Exhale (2 page)

She nodded.

He strode over to the bloke behind the bar and ordered two schooners. Handing the guy a twenty, he plotted out his next move. Moment of truth here. A do-or-die situation. Zoe’s life was in danger. Gavin had to convince her she needed him. For protection.

He turned sideways and cut his gaze to her. So goddamn beautiful. An ache built in his chest. Fanning herself with a hand, Zoe met his eyes, and then looked out the window to where they’d stood only moments ago.

She’d kissed him back, just like she’d done a dozen times in the Dreaming. Maybe winning her over here in Realis would be easier than he expected. Once they got through the pleasantries here, he’d invite her to his place where they could talk in private. Hell, maybe talking would lead to other things. His gaze drifted from her sultry lips to the hard nipples taunting him through her shirt…

Don’t get your hopes up, mate.

The bartender slid the schooners over, and Gavin nodded his thanks. Drinks in hand, he sauntered to the table, set the glasses down, and took his seat across from her.

“Cheers,” she said, bringing the beer to her lips. She sucked down a long, blokey draught, and pressed the back of a wrist over her mouth.

“That was quite a first impression.” Her low, tremulous voice set his ears on fire. “Do you always kiss strangers first and ask questions later?”

Shaking his head, he unleashed his crooked rock star smile on her—the one that made magazine covers and had landed him countless hard-to-get girls with big bastard boyfriends.
So
not feeling that confidence at the moment, but he tried to channel it anyway. “We’re not exactly strangers. Are we?”

Her aura exploded into a flurry of shifting, disjointed colors. With an unsteady hand, she reached into the pocket of her pants, withdrew a piece of paper, and unfolded it. “I believe this belongs to you.”

The blush in her cheeks deepened as she offered the wrinkled page to him. It was her bio and picture from the Cetacean Research Network’s web site. He’d jotted down a song about her on the back of it while he waited for her earlier. Bartender must have given it to her.

He shook his head. “Keep it. I wrote it for you.”

“Why? You don’t know me,” she said softly.

He dropped his voice to a whisper and met her stare. “So, the woman I met in your dreams was someone else?”

Wiggling in her seat, she rubbed at her palm with a thumb but didn’t look at it. “Okay. You kinda caught me off guard. I came here expecting to be interviewed for the newspaper, only to meet a guy I’ve been dreaming about for weeks. What the hell is going on? You remember me from your dreams?”

“They were
your
dreams, actually. And yes. I remember them.” Did he ever.

“I—” She tugged the tail of her shirt down, then smoothed the back of her hair. “I’d like to believe you, but I’m a scientist. I deal in facts. As far as I know, there’s no research proving the existence of ‘dream communication’ or whatever you want to call it.”

“So, you deny that we met in the Dreaming?” He settled his elbows on the table. “That I rescued you from drowning? That we built a raft and fought Fyre Elementals together?” He wasn’t ready to remind her of the other stuff they’d done. Yet.

She looked away.

He wiped his sweaty hands on his jeans under the table. “What about Shaggy’s, a week ago? I saw you in the crowd when my band played there. You remember that, don’t you?”

“Yeah. What about it?”

“You were staring at me.”

Her intoxicating flowery scent filled his nose, and a beautiful pink blush settled into her cheeks. “I was enjoying the music.”

“Uh-huh. The music. So, it had nothing to do with the fact that you recognized me from your dreams?” He tried the smile again. “Or maybe it was the view?”

Her pupils dilated, and a flash of light red emerged from the panicked swirls in her aura. Jealousy? “Does your girlfriend know you’re here?”

The accusation slapped his reckless ego with a resounding crack. Shit. Zoe had seen Scarlet kiss him after the show that night. “I don’t have a girlfriend.” He took a quick detour down to the naked ring finger on her left hand. “Not yet, anyway.”

“Could have fooled me.” The light red gained traction on the other rapidly shifting colors in her aura—brown, pink, yellow-orange, neon yellow—too many to count.

Great. He stuffed a fist in his pocket, and it collided with the bird. He pulled out the wooden toy and set it on the flaking tabletop. Her gaze darted to it. Cheeks reddening again, she bit her lip.

He glanced at the falcon. What was that about?

