Lucidity (5 page)

What made her think anything was ever going to be normal again?

“My nocturnal fantasies are probably best left forgotten,” he muttered. The gruff tone of his voice and his sharpened gaze made her think he was probably right. “Go on with your story.”

Not an easy request to grant when he was so much a part of her dreams. “Five years ago, I took part in a research project. It was at Stanford University, right here in the USA. I couldn’t afford to go to college on a cashier’s salary, so it seemed interesting to have them pay
me
. The researchers advertised for ‘lucid’ volunteers. Just average, everyday folks with a weird little gift, a common interest. You know, sort of like a gathering of those people who go to comic book conventions, or the ones who collect Pez dispensers.”

“Pez?” His eyebrows beetled in confusion. “Are you fucking with me?”

Sadly, no. But wouldn’t he be stunned to know how often she thought of doing just that. Too much, in fact, when her energy should be focused on her duties—and surviving. “Seriously. It was a sort of ‘dream tank’, manned by idealistic scientists and students genuinely interested in exploring the creative mind. It was
glorious
. I made so many friends there. People who didn’t believe in boundaries, just learning. Pure magic, Parker, a Disneyland for dreamers. But, after a few weeks, things got more serious.

“From the original group, the researchers culled one hundred test subjects. Those they considered gifted. The ones who could imagine most vividly, maintain the strongest control over images and outcomes. Months of follow-up studies showed each of them not only had the ability to direct the course of their dreams, but, when given a real-life situation to focus on, they actually seemed to affect
that
as well.”

“Okay, freeze.”

“What?”

Parker glared at her, shaking his head. “Such wide-eyed innocence. You know goddamn well you’re freaking me out. You just took a giant leap from ‘hey, that sounds interesting’ to ‘nice buzz, what’s the street value of your drugs?’ You’re telling me you honestly think someone can suggest a scenario to you, and when you dream about it, that thing becomes reality?”

“I’m afraid so.”

He laughed softly, stretching his long frame in the little chair as if someone had just pulled his leg. It was a lovely rumbling sound from deep in his diaphragm that made her want to tickle his abs. With her tongue. And work her way down. “You think I’m joking.”

“I
hope
you’re joking.”

“I’m afraid this is as serious as it gets.”

His eyes narrowed to slashes of steel. “You do realize how that sounds?”

“I realize what most people choose to ignore. That there is so much more to us than some animated bit of clay suspended on a frame of fragile bones.”

She was so excited to finally be able to tell him the truth—to tell
someone
—that she reached across the table to pinch his arm to illustrate her point. And couldn’t grab hold. Jesus, the man had biceps the size of canned hams and twice as firm.

“Not that all bodies are fragile,” she continued distractedly, watching the triangular tattoo ripple as he reached for his mug. She could imagine her name inked possessively across that hard muscle as it did push-ups over her bucking body… “But the creative mind is capable of amazing things.”

“That’s crazy talk.” Parker tossed back his coffee and grimaced. “There are those who’d say genetically altered coochie would be more believable.”

“Yes, I know how it sounds, but it is the truth. The evidence was undeniable. As individuals, on a small scale, it was little more than an oddity. Penny-ante stuff that didn’t amount to much in the grand scheme of things. But the old adage is right. There’s strength in numbers. We kicked ass when we worked as a unit. So, the researchers began to wonder…what if all of us focused, concentrated—dreamed the same dream at the same time?”

“And so was born the infamous, elusive One Hundred.”

“Exactly.”

He chewed his bottom lip, eyeing her skeptically. “You’re telling me you people actually believe you can dream away the catastrophe?”

“Yes.” From the moment they first worked together, she’d believed it to be true. But now, facing the doubt of this man she respected so much, there was a quaver of uncertainty in her voice. “So? What d’ya say, big guy? Do you believe me? Want to help me save the world?”

Chapter Four

Exulting in the satiny feel of the liquid soap, Shep hit the dispenser again, filling his palm with iridescent blue. He closed his eyes, glazing the svelte body of the woman in his arms, loving the pulsing beat of the shower’s water on his back.

