The Dream Crafter(2)

“Care to tell me your name? Most pretty women who kidnap me give me that courtesy.” His voice was easy, no bite to back the words. He was relaxed next to her, the state one she doubted he visited often in reality. A warrior tenseness existed in him, a wary edge she’d seen too often to attribute to any but those who fought to survive.

How and who he fought she didn’t know, but here it didn’t matter. Here she was safe, and could enjoy a stroll on a sandy beach with a beautiful man. “Do pretty women kidnap you often?”

“Not as often as I would like.” Without disturbing her arms wrapped around his bicep, he moved his hands into his pockets and continued at the same leisurely pace. “I’d be happy if it stayed to just you, assuming I can convince you to do it again.”

“Perhaps. It depends on how entertaining you are.” The sand was the perfect temperature, that edge of hot that kept feet toasty without tipping into burning. They were close enough to the waves that the wind picked up the sprays of water and tiny droplets misted over skin.

He tilted his head to look down at her, a half-smile reminding her of that dimple’s existence. “I’m very entertaining. Life of the party they call me. Ask any of my friends.”

“I’ll demand three references at the end of our walk.”

“Three? I don’t know. Your expectations might be too high for me.”

Amana covered her mouth to keep back the small, startled laugh. Gods, it had been too long since she’d done something this normal, this mundane. The last time she gave a real laugh… Was there a last time? Not even in dreams was she this relaxed.

Dreams might not be real to most people, but this was her home, her comfort zone. And even here, it had been too long since she’d had this airy calm residing in her chest. She kicked at the sand, eyeing the tiny clumps as they fell before her.

The man watched her antics with a low hum of amusement running through him, a half-smile appearing here and there as she did silly things, not caring what this man’s opinion was, but not caring because she was sure he was enjoying himself as well. After several minutes of silence, of watching, he said, “I’ve never been to a beach before.”

“You’re kidding.” No, she hadn’t been back for a long time, but to never have been to a beach?

Amana turned her face back to him after that statement, and his smile was a gentle mocking of the shock written on her face, of the too-wide eyes she couldn’t force back to normal size. “I had a unique childhood.”

“And adulthood?”

“Still unique.” The words and voice were still light, still teasing, but the undertone of warning carried through. The message was clear. Even in a dream, he would speak no more about himself.

She heeded it, only saying, “I’m glad your first time is with me, then.” Then inspiration struck, and she knelt down in front of him, balancing on the balls of her feet so her knees wouldn’t hit the sand.

“Umm…”

The flabbergasted look was adorable, not that she would ever speak that word to him. This time, she didn’t bother to cover either her smile or her laugh. “Get your mind out of the gutter. If this is your first beach trip, I insist you feel the sand between your toes.”

“I admit to preferring the gutter.” Still, he lifted his leg and let her pull off his boot, on his face the look of resigned patience she saw on men shopping trips with their women.

Amana made quick work of the boot, and his now-bare foot revealed more tattoos, the same thick black lines that draped his arms covering the top of his foot before circling his ankle and, from the little bit of lower leg revealed beneath his pants, looked to go up the back of his leg. Not that she let the tattoos or the rather nice looking feet derail her, and finished with both shoes in short time. “Now, isn’t that better?”

He flexed his toes into the sand, an unexpected happiness on his face, similar to a child’s first taste of chocolate. “This isn’t bad.”

“Quite gracious of you to admit,” she said, twining her fingers with his and pulling him along until they were close enough the tide rolled over their feet. He jumped, enjoyment evidenced by the laugh lines around his eyes and mouth as he sank his toes into the wet, squishy ground.

Watching the sun streaking over his face and the long lines of exposed ink, a curious and unexpected floatiness rushed through her body. She hadn’t felt anything like this since she was on the cusp of puberty, when her body began telling her she liked boys while her brain had no clue what was happening. It was innocent, and sweet, this sensation sinking through her, all for a man she didn’t know except to know he kept secrets. Yet there it was, sweeping the ocean breeze through musty corners of her mind and bringing in all that was clean and tangy and full of life.