His hands slid down her body. Eased over her stomach, where the gown had pooled in a soft heap. His knuckles brushed across her belly button. Smoothed over her abdomen.
“Todd—” His name broke from her lips. She didn’t usually speak while dreamwalking. It was too dangerous. Power was in her voice. A command that had his head snapping up and his eyes flying to hers.
His cock was rock hard now and she realized that she was moving her hips against his. Rocking back and forth. Faster with each stroke of her body.
Red stained his cheeks. His pupils dilated as she watched. And his lips gleamed with a faint sheen of moisture.
Cara fought for sanity once more. “No, I-I can’t—”
In a instant, he tumbled her back onto the bed. “It’s a dream, baby. We can do anything.” He kissed her again. A kiss so sweet and soft that she swore she felt her eyes fill.
If only…
But some dreams could turn into nightmares far too easily, and if they didn’t stop soon, Todd would learn that lesson. Every moment she stayed with him, she was stealing a little of his life force. Taking a bit of his power as she stole into his mind.
She’d sworn not to take from a lover again.
Damn it, she hated to take!
It reminded her that she was little more than a parasite, living off the power and pleasure of others.
Her hands lifted, caught his face in her palms. She wanted to keep kissing him, to let the passion rage.
Not a choice for her.
His head lifted. His gaze met hers. “You feel so real.”
Her lips curved in a smile she knew was sad. “Close your eyes for me.”
He obeyed at once, but then, she’d put force into her voice, a compulsion he couldn’t resist. Humans were always at their weakest in the dream state.
Her index finger smoothed over his lips. Then she tilted her head, just a few inches, and urged his mouth back to hers. His lips were parted as he readied to kiss her—
She blew a light stream of air into his mouth. A soft, sweet stream that she knew would taste of magic.
His eyes opened, bleary, confused.
“Sleep,” she whispered the command.
Then she closed her own eyes, and left the dream.
“Oh, damn.” Cara’s eyes jerked open and she glared up at the ceiling.
What in the world had just happened?
A walk in dreams. She hadn’t snuck into a man’s dreams in over five years. She’d vowed never to enter without permission again.
Then she’d gone and plunged straight into Todd’s head.
Damn.
Jumping from the bed, she ran toward her mirror. Her reflection stared back at her, eyes wide, hair tangled, skin faintly glowing.
Glowing. Crap. She’d taken from him. Stolen his power as her spirit had seduced his body.
Her head began to shake. A hard back-and-forth motion. She’d taken, and he’d awaken weak now.
“I didn’t mean to do it,” she whispered, confessing to an image that just stared helplessly back at her. Dreamwalking took focus, intent—hell, often a meditative state. Stealing into the dreams of others was a skill that succubi didn’t master until well after sexual maturity. It was one of their greatest weapons, and by far one of the most dangerous.
Cara swallowed and tasted the ash of guilt on her tongue. She’d been dead tired, certainly not possessing the strength needed to slip into a human’s secret dreams. She never should have been able to cross the miles and find Todd’s mind.
It shouldn’t have happened, but it had.
She’d just have to make absolutely certain it didn’t happen again, because, if it did, she wasn’t certain she’d be able to hold on to her control.
The temptation to take the handsome detective was just too strong.
“Shit!” Todd woke up, instantly and completely conscious.
Damn it, he was alone.
His hands fisted over the sheets. He could have sworn that Cara was with him. Holding him. Kissing him.
A dull ache pounded in his temples as he rose from the bed. Not enough sleep, he figured, glancing at the clock to find out that he’d been in bed a total of four hours.
Not nearly long enough.
He ran a hand over his face, and, for a second, he could have sworn that he smelled her.
Cara.
The woman was seriously fucking him up. The last time he’d had a dream that hot about a woman—well, hell, he didn’t think he’d ever had a dream that intense.
He could still feel her satiny skin beneath his fingertips, still feel the curves of her breasts.
His cock was hard and heavy with need. A need that he knew only one woman could slake.
Shit.
Todd headed for the bathroom. He needed a cold shower. It would wake him up and chase the woman from his mind.
He yanked on the water, sending the powerful stream jetting full blast, then he stepped back, caught the flash of his reflection in the mirror—
He frowned. What the hell?
His gaze swept past the faint scars on his chest and side. Instead, his stare dropped down to his left arm. His eyes narrowed as he studied the five small half-moon marks on his flesh. Wounds that looked just like they’d been made by a woman’s nails.
“No damn way.” He lifted his right arm. Studied the biceps. Saw the same small wounds.
In his dream, Cara’s fingers had bit into the flesh of his arms as she’d held tight to him. Her nails had pierced his skin and he’d been aware of the faint sting, and of the pleasure of feeling her hips press against his.
But that had just been a dream. A hot fantasy that followed him while he slept.
He ran his fingers over the marks. Felt the raised skin.
“No damn way,” he repeated, even as a wave of unease rippled through him.
No other woman had caused the wounds. He’d stopped seeing his last lover, another cop at the precinct, just over a month before.
His stomach knotted. So how the hell had he gotten a woman’s scratch marks on his arms?
Cara.
Chapter 4
The lady’s alibis checked out.
Part of Todd was thrilled by that news—a very, very large part—because the confirmation meant that the delectable Cara was now fair game for him.
Another part was seriously pissed, and worried. If Cara wasn’t the killer, then the murderer had set her up. No other explanation jived for him.
A killer who liked to play games—damn bad news.
It was Wednesday night. It had been two days since he’d last seen Cara, since he’d gotten to touch those perfect lips and feel her soft tongue stroke against his.
He’d stayed away, knowing he had to keep his distance until he verified her alibis for the murders. Sex with a suspect wasn’t something he particularly wanted complicating his life.
But the lady had been cleared now.
According to Colin, five waitresses and two bartenders had placed Cara at Paradise Found right at the time of the first two kills. And one very nosy, sharp-eyed, elderly neighbor had backed up her story about being home alone during the time of House’s murder.
Ms. Murphy, former schoolteacher and extreme art enthusiast—judging by the dozens of canvases in her den—had cheerfully told him that “I saw her come racing home right after five. In that bright red car of hers. Went in, stayed in.” A beetled frown had pulled down her white brows. “I thought a man would come and see her, but,” a rather disappointed sigh followed, “no one came that night.”
“So she was home from a little after five until ten p.m.?” He’d asked.