He liked it hot and punishing. And so, apparently, did Jillian.

Or was it Gillian?

No matter. Enough that he had his hands on her, his cock seated deep inside as he lazily spread another layer of suds up the heavenly slope of her breasts, tweaking the rosy nipples. She moaned, and he smiled at the small hairs that bristled at his nape, the predator’s hunger it aroused, encouraging him to take with a vengeance.

This was more than worth the tedious flight to DC and allowing her to pick him up at the Starbucks in Georgetown. Exchanging his desire for espresso for her had been an easy choice. The lady had a kick-ass suite here at the Embassy, a slammin’ body and a three-carat diamond engagement ring on her finger. It meant she was beautiful
and
smart enough to cap a rich man.

It also meant she wouldn’t be looking for a repeat performance from him. Jackpot.

He slipped his hands up her back, curving his fingers over her shoulder blades as a cushion between his heated onslaught and the cold marble tiles. Jill-Gill wriggled higher on his hips, her arms cinched around his neck, and he pistoned harder between her shapely thighs, barely noticing when she shuddered into another orgasm.

Shep had lost track of how many she’d had, or how long they’d been playing in the water. He could, however, feel his toes pruning, and the soap was running mighty low. He enjoyed pleasuring the ladies, got off on that as much as getting a nut of his own. And this one was superb, with a tight, creamy little cunt that made him want to work it forever. He could hardly breathe, laboring with the effort it took not to erupt inside her with each thrust. His balls were heating, tightening against his body, but he wasn’t nearly ready for this to end. Yes, he had to remember the time. But if he wedged in a little closer, he could—
oh, yeah
. Right there. Another inch of the soft, slick sheath conquered, the most vulnerable hot flesh.

What little logical thought remained told him he’d have to wrap this up. He handled ten of the One Hundred’s bodyguards, which meant juggling timelines and schedules. And Munroe was out there going fucking rogue on him. He hadn’t even bothered to call in. More screwups, more time lost.

Then there were the two cloistered meetings he had near the Capitol in the wee hours of morn. He needed to be sharp for them and was hoping to eke out more situational info. Unlike Munroe, he was dying to know what the heathen One Hundred were up to. Having his boys take risks wearing blinders might be okay with the suits, but he didn’t like it one bit.

But just a little longer. Just a little. Closing his eyes, he pinned her back against the shower wall and took all her weight, driving to the rhythm of her clipped, primitive pleas. Blood roared in his ears, his hips thrashing of their own accord. His hands moved to her ass, coaxing her to match his thrusts, to prompt the searing seed burning its way up his shaft.

She was climbing again, stiffening in his arms, when the force that gripped his balls boiled over. His orgasm broke in a gasp and one last, powerful push that carried her with him and left her limp and panting in his arms.

“Oh, my,” she murmured. Her manicured nails felt cold and plastic against the back of his heated neck. “You do that very well.”

Shep gently lowered her to her feet, keeping a steadying arm around her waist. “My pleasure, ma’am.” His gaze slid toward the watch he’d left on the washstand. It wouldn’t be a good idea to leave evidence behind. He wouldn’t be responsible for the lady losing her meal ticket.

Still, it was a pity there wasn’t time for a round two. He wouldn’t mind working off a little more stress. “Could I trouble you for a quick cup of coffee? Then I’ll need to be moseying along. Wouldn’t want your boyfriend showing up to shoot me.”

“Ivan? Not to worry. He’s a pussycat.” They stepped from the shower together, and she grabbed two plush, royal-blue towels, passing one to him. “He’s also out of town for a couple of days. Checking on a condo in Silver Springs he’s interested in buying and launching a big public relations campaign.” Briskly scrubbing her short blonde hair, she licked her lips as she watched him dry himself. “If you ask me, he’s got a job on his hands, making those Temple fanatics look good. But that’s why he makes the big bucks.”

