhere on the beach. If his master thief was around, she was keeping a low profile.
The blonde’s unabashed enjoyment of the sun and the heat pulled at Damon’s attention, a definite distraction but one he couldn’t resist. What red-blooded heterosexual male could? To even try would blow his cover sky-high.
After indulging himself with a few appreciative glances, Damon reminded himself he was on duty, dragging his mind back to what he was supposed to be doing.
Oh, yeah. The swim.
There’d been something about getting his skin wet.