Dream a Little Dream (16 page)

A colossal case of goosebumps whooshed up from her toes and she arched to meet him, excited by the sensation of empty air behind her. The sofa rocked alarmingly but she wound her legs around his waist, hanging from him as he explored her with his lips, his tongue, his teeth. The latex devil’s horns were still stuck in his hair, giving her the sudden wild sensation of auditioning for
Rosemary’s Baby
. She forgot to breathe. Her entire body was about wanting, wanting him inside, wanting to touch what she’d been watching across the room all evening.

‘How many condoms do you have?’ She squirmed and shuddered, leaning back further, harder against him. If he let go of her now, she’d probably get whiplash.

He adjusted his stance to balance her out. ‘Two in my wallet, three in the car.’ One arm was looped securely around her waist, the other hand was stroking high, higher as his mouth sucked harder.

She clutched at his arms, digging her fingers into the muscle and sinew that had corded to support her weight. ‘Let’s sacrifice the first. Now.’

He lifted his head to smile, heaven in his eyes, hooded and heavy with sex. ‘Let’s make it worth the wait.’ And he dipped his head to lick her stomach.

She rolled her head back and let the wanting build, moving against his hand, his mouth, prevented from taking the initiative by her position in mid-air while he strung her out to whimpering point.

But then he straightened. ‘Got to … Where’s my damned wallet gone?’ searching urgently between the sofa cushions, until, finally, she had to cling onto him as he found what he wanted. She heard the tearing of the packet as his hands worked behind her back. Then he was smoothing the condom on and, suddenly – inside her. Hard. Harder.
Harder.

Then he got control. Kept it, rocking her on helpless waves of pleasure, lovely and lean and fluid, supporting her, holding her from falling. ‘Good for you?’ His voice was raw.

‘Good!’ she gasped. Then was flung beyond conversation as she rose up on a switchback of pleasure. Intense. Teetering on the edge of more.

She knew what the more was and that she needed it
right now
. ‘Dominic!’ She ground urgently against him so that he groaned and gasped and kicked up several gears, giving her what she craved, hotter, stormier, until the waves were crashing and wild.

And carried her away.

It seemed a while before she floated dizzily back to shore. Catching her breath. Savouring the final ripples of pleasure.

Slowly, he pulled her upright so that they could prop each other up, damp skin against damp skin, as they remembered how to breathe. She was almost surprised to find herself still perched on the back of the sofa because there had been a distinct sensation of plunging, flying, whirling through space. She ran her lips lazily along his jaw line: firm, lean, just asking to be tasted.

Dominic pulled her close, as if trying to absorb her, rumbling against her neck. ‘Wow. That was hot. Best ever.’

And whilst she didn’t actually disagree … she wondered how he could be so undisguised.

‘Air Berlin bravo echo romeo three five three five, please monitor tower one two three decimal eight … Topswiss echo zulu sierra five zero seven, pushback and start-up approved to the bravo east line …’

Liza hadn’t checked the time that they’d finally gone to sleep, but it had been late. They had been exhausted, sated, plastered nakedly together, Dominic’s horns and trident discarded on the bedside table alongside his wallet and phone. She’d plummeted into oblivion, rather than drifted.

So she’d definitely had
some
sleep.

But now she was wide awake because Dominic was talking to the darkness. ‘Jetset Foxtrot Charlie Alpha four three two seven, Stansted delivery, slot time fourteen-thirty, cleared to … Clacton8romeo departure, squawk six four two two … Topswiss echo zulu sierra five zero seven, taxi via charlie holding point sierra one runway two two.’

In the pauses, she imagined dream pilots answering a Dominic once again seated in the light, high above Stansted Airport, the runway rolled out below the air traffic control tower. She wondered how it had felt to be up there, to understand the phrases streaming into her ears, to know how to work the equipment, to leave no room for error. To live in a world where sleek metal monsters roared up into the sky only when you said they could, like a giant child dictating some complex game of who could and could not play with his toys.

And how it felt to have lost that.

She wriggled onto her side, sliding her arm across to stroke his neck and the silky skin just below his ear. ‘Air Berlin—’ The stream of words faltered. She fitted herself to his side and let her hand drift over his chest. It was delicious to have a warm, pulsing, breathing body in bed with her again.

He sighed and shifted. Drowsily, he freed an arm to loop around her and settle her head against his shoulder. ‘I often don’t sleep well in an unfamiliar bed.’ He was mumbling, almost slurring, but there was a note of apology, as if aware he’d probably been doing something that would keep her awake. He kissed her hair.

‘I thought that you’d sleep the kind of sleep that nothing could wake you from.’

He yawned, began to move his hands over her, gradually wakening. ‘Mostly. Not always.’