Darkness clouded her face, and the air between them cooled. Both arms now resting on the table, she studied him as if he were a frog in a dissection tray. “Why’d you arrange this meeting? Tormenting me in my dreams isn’t enough?”

“I wouldn’t call what we did there ‘torment.’” He sighed. This wasn’t going as he’d planned. Maybe he’d totally misread her in both worlds. “Come on, Dr. Morgan, don’t play games with me. You fought the Fyre Elementals in your dreams. You know how powerful they are. They’re after you. Here.” He tapped the pockmarked tabletop with his index finger.

Her entire demeanor shifted, fast as a door slamming shut in his face. All traces of curiosity left, and harsh tenseness took its place. Her aura freaked the fuck out in an explosion of reds and browns. Grabbing her keys, she stood. “I think I’d better go.”

Shit. He snagged the back of her hand and pinned it to the table. Her eyes flashed.

A roar of laughter erupted from a bunch of geezers up front as if mocking him. He threw a scowl at them, and then turned back to Zoe. “Wait.” Releasing her hand, he checked her face for a crack in the armor. Nope. Solid, two centimeter-thick stainless steel.

Before good sense had a chance to rein in his mouth, he blurted, “I want to go out with you.” Okay, not exactly following the script, but he was desperate to keep her here and talking.

Ears bright pink, she stared at him for a good thirty seconds before sitting back down. “Don’t you think I’m a little old for you?”

He let go of his held breath in a great rush. The two of them had survived a dream attack that had killed over a hundred people. He’d fallen
in love
with her, for fuck’s sake. What the hell did he care about her being a little older?

“No.” Gavin searched the bar for a refill on his resolve. Instead, he found two pissed old farts carrying on about football, a drooping plant in dire need of watering, and a meaty police officer eyeballing him.

His stomach dropped with a sudden, horrifying realization that he was way out of his league. He hadn’t expected the intimidation factor to be so high. Certainly hadn’t planned on his traitorous confidence ditching him, switching sides, and running offense for Zoe.

“You don’t want to go out with me?” The fireworks they’d conjured together in the Dreaming had been beyond explosive. Pretty unlikely she’d forget that.

The color drained from her face. Zoe paused, as if to measure her words before spewing them all over him. “Your kind and mine don’t mix. I’m a scientist. You’re a” —she waved her hand in a wild, quivering motion— “rock star. You and I are oil and water, north and south, milk and pickles. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go. I have to be up early for work.” Zoe rose. The legs of her chair sputtered loudly across the scuffed wood floor as she pushed it under the table.

Tossing another glance about, he stood up and stepped around to her side. He slid his palms up the backs of her arms. The warmth from her closeness fucked his concentration to hell. “Some people out there want to see you hurt. Or worse. Can we at least exchange numbers in case something happens?” He hated the desperation heating his words, but if the Fyres got hold of her…especially Scarlet…

Dewy droplets of perspiration dotted her flushed skin. “I’m sorry, Gavin. I—I just can’t.”

Shit. What had he done? “But—”

“Thanks for the drink.” She downed the rest of it in two hurried gulps and set the empty glass on the table. Halfway to the door, she paused and looked at him over her shoulder, blond locks framing her beautiful face, eyes pleading. “Please don’t follow me.”

Conversation in The Whale & Whistle ground to a halt as everyone in the place—including the very interested policeman—watched Zoe walk out of Gavin’s life as fast as she’d breezed in.

He dropped his arse into her still-warm chair and rubbed his spiky hair.

“Fuck.”

Convincing his dream girl that she needed him in reality was going to be a hell of a lot harder than he’d expected.

Chapter Two

Zoe Morgan rushed out of The Whale & Whistle, terror threatening to clamp her throat shut. Her unexpected meeting with Gavin Cassidy had been a shocking, but welcome surprise until her wacked-out brain started processing everything: the bird showing up after all these years...him remembering her from the dreams…the song he’d written…When he got to the part about Fyre Elementals out to get her, the tenuous grip on her control snapped and flung her straight into the waiting jaws of the panic attack that had been lurking under the surface of her consciousness.

A fresh wave of nausea rippled through her stomach, sweat flooded her pores, and oxygen eluded her.

Calm down. Just get to the car, and you’ll be okay. Come on, Zoe. Breathe.

When her lungs finally registered the fresh air outside the pub and sputtered back to life, she scanned the dusk-drenched street and hurried toward the SUV parked a couple of blocks over.

