Night of the Tiger(10)

He was much nearer now, so close she could touch him if she wanted to. Even though the sheets were still pulled tight to her chest, she felt naked before him. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, rubbing her nipples against the fabric of her nightgown. She swallowed hard as her core began to pulse. She wanted this to happen even though she knew it was only a dream.

Aimee slid her hand from beneath the covers. His eyes widened, and she saw the flare of masculine satisfaction as she reached out to him. Mere inches separated their fingers. Closer. She wanted to feel the stroke of his skin against hers.

She licked her lips, and a muscle in his jaw tightened. His erection seemed to swell, growing even larger. Closer. Almost touching. She could feel the heat from his skin. Almost there.



“Hey, are you okay?”

Aimee was jerked back to the present by the sound of her friend’s voice. Heart racing, palms sweating, she could only stare at Sandra. What had just happened? She’d lost all sense of time and place, slipping into a dreamlike state to relive the dream from last night. That had never happened to her before.

“I’m fine,” she managed to get out as she sucked in a deep, calming breath. Her knees felt like jelly, so she stiffened them and prayed her weak leg wouldn’t give out from beneath her. She surreptitiously wiped her palms on her jeans.

“You look pale.” Sandra chewed on her bottom lip, emphasizing the bright red lipstick that adorned it. “Maybe we should go home.”

Guilt assailed Aimee. Sandra had been nice enough to try to get her out of the house for a few hours of enjoyment, and she was acting like a petulant child who just wanted to go home. She didn’t have so many friends she could afford to lose one. She straightened her sweater and hooked her purse higher on her shoulder. “I’m fine. Really,” she added when Sandra’s eyes narrowed.

“If you’re sure.”

“Let’s go.” Taking the lead, Aimee made her way to the ticket booth. The weathered boards were old and faded, the red and yellow paint chipped from too many years of exposure to the elements.

She read the information posted on the side of the booth. That information, she noted, was in crisp black lettering that was obviously new. Every ride, game or carnival act was paid for in a certain number of tickets, ranging from one ticket to four. You could buy single tickets or bundles of ten or twenty. Aimee decided on a group of ten. That should be more than enough for the evening.

The man inside the booth looked to be about ninety. His leathery skin was wrinkled, and what hair he had was gray. But his eyes were sharp as he took their money and handed them tickets. “Be sure and check out the sideshow as well as the rides. Lots to see there.” He grinned, showing off his few remaining teeth.

A sense of unease slid over Aimee, but it was swept away as Sandra took her hand and all but dragged her onto the fairground. “Isn’t this great?”

Aimee stumbled but quickly compensated for the weakness in her left leg. Taking a moment, she looked around and soaked up the atmosphere. Everywhere, townsfolk were talking, eating and laughing. The air was filled with the sounds of mechanical whooshes as the rides swept people into the air. Some of them laughed, while others screamed. A Ferris wheel circled slowly with couples snuggled close in each seat. Lights flashed, and a cacophony of noise surrounded her. To a person who lived and worked alone, it was overwhelming.

She took a deep breath and continued to look around with undisguised interest, wanting to absorb all the colors and sights so she could recreate them later in her studio. Every experience was fodder for her art.

Games of chance were set up on one side of the field. They seemed to have all the traditional games one would expect at a carnival—fitting a hoop over a block of wood, getting a ball in the basket, shooting darts and firing air rifles at targets. The games were always rigged in favor of the carnival, but it didn’t matter. People still played and some of them even won.

Food stalls littered the fair grounds. The air was heavy with the aroma of grease and sugar. This was the kind of night when men stuffed their faces, women chucked their diets and parents allowed their kids special treats. She could smell hot dogs, popcorn, French fries, pretzels and cotton candy. Her stomach rumbled, vociferously reminding her that she hadn’t eaten any supper. She’d gotten caught up with work, yet again, and it had been too late to fix anything before Sandra had arrived to pick her up.

A teenager walked by holding a candy apple on a stick. The girl sank her teeth into the apple and pulled away a string of thick, sugary coating. Aimee licked her lips, but talked herself out of buying one. Maybe there was something halfway healthy to eat. A teenage boy sauntered past, his face buried in a mound of cotton candy. Aimee chuckled aloud. Then again, maybe not.