Chapter 1

Moonlight streamed into her bedroom, through the soft white curtains that fluttered in the breeze, filling the space with a silver dreamlike, ethereal haze. It reflected off the slender figure that lay beneath the smooth cotton sheet, shining in the silky curls of her dark tresses, shimmering upon her lightly golden skin. The sheet followed the dips and valleys of her body, embracing her curves like a faithful lover.

She watched him through her lashes, eyes at half mast, as he stood in the doorway. His upper body was bare but for the sparse dusting of hair on his chest, a pair of unbuttoned low slung jeans his only item of clothing. His heart galloped as his teal eyes took in the sight of her. Pushing away from the door jamb, his long stride ate up the small distance between there and the bed, his bare feet soundless even on her wooden floors. He was a predator after all. If he wished it, his prey would never hear him coming. Kneeling beside her, he took the sheet between two fingers, tugging it down to expose the velvety skin of her chest, the rounded globes of her breasts with their hard little rose tinted nipples.

She trembled as the edge of the sheet grazed across her nipples. He lowered his head, he couldn't help it, he had to taste her skin. He flicked one small nub with his tongue before closing his mouth around it and sucking lightly. He watched, hearing her faint moan and seeing the movement of her legs that parted with a charming elegance. The soft fabric of the sheet shifted over her hips, baring the curly pelt that covered the mound of her sex. With her legs spread and the moon to illuminate his way, he could glimpse the pink flesh secreted there, the wetness of her desire glistening for him.

The sheet glided to the floorboards in a silken pool of ivory as he settled back to gaze at the loveliness he had revealed. His heart sprinted in his chest, his blood pounded in his groin, throbbing through his cock and leaving him rigid and aching against the rough denim of his jeans. He considered undoing them but the yearning to feel her slender fingers touching him, unsnapping the buttons, stripping off his jeans was a far superior temptation.

Stretching out next to her, he smoothed a ringlet from her cheek with a tender caress, letting the lock twist around his finger. Her body arched towards his as if called, in search of his warmth, his touch. He let her curl next to him, her thigh finding a place between his, her hips brushing against his swollen length.

His lips sought hers, clinging and moist, as her lips parted beneath his. His tongue caressed the inside of her lips, stroked over the hard smooth surface of her teeth before gliding inside. He savoured the sweetness of her passion, felt the heat of her as her mouth danced under his. Ending the kiss, he pulled back slightly and saw her eyes flutter open in the soft light created by the moon. They were a deep warm chocolate that could blister him in heat or drown him in their turbulent depths, in turn with her mood. This evening, they glittered with the fervor of her passion for him.

She opened her mouth as if to say something but he silenced her effort with a kiss, his lips claiming hers once more, ripping a soft sigh from her throat.

For some reason, in this dream realm, they were never able to converse. So he didn't know much about her. Not her name. Not the sound of her voice. He wasn't even sure if she was real. He'd heard the huskiness of her laughter and the sounds of her passion but never the cry of his name on her lips. Nevertheless, he knew everything there was to know about her body. All her sweet spots, all the things that made her scream.

These were her dreams; he just had the ability to walk in them. He'd been doing so for twenty-five years. He didn't know why he had visions of her, just that they'd most likely been triggered by her birth but again, that didn't answer the 'why'. At first he'd simply watched her with her parents as an infant. They'd been the innocent dreams of a baby. She'd dreamed of being cuddled by her mother or being tickled or tossed in the air by her father.

Then they'd played games when she was a child, her favourite had been tag. He'd chased her through meadows and fields of daffodils, her pigtails flying in the breeze and her laughter drifting along behind her as he pretended not to be able to catch her. When she'd been a teenager, with her adorable braces and milk bottle glasses, her hair a frizzy mass, they'd watched movies together or gone for walks on deserted beaches. The skies grey and the sea turbulent, crashing waves upon the sidewalk.

As she'd gotten older however, their relationship had become steadily more passionate. Until they'd ended up where they were now - meeting in heated moments like this.

His hands wandered her body with ardent care, seeking every spot that fueled her sizzling passions with the accuracy and style of a maestro. He caressed the long graceful length of her back, his large hand cupping the curve of her butt, sliding between her parted thighs to find drenched heat. With a groan of his own, he explored her quivering flesh, delving between swollen nether lips to find the delicate entrance to her body.

She shuddered as he pressed one finger inside of her, the muscles of her spongy walls taut around his questing digit. She moaned, her eyes squeezing closed, as he found the bud of her clit, massaging the hard bunch of nerve endings with his thumb until she cried out. Her back arching as ecstasy claimed her body and her juices flooded his hand.

The feeling disappeared all too soon however as knocking started on her front door. Her eyes flew open at the sudden interruption. She watched as her lovers face grew further away before dissolving altogether as she was ripped from his arms and back to reality.

Clara Daniels woke sated and panting to actual knocking on her door. The sheets from her bed were in a heap on the floor, she must've kicked them off at some point during her dream tryst. Her chest heaved, her body glistening with sweat, as she tried to catch her breath. That had been the most realistic dream of her mysterious stranger that she'd had yet. She could still feel his mouth on her breasts and his fingers stroking the moist flesh between her thighs.

She had no idea who he was. Not even his name, though she knew it would be something unique and sexy like the man himself. They always met in places she knew, like her house, or the beach down the road. When she was a child, thet played tag in a field of daffodils, her favourite flower, which had bordered a property they'd lived on in Wales. She'd never been anywhere that was his. It was as if he walked in her dreams, not her in his.