‘So will you suffer for this, tomorrow?’

He shook with laughter. ‘Suffer? I might feel sleepier, but to hell with that.’ He stroked her buttock, following the smooth curve from back to thigh. ‘What about you? Do you have to work tomorrow? Today?’

She groaned. ‘Yes. I’ve got a nine o’clock start so I’ll need to get up in about four hours. But now I’m awake.’ Her hand traced the ridge of his collarbone, over the plates of his chest to the softer flesh of his abdomen, testing the wiry hair with her fingertips. Man. She’d almost forgotten how to enjoy the shape of a man. ‘I do know a great way to get back to sleep, though.’ She twisted and slid her body over his until she was on top, skin tingling as it pressed against his.

He groaned; a deep, contented thrum. ‘The rest of the condoms are in the car.’

‘Don’t need them.’ She began to kiss down his body, flicking with her tongue, down and down.

And she took a refresher on all the softness and the hardness, the silkiness and the coarseness that was a man’s body. And then they slept.

PWNsleep message board:

Tenzeds: Amazing what a difference it makes to energy levels when I have purpose in my life.

Girlwithdreams: I’ve just read about a diet high in protein and amino acids helping with energy. Alcohol might have a detrimental effect on energy, too … Loading with water might help.

Tenzeds: Give me a break! N is bad enough without giving up
everything
good. Wtf really wants to drink water instead of beer? Not even any caffeine involved! I live with someone who only eats healthy. (Sorry. Frustration talking. I know you’re right.)

Finding himself in an unfamiliar bed made waking easier and also reassured him that making love to Liza hadn’t been a dream. He fought to stay at the surface, to orientate himself. The other side of the bed was empty and cool. From the bathroom, he could hear the splashing of the shower.

It was still dark but his phone told him it was after six. Way early. But if Liza was up already …

He heaved himself around so that he was sitting on the side of the bed, waited for a bit more clarity, located his wallet and, from the zipped pocket now empty of condoms, fumbled for his emergency stash of one yellow tablet, one white. Then he got his legs under him and made it to his feet, checking for balance.

In a moment he was opening the door into the tiny bathroom, stepping over the side of the bath and insinuating himself into the warmth and steam behind Liza. He tilted the showerhead so that the water slapped him in the face for a few seconds, then turned the stream back on her.

Eyes closed, she tipped her head to rinse her hair. ‘You’re up.’

‘Naked soapy women tend to have that affect on me.’ He pressed against the back of her. Her shower gel was lime, sharp on the moist air, and he put his lips to her shoulder as if to taste it, smoothing his hands over her skin.

‘I’ll take you back to Miranda’s before I get ready for work.’

‘That’s a big hint that I should stop touching you, is it?’ He didn’t stop touching her.

‘We do need to get going.’ But she rubbed her behind against him, which did a great job of getting him going, but not in the way she’d meant. ‘I’m going to spare you the walk of shame.’

He laughed. But he got it. She wanted to drive out the devil under cover of darkness.

Twenty minutes later he was creeping into Miranda and Jos’s house. He clicked the front door slowly, carefully – but, from upstairs, Crosswind burst into a volley of ‘
Welcome home, boss!
’ barks. Cursing, Dominic ran lightly up the stairs to reach him before the racket woke up the household.

But as he swung around the newel post at the head of the narrow staircase Miranda emerged from her room in a dark blue dressing gown and, from the room beside her, Ethan erupted into the day in yellow Buzz Lightyear pyjamas, beaming a joyous, early morning, creased and crumpled smile. ‘Hello, Dommynic! You still look like red Batman!’

Dominic ruffled Ethan’s bedhead hair and tried to keep moving. ‘Hiya, Ethan! Yes, suppose I do.’ On the other side of his bedroom door, Crosswind’s barking and scrabbling rose a pitch past frantic. Miranda reached for the door handle and let loose the hound.

Trapped, Dominic had to brace against the banisters while Crosswind leaped a frantic welcome at his legs.

‘Long party?’ Miranda’s eyes brimmed with laughter.

‘Um.’ He grimaced as Ethan joined Crosswind in bouncing and yapping. ‘Quiet, Crosswind! Down, good boy.’ Crosswind, at least, he could tell to shut up.

Ethan went from shrill to deafening. ‘Dommynic, can I play with your cloak, please? And your fork? Where have your horns gone? Has Kenny still got his horns on? Is he still wearing his cloak?’

As the least said to Ethan about Kenny’s current whereabouts, the better, Dominic swooped Ethan up so that they were nose-to-nose. ‘Tell you what, let’s have a getting dressed race. You go in your room and get dressed and I’ll go in mine, and whoever is the winner can let Crosswind out in the garden and,’ he paused impressively, ‘wear the cloak.’

