nomadic musicians?”
Alicia snorted.
Dream shot her a look, then showed King her most open, inviting smile. “No, I don’t mind the question. I know what you’re getting at. My name.”
King arched an eyebrow. “And a lovely name it is.”
Dream was peripherally aware of Alicia rolling her eyes. She knew what Alicia would say privately about King. That he was phony. That he dripped false sincerity the way construction workers dripped sweat-profusely. And perhaps there would be some truth in those accusations, but Dream didn’t care. She knew King’s demeanor toward her was typical predatory male stuff. His interest in her was obvious in both the set of his features and the rapt attention he paid to her.
And Dream loved it.
The memories of recent wounds were still so fresh in her mind. Disillusionment caused by Dan Bishop, the ultimate phony. Rejection and scorn from Chad, the man who didn’t know-and now would never know-he was the love of her life.
It felt good to be the object of such blatant desire.
“Thank you,” she said, flushing. “To answer your question, my parents weren’t classic hippies. They went through a phase of that when they were very young, which happened to coincide with when I was born. My folks were eighteen and nineteen at the time. My mother named me. She later said she would have named me anything else if she’d known there’d be a hit song in the seventies of the same name. At any rate, I don’t mind the name. It’s not the burden everyone assumes.”
King laughed. “Oh, I would hope not. A name like that’s a gift. You should wear it proudly, the way a queen wears her crown.”
Alicia echoed his laughter. “Flaunt it, baby”
King appeared to miss her sarcastic tone. “Precisely. Let it set you apart, distinguish you from the masses. You should move through the world with arrogance, smirking at the ordinary people who can never know how it is to feel special… the way you are, Dream.”
Dream’s smile faltered. “Yeah. …”
What King said ran contrary to everything she believed. She disdained arrogance in people. Ditto crass displays of unchecked ego. King exuded those qualities in abundance. Everything about him, his clothes, his home, his attitude, bespoke a measure of wealth and success that was disquieting. Exceptionally attractive women, women like herself, were magnets for men like King. A lot of women allowed themselves to be seduced by money and material things. Dream couldn’t fault them. It was only human to seek security. But her experiences with successful men always left her cold. Wise in the ways of finance and business, none of them were versed enough in the nuances of the human heart to suit her. She needed a man who would prize her more for her worth as a person than her value as a trophy arm-piece. Somewhere along the way she’d decided the right man for her, whoever he turned out to be, probably wouldn’t be a slice of society’s upper crust.
Why, then, should she find herself so drawn to King?
But the answer was obvious, wasn’t it?
This was a time of great upheaval in her life. Life, in fact, had beaten her. Like a hooker left broken and bloody in a ravine. She had struggled so hard for so long, and now she was ready to give up. She was ready to die. The enormity of it hit her for the first time since entering King’s house. Maybe her bleak mind-set was to blame. A person facing imminent death at her own hands had no reason to be bound by a lifetime’s worth of insecurities and inhibitions. The same went for principles once held dear. A man like King, cocky and so polar opposite of her ostensible ideal, was maybe exactly the right man for this set of circumstances.
King got up to freshen his drink, then returned to the sofa opposite her. “You seem troubled, Dream. Is something bothering you?”
Dream frowned.
He’d known her less than ten minutes and already he was probing her for personal information. It seemed inappropriate, but… yes, she felt like she could talk to him. Something in his eyes spoke to her, indicated that all her darkest secrets could be shared in confidence. But that was ridiculous. She was assuming things she couldn’t know. Perhaps all she was seeing was lust, naked desire transformed by the filter of her desperation into something else. It was silly, even absurd, the notion that he was appealing to her on some deeper level.
But the feeling was there, imbued with an unlikely emotional heft.
She sighed. “Well…”
“Oh, Christ.”
Dream flinched at the exasperation in Alicia’s voice. She glanced hesitantly at her friend, whose unwavering gaze was locked on King.
“I hate to interrupt your little mating dance, but tough shit, we’ve all got some things bothering us.” Her eyes, hard brown pebbles set in porcelain, flicked briefly at Dream before returning to King. “We didn’t show up at your door because we had nothing better to do, Edward. We’re lost, you see, and we’re out of gas. We’re here because your place is literally the end of the road. We need help.”
King stroked his jutting chin with a thumb and forefinger. His brow furrowed with concern. “I see.”
Alicia smirked. “Do you? I’m not sure, man. One of our friends is dead.” She jerked a thumb at Karen Hidecki, whose face was a numb, unreadable mask. “Her boyfriend. And we’re not talking about natural causes. He was murdered.”
Dream saw a shudder shake Karen’s thin shoulders. Shame assailed her all over again. The woman’s obvious state of shock was the only barrier holding back a complete mental meltdown. Jesus, Alicia was right to sound pissed off.
What’s wrong with me? she wondered.
How many times had she asked herself that very question?
Too many.
A picture of the Glock filled her mind.
She breathed very slowly.
In. Out.
In. Out.
She looked at King and had a thought. A thought so startling it made her swallow with difficulty. This house, this place high up in the mountains, would be the stage upon which the last great drama of her life would play out. She would either kill herself with the Glock during the night, or King would turn out to be the lover she’d always needed. The heterosexual alpha male she could cling to like a life raft. She listened to the flow of words between Alicia and King, sensed on some level what was being said, but she wasn’t really listening to it.
She was thinking of King that way again-imagining herself undoing the buttons of that clean white shirt and pulling it off him …
… thrusting a hand inside his slacks …
She felt wanton.
Slutty.
She felt disconnected from the scene in the living room. Cut off from her friends. All of existence was composed of herself and King, a vivid image of their naked bodies entwined, desperately fucking away all the pain in the world.
She became aware of someone saying her name.
It was Alicia.
“Dream? You hear me, girl?”
Dream gave her head a good shake. The world regained definition; random, senseless sounds coalesced again into recognizable words and language.
She nodded. “Yeah.” She cleared her throat. “Of course.”
But that inappropriate erotic tingle was still very present. She recrossed her legs and shifted uncomfortably on the sofa. She made herself look at Alicia instead of King. “I’m sorry.” She searched for a good excuse for her distraction. The most valid one occurred immediately. “I’m just so tired. This day has gone on forever.”
She didn’t have to fake the yawn that came then.
Alicia’s expression softened. “I know, girl.” She smiled, a sad upturning of her lips that spoke of weariness