Shep nodded absently, trying to remember exactly where he’d left his clothes. They probably formed a little Armani trail through the suite. They’d both started shedding as soon as they hit the door, and…

Wait a minute. Her pussycat what? Shep blinked, bringing his attention back to the now. Had he just missed something important? “I’m sorry, but what did you say?”

“I said he’ll be gone for a couple of days. So really, if you’d like a sleepover, it wouldn’t be a problem.”

She wrapped herself in the blue velour and languidly exited the bathroom, wet feet leaving prints on white carpet. Seizing his Rolex, he followed right behind her, tucking his towel around his waist. Jesus. Had he tripped over his dick and fallen into something here? “Did you just say something about the Temple?”

She moved past the rich walnut woodwork and opulent furnishings toward the kitchen, chuckling. “Ivan works for that quasi-religious group, Temple Malleus. He’s a pretty talented promoter. They hired him to improve their image among the moderate politicians, who seem reluctant to align themselves with witch-hunters. Go figure.”

“Interesting.” More than a little curious, he fought to keep his tone casual. “Are you a member of the congregation too?”

“Not yet. And it isn’t much of a ‘congregation’, per se. More like a flash-mob religion. They gather when the elders give the word. Smart. It’s easier to dodge their detractors that way. But I’ll be expected to join once we’re married in a few weeks. Until then, dear Ivan doesn’t hold with fornication. Which leads me to pursue my hobby of picking up good-looking strangers.” He paused as she turned to look at him, her eyes sharper than he remembered. “You ask a lot of questions, Mr. Holt.”

Amused, Shepherd Bolt bit his lip. Apparently, names weren’t important to either of them. “Just wondering what goes on behind the scenes. They’ve been in the news quite a bit lately. Membership drives. Tent revivals. That good, old-fashioned praise-the-Lord-and-pass-the-ammunition stuff.”

She crossed her arms defensively. “You thinking of getting religion?”

Her gaze locked on his groin, which was rapidly coming back to life. Damn if he could help it. The thought of getting into this mystery’s pants gave him serious wood. Hell, for all he knew, the Temple believers might be right about the One Hundred. He’d worked behind the scenes long enough to know what powerful men were capable of doing.

He was a long way from his spiritual roots. He knew it, often relished it. Striking metaphorical blows against the religious upbringing that plagued him like a lifelong case of herpes made him a happier human being.

But he’d never stopped believing in a God of some sort. He believed there was order and purpose to the universe. He didn’t live his life waiting for four horsemen to come riding over the horizon, but he didn’t dismiss the mythology as bunk, either. Maybe the One Hundred
did
have an important part to play in the destiny of mankind. Hell, the very name of the group was iconic.

Who could say? Something weird was definitely in the air. Maybe the Temple was on to something. And maybe the so-called mutants really needed to be stopped.

If there was the slightest truth in what the Temple followers believed, he might have to rethink this covert mission of his, and who he should be working for. And possibly consider doing something about them himself. “Religion?” He lapsed into a grin. “Maybe I could be converted. If it’s God’s will.”

“Sinner-man. And you wear it well.” She closed the distance between them, giving him a tentative kiss before her fingers snaked between the folds of his towel. “It would be a shame to see all that natural talent go to waste.”

Shep ripped the damp garment away, flashing his wickedest smile. “Then what say we change that order for coffee to a nightcap. There’s a lot I’d like to learn. And you can give me the inside story on saving my soul. Maybe even introduce me to a disciple or two. Meanwhile, let’s see what we can do to stir up all the sin I can humbly confess to, hmm?”

Chapter Five

“No.”

Parker drummed his fingertips on the table, trying very hard to be patient. “I’m sorry. Can’t buy it. Fantasy as fact? You can’t really be this naïve, Carlotta. Universities are notorious for slanting research results to keep their funding. Dreams coming true are either coincidence or the fancies of people incapable of dealing with reality.”

“Then this old planet’s about to get a megadose of reality, and so are you. So I’d appreciate not being patronized like the village idiot.” Carly’s eyes glittered with rare anger. “Do you honestly think the government is paying you to protect me because I’ve been in the la-la-land basket-weaving business for the past five years?”