Holy shit. She still couldn’t believe it.

Gavin Cassidy. Mr. Perfect from her dreams not only had a grown-up name and a smoking hot body, but if the kiss was any indication, he also had an apparent interest in her. Here. Outside the confines of her head. In the Land of Wakey-Wakey.

What the hell was wrong with him? Surely a gorgeous, twenty-something rock star like him had better romantic prospects than a neurotic, thirty-two year-old cetacean biologist who talked to whales. And those problems barely scratched the surface of the cluster fuck her DNA had cursed her with.

Soft footsteps interrupted her flocking thoughts. She picked up the pace, worried her hot dream man might be following, despite her warning not to.

Or maybe it was a Fyre Elemental.

Oh, God. The Fyre Elementals were real too.

Nope. Don’t even think about it. You’re gonna lose your shit in front of God and everybody.

She fanned her face with a sweaty hand as her rubbery legs double-timed it to the parking lot. Distraction. She needed a distraction.

How about that kiss?

Jesus.

Her guts fluttered again, and she touched her lips. Gavin had a mouth that could work miracles on her. Already had in the Dreaming. Countless times. The tall, gorgeous-enough-to-eat hottie covered in tattoos and piercings with an inexplicable hankering for her had the ability to make her orgasm in her dreams as hard and fast as a horny teenager. Why’d he have to show up now and kiss her like that?

When she reached the Land Rover, she glanced around but didn’t see anyone. Whoever she heard before must have found their car or gone into one of the nearby buildings. She planted hands on her knees, bent over, and devoured great gulps of oxygen to the point of near-hyperventilation. She was burning up.

Damn you, Gavin Cassidy.

Tremors quaked through her anew as she brushed the paper peeking out of her pocket. Dear God, he’d written a
song
for her.

“You can’t trust him, you know,” a female voice with an Aussie accent purred, jolting Zoe out of her estrogen-induced daze.

The gorgeous redhead who’d kissed Gavin at Shaggy’s Pub after the Just Breathe gig stood two cars away. She hadn’t been there a few seconds ago. With one long, creamy leg propped against the grill of a blood red Porsche, she puffed on a cigarette through an elegant black holder. Wearing five-inch stilettos, a barely legal black mini skirt, and a matching bustier encrusted with ruby-like gemstones, the woman—and her car—looked like an ad straight out of a high fashion magazine.

Just great.

Scrambling to pull herself together as dread regained its momentum, Zoe bit her lip until it hurt. Damn Triple X Syndrome and its associated inconveniences always exerted their dominance at the most inopportune moments. She hated this weakness, the loss of control over her body and mind, but she and her panic attacks had become pretty intimate over the years. At least she knew what to expect.

Another rush of heat swept through her.

“He’s only out for one thing,” Red continued, releasing the cigarette and pitching it on the ground. She didn’t bother to put it out. “Himself.” She slunk around the hood of the car parked between them and sashayed straight into Zoe’s personal space. The heady aroma of cinnamon wafted toward Zoe, engulfing her like a fly in amber. The panic eased and transformed into something…hotter.

Dark cherry curls bounced with a life of their own around Red’s face. And her eyes…they were the most beautiful shade of brown, sprinkled with glittery crimson flecks.

Red smiled with a mouthful of sharp, white teeth, then sized her up by…God, was Gavin’s girlfriend…
smelling
her? Zoe’s hot skin tightened, and her internal organs faltered under the intensity of the woman’s disturbing beauty. More spicy cinnamon teased the air between them. Trapped in this black widow’s web, she could almost see why Gavin had kissed her. Zoe was straight, but Red’s closeness got the lust meter running, despite the fact that the woman scared the hell out of her.

Wait, what happened to the panic attack? And why was she getting so worked up over a woman she didn’t even know? The sounds of fingernails screeching down a chalkboard filled Zoe’s head.

She swallowed hard. Something wasn’t right about this woman. She had experienced this same weird heat the night Gavin’s band played at Shaggy’s—the first time she’d first seen Red and her handsome leather-clad friend, whom Zoe had almost gone home with.

Breaking out of the trance, Zoe searched for courage but fell short. “Don’t worry. He’s all yours,” she mumbled, fidgeting with her keys. “I have much more important things to do with my time.”