Free Heart Search by Robin D. Owens Page B

the words of everyone around him. His Flair flashed and the atmosphere pressed on him and he knew he had to have her. He walked toward the group, his gaze fixed on the golden girl—golden hair, amber eyes, skin as if it held the glow of the sun itself.
    STOP! His older sleeping-self became aware, as ever, of what would happen, had happened. Dreaded the consequences of this one fall into senseless infatuation.
    But his younger-self was drawn by Flair and scent and sheer lust toward Nivea. She filled his vision.
    Not . . . quite.
    For the first time in ages, the image of Nivea blurred and the other girls beyond Nivea sharpened.

Six
     
    H is dream changed from the way the real event had occurred. He saw the girls. The shy, round-faced girl with long, curly black hair and beautiful emerald eyes—his age, seventeen—Artemisia Mugwort.
    Then there were the three younger girls in their early teens. One was obviously Artemisia’s sister, though she had a sharper chin. Another stared at him with penetrating eyes and the gingery hair that marked the Licorice Family who ran the PublicLibrary.
    The third girl, Camellia Darjeeling, had just had the guts to interrupt the case in JudgementGrove and request the ship salvager look for a fifty-piece tea set—and claim that set.
    Her aura throbbed Flaired delight, she wrapped her arms around the other two girls her age and grinned. Laev felt a pull . . .
    And Nivea, the golden girl, put her hand on his arm and he focused back on her.
    Mistake! his older dream-self shouted. He tried to pull back, change what had happened, and couldn’t.
    The atmosphere around Laev thickened, like misty clouds shrouding past mistakes. Then the light took on a green cast, as in the Salvage Ball. This time it was a ball and he had a supple woman in his arms and the music wasn’t fast and raucous but a smooth ancient waltz. They danced and he didn’t look too hard at the woman. Her scent was light and spicy, and included an undertone of female arousal.
    Every step had their bodies brushing and lust fired. Vaguely he remembered sex dreams like this . . . maybe even this woman. A little taller than Nivea, more slender. Nice ass, though; his hands were on it. And then they were in his bedroom, in his bed and skin to skin, and her skin was so smooth and hot and her body was hot and wet and he was moaning and plunging and releasing all his cares into the sweet, sweet woman.
     
     
    C amellia woke as an orgasm rolled through her. She shuddered, panted, then settled back in the bedsponge. She’d been making love with—No! No one she knew.
    She would not admit that the door in her mind had exploded open. She shut it and refused to acknowledge that it remained open a crack.
    The night was dark, warm, she was safe and happy . . . go back to sleep. Back . . . to . . . sleep.
    One last shudder and she pulled the darkness around her and instructed herself not to dream.
    A purr rumbled at the edge of her mind as she let herself sink back into unconsciousness.
     
     
    L aev rose, took a waterfall, and let water pound on the base of his neck, slide down his back. He’d changed the sheets of his bed, embarrassed that he’d lost control of his body. He’d liked the sex dream, though, and it had been more satisfying than his last couple of affairs.
    He wasn’t in the market for a real woman. Maybe he should welcome such dreams instead of pushing them away as he’d always done before. He stopped the hot herbal shower with a wave of his hand, stepped from the small stone room onto tile, dried.
    Now that the sex was over, he wouldn’t be able to sleep. Memories would loop in his brain.
    Gently he sent his mind searching through the night . . . and found that his older friend-like-a-brother, Cratag Maytree T’Marigold, was awake and walking the halls of his own Residence. Laev ignored the writhing envy that Cratag had a HeartMate and two beautiful children, and sent Cratag a clear mental call. You up for a fighting