Night of the Tiger(9)

Her dreams were almost all sinister, except for the ones with the white tiger. Just the thought of the great beast made her smile. She’d dreamed of the tiger for a long time, starting when she was still in the hospital all those years ago.

Huge and deadly and beautiful, the tiger came to her when she was most afraid, offering silent comfort in her sleep. They couldn’t communicate in words, but Aimee sensed the connection that existed between them, and she was glad for it. It gave her a break from the constant barrage of disturbing images that constantly troubled her sleep. She always awoke after one of her tiger dreams feeling not quite so alone in the world.

The tiger dreams were the only regular dreams she had that weren’t nightmares. That is until last night.

A shiver went down her spine, but this one wasn’t due to fear or unease. No, this one had everything to do with that particular dream. It had been unlike any she’d ever experienced before.



He came to her from out of the darkness, a vision of potent, raw masculinity. Incredibly tall and broad, he strode toward the end of her bed. He did nothing to hide his nudity. In fact, he seemed totally at home with no clothing. He also did nothing to hide the fact that he wanted her. A rather impressive erection jutted out from his body, thick and full and hard.

Aimee knew she should be afraid, but oddly she wasn’t. A sense of knowingness surrounded her, as though she’d met him before, as if she somehow recognized him on some deep level. That was impossible, of course. There was no way she’d ever forget meeting a man like this.

Anticipation welled up within her. Her breasts swelled and grew heavy, her nipples puckered into tight buds. Dampness coated her sex and trickled between her thighs as sexual desire flared to life within her.

She’d had sex before. Once. Just shortly after she’d returned home from the hospital. That had been more than enough for Aimee. She’d known Matt Ames since they were both kids, and they’d been dating for several months before the accident. She’d been half in love with him and thought he’d felt the same about her. But even he’d barely been able to hide his dismay whenever he looked at her scarred face. She should have known it wouldn’t work when he’d insisted they make love in the dark, under the covers. Not that she’d protested at the time. She’d had enough insecurities of her own, and that had suited her just fine. When it was over, he’d jumped out of bed, promising to call her. He’d never contacted her again, and she’d never called him.

But she sensed this man was different. Sex with him would be totally unlike her first experience. It would be raw and elemental. This was a man who knew how to make a woman’s body writhe with pleasure, to draw her to the edge over and over again before letting her reach orgasm.

More than that, Aimee sensed this man could touch the secret parts of her she kept hidden from others. This man could steal her very soul if she let him.

She wasn’t really sure she had a choice.

His biceps rippled as he reached out his hand to her. His impossibly wide shoulders and chest tapered down to a trim waist, emphasizing his washboard abs. But it was his face and unusual hair that captivated her.

His hair was black, with slender stripes of white flowing through it. Or maybe it was white, with black stripes. Not that it mattered. It fell past his shoulders and looked incredibly soft and silky. She curled her fingers inward to keep from reaching out to touch it.

There was no softness to be found in his face. His features were rugged, all planes and angles. He wasn’t handsome in a classical way. He was masculine and compelling and radiated a sense of power that went all the way to the core of the man. He knew who he was and didn’t care what anyone else thought of him.

And his eyes—his eyes were the most incredible shade of blue she’d ever seen. They were clear and pale, yet utterly mesmerizing. Much like the man himself.

Aimee knew she was dreaming. She had trained herself years ago to be aware of what was a dream and what was reality. It was the only way she knew to keep herself sane. Usually it was easy, a simple matter of separating fact from fantasy. If she was seeing demons or the white tiger, she was dreaming. And if a strange man was in her bedroom, it had to be a dream. She didn’t even have a boyfriend, let alone a man she trusted enough to let into her room.

If this hadn’t been a dream, she would have been afraid of the stranger. As it was, she allowed herself to fully experience the erotic attraction along with the twinge of fear that refused to subside.

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

Oh God, his voice was incredible. Deep and compelling and downright sexy, it curled her toes. Aimee wanted him to keep talking so she could sink into the sound of his voice. She didn’t care what he said. The words didn’t matter as long as he kept talking.