‘Yeah!’ screamed Ethan, wriggling down and grabbing Miranda’s hand. ‘C’mon, Mummy, help me beat Dommynic in a gedding dressed race!’

‘OK, Ethan.’ Miranda allowed herself to be dragged into his room, still raising her eyebrows at Dominic over her shoulder. ‘Then Dominic can tell us all about his party last night.’

‘Yeah!’ yelled Ethan, as he disappeared.

Dominic dressed – jeans felt comfortably secure after Lycra – but kept his sweater in his hand for when Ethan came banging at his door.

His reward was a scream of joy. ‘I won, Dommynic’s not ready, Mummy!’

Heaving a theatrical good loser’s sigh, Dominic shucked into the sweater before securing the cloak loosely around Ethan’s soft little neck. ‘Let’s let Crosswind out, then.’ He held the ends of the cloak and Ethan’s hand to navigate the stairs.

But Ethan’s interest in letting Crosswind out shrank to turning the key and throwing open the door once he realised he wouldn’t be allowed to run around the garden in the cloak, as the hire shop would take a sour view of it having been dragged around a damp garden. Dominic, keeping him in view, wandered out into the freshness of the morning while Crosswind peed on the statue of the green man.

Ethan ran circuits around the kitchen table, cloak flying. ‘Red Batma-an! Can I wear the tail?’ he shouted.

Dominic raised his voice. ‘’Fraid not, mate. It’s attached to the trousers and they’re too big for you.’

‘’Kay!’ Ethan resumed racing around the table. Miranda appeared, dressed and available to look after Ethan, so Dominic eased the back door shut to avoid more of the cousinly knowing looks. And reflect on the night before.

It had been incredible. He’d told Liza that, in the car, and she’d laughed, blue eyes wide and hair yet to be dried. ‘I bet you say that to all the girls.’

Which had given him pause. But, no, usually he said ‘great’, which was nowhere near ‘incredible’. He wasn’t sure that he’d ever reached ‘incredible’ before. What he hadn’t said was that being inside her had made his world make sense for the first time in a year. The feeling of being alien to himself had glugged away. Peace. A sense of rightness in armfuls and handfuls of Liza Reece.

But then her smile had changed, become something just for him, and she’d agreed, softly, ‘Yes, it was incredible.’ She’d shuddered, turning him on like an acetylene torch. Then checked her watch apologetically. ‘But I really need to do my hair and get ready for work.’ And, dismissed with a light kiss, he’d found himself out of the car and watching her do a three-point turn in the steeliness of what passes for dawn on a dank first of November, watching her drive away. Liza driving. Driving him nuts. Him driving into her—

He shook his mind out of her bed. The shower, dress and car journey period had been so brisk that he hadn’t felt it provided adequate opportunity for exploring what the deal was regarding their … whatever it was. Seeing each other. Non-relationship. Night of amazing sex. One-all-too-short-night stand. Mr Truthful, he’d fibbed about not being up for a relationship. He was pretty much up for whatever it was that had happened, though.

But neither had they returned to the delicate subject of their conflicting interests in the treatment centre, and that could be tricky.

He yawned and jammed his hands into his pockets against the chill. The rain had stopped but the moist air made the garden smell of cabbages. By no stretch of the imagination had he practised sleep hygiene last night, and he sighed in anticipation of how much of today would be lost to catch-up sleep and general zombieism, flopping from untired to mega exhausted at no notice. He yawned again, then smiled. Worth it, though. He thought of her beautiful hands on him. Beautiful mouth. He shivered. Beautiful everything. Nights like that were worth zombieism.

He forced his thoughts into business mode. What should he do regarding the lease? He had every intention of asking to see the valuation, or getting his own, but valuations could be meaningless. His business courses had taught him that an asset was worth what somebody would pay for it. And, despite the steepness of the premium, his first action after getting the call from Nicolas had been to ring Isabel Jones and set up the meeting to talk about renting the land beside the centre. Today, at three. But that had been before he’d spent the night making love to the competition. Should he and Liza talk first? Or should he have his meeting, and talk later?

The price Nicolas was asking … Should he and Liza be looking for a way to work in cahoots? Together, they might be able to control Nicolas, make him revise his price, by acting as if they weren’t both in the hunt.

But they were both in the hunt.

If they negotiated Nicolas down by manipulation, which of them would take up the lease?

It might be gentlemanly for him to bale out, but not pragmatic. Even if Liza could get the money together, the Pattinson family were likely to favour his offer because it would mean an income stream from land that had previously not produced one. He wasn’t gentleman enough to throw away his dreams in a futile gesture.

