(Dream Man 03) Law Man(86)

He carefully but quickly threw out an arm, turned off the alarm then put his hand on Billie’s forehead.

Cool and clammy, her hair slightly wet, the fever had broken. It came on fast and broke just as fast. Thank Christ.

He turned his head and stretched his hand out again, reset the alarm for morning then cautiously slid out of bed, taking care to replace his body with a pillow under Mara and Billie but neither female moved even to twitch.

He didn’t think for a second of moving to the couch. Instead he walked out of his bedroom, went into the living room, locked the door, turned out the lights, moved through the apartment and back to his room.

Then he slid back in bed, settled on his back, moving the pillow and replacing it with his body and both beautiful adolescent and adult females snuggled back into him.

He stared at the dark ceiling thinking about hearing Mara call him “my Mitch”. He also thought of how she went wild with just the brush of his thumb on her hard nipple.

He grinned at the dark ceiling.

Then he fell asleep.





Chapter Eighteen

Dream Come True





My eyes slowly opened and, just like yesterday, upon waking, I was profoundly confused.

And just like yesterday, this was because my vision was filled with a criminally attractive smooth-skinned, hard-muscled wall of chest along with the top of Billie’s head pressed to the sculpted ridges of some ribs, Billie’s and my arms slung over a flat, carved stomach.

I blinked and, just like yesterday, the chest was still there and Billie was still there but this time I also felt my bare leg tangled with the soft-cotton covered hardness of Mitch’s.

Oh boy.

Drowsily, I asked myself again how this all happened and how it happened so fast.

Even if I wasn’t just awake, again, with a bare-chested Mitch (and Billie) and was fully cogitating, I wouldn’t have been able to come up with an answer.

Just because my life sucked (mostly, except the part about gentle, sweet, good guy Mitch, Billy and Billie being in it), I decided to give myself a gift and tipped my head back. As I did, I saw a familiar, corded throat, a familiar, strong, dark-stubbled jaw and then I was again, close up staring at Ten Point Five Detective Mitch Lawson’s profile in sleep.

I also saw his lips which now I knew not only could do amazing things when they were pressed against mine but they could also do amazing things when they were wrapped round my nipple.

And thinking these thoughts while looking at his male beauty and remembering last night (before Billie hurled), I couldn’t breathe.

Then the part about Billie hurling came back to me. All thoughts of being in bed again with beautiful Mitch and the maybe more disturbing (but definitely not unpleasant in the least) thoughts of being on Mitch’s couch with Mitch flew out of my head. Only thoughts of Billie invaded.

I looked to the clock and it was six minutes before the alarm was meant to sound. Clearly, Mitch didn’t wake me to check on Billie.

Carefully, I extricated my arm from his stomach and touched Billie’s forehead.

Cool.

Thank God.

I listened to the room. I could faintly hear both of them breathing but Billie wasn’t breathing heavily. She was breathing deeply, steadily and, from what I could tell, healthily.

I closed my eyes and sighed in relief.

No emergency room visit and the bill that went with it.

Mental note: talk to Mr. Pierson about getting them both on my insurance.

Mental note part two: do not think about how much that insurance would cost. I already had enough in my life to freak me out; I didn’t need to make any additions.

Then I cautiously moved away, slid out of bed and pulled the covers back over Billie. As I straightened, Mitch moved and I froze. I watched with bated breath as he rolled to his side, his arm curling around Billie but neither woke. Both of their eyes stayed closed and Billie pressed her cheek to the area under his pectorals.

I stared because Mitch was beautiful in his sleep. But he was indescribably beautiful being a good, kind man who was sleeping wrapped protectively around a sleeping six year old girl. A girl who had a sunny disposition (when she wasn’t barfing or feeling in a shitty mood as a precursor to said barfing) but who also had a shitheel of a Dad whose criminal activities and weaknesses made her unsafe and could have got her hurt.

My beautiful, Teflon-coated cousin had never had this and would never have it with Bill in her life. Not when she had a nightmare and needed to feel safe. Not when she was sick and needed comfort.

Not ever.

Now she had it.

What met my eyes was the stuff posters were made of but knowing the two beings filling my vision, I knew that what met my eyes were what dreams were made of.

How, on God’s green earth, did my life shift so this vision could meet my eyes?