Ever turn a nightmare into a dream come true? Ever think it was possible? Neither did Adam until Jack reveals something that changes Adam's dreams forever.
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Praise for Dream of Me
"Kate Steele delivers a wonderfully written mini-masterpiece. Everything flows smoothly and the characters come alive in your head."
4 Stars! -- Kimberley Spinney, eCataRomance Sensual
"Kate Steele delivers once again the kind of sizzling sensuality this reader has come to expect from this author."
-- Annie, Euro Reviews
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Dream of Me
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2006, 2014 Kate Steele
It was the middle of the night, and Adam was up again, pacing the floor. His mind was filled with fear. Anxiety rode him like a heavy, dark cloak. He'd had the dream again. The one that made him wake in terror, his vocal cords straining to scream.
He shuddered and forced himself to take deep breaths, struggling to stay calm. With a shaking hand, he combed his fingers through his dark brown hair, tousling locks that were already a mess. Taking in another deep breath, he headed for the kitchen, turning on lights as he went. A small thrill of fear coursed through his veins as he stepped into each room. The dream had left him shaky. He half expected something to jump out at him.
In the kitchen, he made himself some herbal tea and sat in the breakfast nook, back to the wall, legs stretched out on the bench seat. He slowly sipped the tea, aromatic steam rising to heat his face as he stared at the phone on the wall. The ticking of the wall clock seemed loud in the silence.
"Why didn't I tell Jack?"
He'd been on the phone with his best friend, Jack, earlier in the evening. The dream had been haunting him for several weeks now, yet he couldn't bring himself to mention it. He kept holding back, when all he wanted was to spill his guts and have Jack tell him it was all right. Jack would discuss it with him. He'd laugh and make Adam laugh too. But Adam couldn't bear to make himself look foolish. To feel that vulnerable. To tell the truth.
He'd thought about the dream, analyzed it, combed the Internet for an interpretation and finally admitted to himself that his subconscious was bringing forth in this dream form the thing he feared most. Never being able to have Jack the way he really wanted. Not only as his best friend but his lover, his mate.
Adam was a writer and given to flights of fancy, although he considered himself surprisingly logical when the occasion called for it. As a Pisces and under a double sign, he sometimes felt torn by who he was -- at times over-imaginative, at others staid and dull.
When it came to dreams, he wished the dull side would take control, but more often than not, it was that overly fanciful, inner vision that reigned supreme. He'd seen Jaws more than twenty-five years ago and still, sometimes in the shower, he'd have to keep his eyes open. He could almost swear there was something creeping up on him.
Jack lived just across town, and yet they talked for hours on the phone as well as seeing each other nearly every day. Jack, too, was a writer. The two of them critiqued each other's work, and ran ideas and suggestions past each other. Although Adam enjoyed their time together, it was also a source of continuing torment. Adam was gay, Jack was straight, and Adam loved Jack far more than just a friend.
Jack knew Adam was gay and had no problem with it. Adam wished he could be as accepting of Jack being straight. Every time Jack would tell him about his latest date, Adam would cringe inside. He knew Jack didn't mean to be cruel. In turn, Adam would reciprocate and tell Jack about his own dates. Jack never said too much.
Adam continued his lonely vigil in the kitchen, brooding over his tea, until drooping eyelids and fatigue forced him to again seek his bed. He shut the lights off behind him as he returned to the bedroom, but left the light on in the adjoining bathroom. It hurt his pride, this need for a nightlight, but by this time he was just too plain scared to go to sleep in the dark.
Ill at ease but oh so tired, he settled back in bed, hoping the rest of the night would pass peacefully. It was not to be. As soon as he was deep enough in sleep, the dream, once again, began to take shape. A part of him knew it, saw it happening, but was helpless to prevent it.
His body stirred restlessly, as in the dream, his eyes opened and he stared into absolute darkness. A dark figure, blacker than the darkness that filled the room, leaned over him. A deep, raspy voice began to whisper in his ear. He couldn't understand the words, didn't want to know what they were. Cold terror filled him as he fought any comprehension of what that dark figure tried to communicate, until he woke, struggling to scream.
With the waking, Adam's pride went out the window. Hands shaking, he picked up the phone and hit the speed dial for Jack. According to his bedside clock, it was one thirty-seven in the morning. Adam prayed Jack would answer. As the phone rang and rang, his hope began to die, until he heard a sleepy, disgruntled voice on the other end of the line.
"Adam, this better be good," Jack rasped.
Adam's relief was so profound, his throat closed as he choked back a sob. He wanted to speak, struggled to speak, but couldn't.
"Adam?" Jack's voice cleared, his concern apparent. "Are you all right?"
Forcing himself to breathe, Adam finally managed three words. "I need help."