An early nap helped negate some of the follow-on effects of a short and broken night, but he anticipated mainlining coffee in an effort to keep the sleep monster at bay. He took a second shower and put on a good shirt, ready for his meeting with Isabel Jones, then ran down to the kitchen, Crosswind weaving around his feet.

‘Dommynic!’ shouted Ethan, from his vantage point on his booster seat, facing the door. ‘Shona and Gus are here for lunch. Look!’ He gestured with a wedge of Miranda’s homemade seedy brown bread.

‘Wow,’ said Dominic, his usual adult-pretending-to-listen-and-be-impressed response. Then an alert shrilled inside his head. Shona and Gus were the names of Liza’s niece and nephew. And they were unlikely to have arrived at Miranda’s house alone.

But, by the time his brain had processed the thought, he’d reached the doorway. From next to Ethan the attentive little face of Shona stared. And beside her sat a dark-haired, dark-eyed woman, cradling a sleepy baby Gus in one arm. She was staring, too.

Miranda grinned across a table full of chopped vegetables, dips and salad, her oval glasses catching the light. ‘Sit down, Dom, this is my friend, Cleo. Liza’s sister. Ethan and Shona were due a playdate, so I suggested lunch.’

Dominic said his hellos to the children and, suppressing a sudden desire to claim a lunch appointment elsewhere, shook Cleo’s hand, the one that wasn’t hooked around the baby. Cleo smiled, but her dark eyes were assessing. Surreally, although Liza was blonde and blue-eyed where Cleo was dark, rounder, taller, their wide-open, unafraid expressions were identical. It made him smile. ‘Liza didn’t mention you’d be visiting Miranda today.’

‘She wouldn’t know. I haven’t seen her for a week.’

‘Dommynic, can Crosswind—?’ Ethan began to clamber from his booster seat.

‘Make the dog skateboard!’ Shona threw her legs off her seat, too.

‘Sit down, please!’ chorused Cleo and Miranda, in an identical Mother Voice.

‘Awwww …’

‘Anyway, Crosswind has to run around the garden because I can’t take him out till later and he’ll have to stay in my room whilst I’m out.’ Dominic chivvied Crosswind outside and shut the door on his injured look before the children got into trouble for not eating their lunch.

‘Awwww …’ But the children settled back into their seats and, with much the same feeling of accepting the inevitable, Dominic took the remaining place at the table, glad that he’d slept so there would be no risk of falling into stupor before Liza’s sister’s eyes. He helped himself to salad and cheese.

Ethan and Shona fell into some game involving ordering the contents of their plates according to colour preferences, leaving their mothers free to focus on Dominic.

‘So, Miranda says you’re moving into the area?’ Cleo joggled Gus gently as she ate a cherry tomato.

‘Hopefully.’ He helped himself to homemade chutney. He’d have to gargle before he met Isabel Jones but Miranda’s caramelised onion chutney was beyond his powers to resist. ‘Liza’s probably told you that there’s an issue.’

Cleo nodded. ‘She told me about you wanting her Stables.’

Dominic smiled neutrally, and didn’t point out that The Stables was no more Liza’s than it was his. Cleo was being protective. The light in her eyes made him suspect that she might be capable of casual decapitation if a threat to Liza made it necessary.

But, as he didn’t plan on hurting Liza – although them both wanting the same business premises was unfortunate – he felt no need to be defensive. Instead, when Cleo asked him about what he was doing in Middledip, he provided a precis of how he’d left Stansted and a relationship at around the same time, directly or indirectly because of his narcolepsy. She’d probably had all that from Miranda, anyway. And it got it out of the way.

The baby stretched and mewed and Cleo patted his nappied bottom. ‘So all you need to do is find somewhere to site your new business, and you’re on the way to reinventing yourself?’

He nodded as he buttered more bread, not reacting to her implication that he hadn’t already found a site for his business. It was great bread, though he preferred the white kind. Without bits in.

Cleo didn’t press her question. Instead, she blindsided him. ‘I’m getting married, soon.’

His brows flicked up. ‘Congratulations.’ Had Liza mentioned a wedding? No, he would have remembered.

‘It’s the budget wedding of the year. Registry office and village hall. Justin took it into his head that we have to be married, so we’re throwing it together as we go along. The only night the village hall was free was the fifth of November, probably because the bonfire party will be on the playing fields and nobody but us is mad enough to want to have a function at the same time. But Justin said we’ll treat it as part of the celebrations and he’s had the invites done at work.’ She picked up an already-opened envelope from beside Miranda’s plate, extricating a pearly white card deftly with the non-baby hand. ‘Here’s the invitation, for the reception.’

Dominic saw
Miranda, Jos, Ethan, Dominic and Crosswind
in fat, sloped handwriting. ‘Oh no, I don’t expect—’ he began, quickly.