Fighting her way from under the mass of brunette curls that stuck to her face and neck from the effects of her dream, she peered at the clock. After a moment the big red digital numbers came into focus. 1:37 a.m. She groaned, burying her head back into her pillow then pulling the sheets up over her head. What kind of idiot knocked on someone's door at one thirty-seven fricken a.m.? She should get up and give them a piece of her mind. But, you know, that would involve effort and actually giving a damn.

It was Friday night - actually, make that Saturday morning - after all; it was probably just some idiot kids playing a prank. She sighed. The knocking had stopped. Now all there was to hear was beautiful blessed silence. It couldn't have been that important. Anyone who knew her knew not to wake her up unless they had a bloody good reason. She wasn't a particularly nice person when woken from a sound sleep.

The knocking started again, except it was more of a banging with a fist this time. Dammit. Clearly someone really wanted her.

Ok, up and at 'em. She threw the sheets off her body, sat up, swung her legs off the bed then stood. Right, good - that wasn't so hard. She took one step, then two and ran straight into her dresser, whacking her thigh on the sharp wooden corner.

"God dammit!" She realised she still had her eyes closed. Yeah, because that was always going to help the situation.

So first order of business was some lights. Now with her eyes open, she stumbled her way to the door and felt around the wall until she found the light switch. Light flooded the room and she blinked back the sting as her eyes watered from the sudden onslaught.

"I swear to god. Someone had better be dying," she muttered.

The banging at her door continued as she grabbed her robe from the back of her bedroom door.

"All right, all right! I'm coming," she called in the direction of the door, wrapping her robe around her body she shuffled towards it.

Checking the peep-hole, she saw two police men standing on the other side - one short, the other tall. Dread filled her, seizing a fist around her heart, making it pound against her chest as if trying to break free. All manner of different, horrific scenarios flew through her mind as she fumbled with the locks before gripping the handle and opening the door.

The shorter one; a man in his late fifties with a pot belly hanging over the too small belted waist of his pants and a graying receding hairline stepped forward. "Miss Clara Daniels?"

"Yes. I'm Clara Daniels. Has something happened?" She replied, that knot of dread drawing tighter in her stomach.

He ignored her question, continuing on as if he hadn't heard it. "I'm sorry to wake you ma'am. My name is Officer Frank Gibbs and this is my partner Officer Delaney. May we come in please?"

He indicated the younger man at his side. The kid was tall and lanky, his arms and legs appearing almost too long for his skinny body, with sandy brown hair; he appeared barely out of his teens.

"Ma'am." Office Delaney acknowledged, bobbing his head in her direction.

His eyes were barely visible from the shadow cast by the brim of his hat and for some reason a voice inside her whispered not to trust him. Which was ridiculous. What was there not to trust? He was a police officer, for goodness sake. There was just something about his eyes. They appeared.empty. Like the lights were on but no one was home. Not in an unintelligent way but in a sinister way.

Despite this, she stepped back to let them in, opening the door wide as she did so. As Officer Delaney stepped over the threshold, he glanced at her and there was a coldness in his gaze, like there was no warmth left in him. She shivered from the frigidity of it.

Clara closed the door behind the men and re-secured the locks. Turning to the officers, she ushered them into the living room and gestured to the sofa. "Please, have a seat."

"Thank-you, ma'am," Officer Gibbs replied as both men took a seat.

Delaney lounged back on the sofa, his long legs stretched out in front of him, arms resting on his legs. The casual pose spoke of a calm cockiness which she was surprisingly threatened by. It was almost like he was gloating. But what sadistic sort of person would gloat in a situation like this? It was absurd. She was probably just imagining things.

Gibbs, on the other hand, sank down into the cushions. Floundering for a moment, like a turtle stuck on its back, before finding the strength to push himself up into a straighter sitting position. His knees spread apart to accommodate his large stomach and his chin tucked into his chest, rolling the extra flab out around his neck.

She took a seat in the armchair across from them. "Please, will you tell me what this is about?"

Officer Gibbs nodded, appearing to compose himself. He rubbed a hand over what little hair he had left on his head then clasped his pudgy, sausage fingered hands in front of his protruding belly.

"I'm sorry, Miss Daniels. There's been an accident."

Dead.

Her parents - both of them - dead.

Officer Gibbs said it was a car accident. That her father, her strong, capable and seemingly invincible father, had lost control of the vehicle while driving him and her mum home from dinner at their favourite restaurant in Baton Rouge. It had been raining throughout the day and into the night, so the roads were wet and he'd simply been unable to control the car which had veered across the road into oncoming traffic before continuing over a steep embankment and smashing into a tree.

It was their date night, she knew, they'd been doing it for as long as she could remember. She used to rib them about it sometimes, saying they were too old to still date. Her mother would say to her, 'Clara darling, you may not understand now, because you're young but when you find the man of your dreams and have been married for as long as we have, you'll understand the importance of keeping the spark of romance alive in your relationship.'

Now they would never do that again, and she would never hear her mother give her that little speech again. She just couldn't get her head around the fact that they were gone. That she would never see her mother's smile light up a room again, like when she looked at her husband. Selene Daniels' smile really was a thing to behold. Something of such true and unimaginable beauty that it could light the darkest places in your soul and make you feel like if you just hung on for a little longer, everything would be alright. Then she would laugh, her eyes would sparkle, and a person just couldn't help but laugh with her. Everyone would simply gravitate towards her, like she held some sort of magnetism that people just couldn't resist.