Netherworld: Drop Dead Sexy(2)
He took my hand. Smiled. “You’re very pretty, Brandilynn. I’d like to help you.”
And I’d like to help myself to you. A big ol’ heaping helping of Mr. Dan the Marlboro Man. And why not? Dreaming meant the barriers had fallen. No harm, no foul when it came to nocturnal fantasies.
“Will you hold me? This nightmare is usually very scary.” I gave him wide, helpless eyes.
He hesitated. How sweet, he really was a gentleman. Taking the lead, I stepped close enough that the fronts of our bodies touched. The softness of my breasts brushed his chest. There’s something to be said about being close to each other in height. It makes all the good parts touch.
Dan’s arms closed around me. I moved nearer, snuggling tight against his very nice body. His groin pressed hard against me, letting me know of his intense interest. My arms circled his neck, and I nibbled on his chin. His face inclined to mine, and he took my mouth with his. Dan didn’t commit the sin of a tentative embrace. He gave me one of those good, strong kisses I prefer, like it was his right to claim what he wished from me.
Well, of course he kissed me the way I wanted. It was my dream, after all.
When our lips parted I asked, “What would you like?”
His grip on me loosened, and he took a half step away. “Do you remember how you got here, Brandilynn?”
Oh pooh, what was with the serious conversation? I wanted him to shut up and kiss me again. Then again, whiny girls do not get the guy. I made myself not pout at the delay. “I must have gotten lost. I never go in the woods, except in these stupid nightmares.” I snuggled close to him again, wanting to feel more of this dream lover before I woke up. “I’m glad you found me.”
Heavy footfalls sounded behind me, and I turned to see figures moving towards us. Crap. The dream was taking another turn and I had a feeling my sexy man and I weren’t going to have fun after all. Oh well. Sex came easily in my line of work. Too bad none of my real-life regulars resembled Dream Dan.
His arms tightened around me. “Brandilynn, you’re about to hear some bad stuff. No matter what happens, try to not be afraid. It’s going to be okay, and I’ll be right here the whole time to take care of you.”
The tone of his voice made me scared once more. Yeah, despite the iron bands of his arms around me, this fantasy was definitely going downhill again.
The footsteps came ever closer, and I peered through the line of trees to see who interrupted my wet dream.
I recognized one of the approaching men right away as Sheriff Grayson, head of Ford County’s law enforcement. I’d never met him, but as the county and Fulton Falls grow, so do their problems. Burgeoning drug crimes, the local shapeshifter biker gang, and of course the ongoing serial killings kept the sheriff’s weathered face on the local news.
Grayson looked like the good ol’ boy he was, his ample belly held up by a thick belt. You’d be a fool to think him soft, however. His arms were big slabs of muscle that had slammed many a felon against various surfaces: the hoods of cars, building walls, asphalt roads. You didn’t cut smart with Grayson. He didn’t play.
His blue eyes could be soft with compassion as he patted a new widow’s arm or steely with intent when facing a suspect. An equal number of laugh and frown lines bracketed his mouth, and his eyes nested in a cobweb of deep wrinkles. His skin was like old tanned leather.
He played Santa for the special education pre-k school at their annual Christmas party. He bought presents for each and every child out of his own pocket. This year there had been over one hundred.
Grayson also showed up at the state legislature every time the death penalty threatened to be overturned, arguing not only to keep it in place but to cut the appeals process in half. To paraphrase comedian Ron White, the sheriff wanted to put an express lane in Death Row. He didn’t believe in giving killers a second chance to murder again.
A young slip of a man followed in the sheriff’s wake, so unremarkable in appearance that my gaze slid right over him. A brief impression of mouse brown hair and a beak of a nose entered my conscience before I took in the two women in their company.
One was tall and lean, her frame boyish. Her short chestnut hair and lack of makeup reinforced the slightly masculine appearance. In her polo shirt, jeans and sneakers, she dressed right for a walk in the woods. She walked with her head down, her attitude one of rapt attention, as if searching for something. Her eyes shifted from side to side, scanning the path before her.
If she lost a ring in this pine straw, she’s pretty much out of luck.
The other woman couldn’t have been more her opposite. She too wore jeans and sneaks, but her rayon pink shirt had ruffles at the neckline, and she’d overdone the big jewelry with chandelier earrings, four gold necklaces, chunky bracelets on each arm and rings on every finger. Soft and round, she was a cuddly looking gal. She’d bleached her hair within an inch of its life. The platinum locks hung in improbable Shirley Temple curls. Her makeup was garish and loud: blue eyeshadow, thick black eyeliner, screaming fire engine red lipstick. Her powder caked in her many laugh lines. Her too-serious expression sat wrong on a naturally jolly face.