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She did know she was finding the dreams& very pleasant.
Sometimes they were too brief a quick conversation, a smile or just some sort of warm awareness of
his presence.
Other dreams were more leisurely. He seemed to enjoy scenarios that were strange to her, such as a
garden with unusual flowers and strangely carved statues. There was a small lake of fine sand, which
fascinated her, as did the sharply tined rake she used to create designs. It was quite mesmerizing, and when
she woke after that one, she almost reached for her comm system to see if she could order a tabletop
version.
Over the ensuing month, John became a fixture of her nights. Almost a part of her sleep a part she
eagerly anticipated. She carefully utilized her ability to compartmentalize, shutting the door on John and
the dreams as she opened the one to her day and her work.
She knew there had to be a connection, of course. As time passed she became more and more
convinced that John knew a great deal more than he d said up to now. But she kept those thoughts firmly
tucked away. Her talent for shutting parts of her mind down made her the excellent facilitator she was.
And now it helped protect the curious woman she was becoming.
In her most private moments she acknowledged the fact she was becoming an enamored woman as
well.
Had John been real and standing in her bedroom, she d have had him naked in five seconds and
giving her the first of many orgasms in barely five more. He appealed to her on a psychological level, being
intriguing, intelligent and humorous. All well and good.
But it was what he did to her on a physical level that shocked her at times. It had been quite a while
since she d felt so aroused by a man. So alive and aware of her own sexuality.
He had a way of looking at her, those stunning blue eyes filled with heat and what she hoped was
desire. Because she was pretty damn sure that word could describe the way she looked at him. Either that or
pass me a spoon because you re dessert and I m about to eat you right up. And lick the plate when I m
done.
The whole lust thing was heating up, Martine realized. Probably not healthy or productive, having a
bad case of screaming sweaty thighs for a dream man. In the nebulous sense of the word.
The other annoying feature of her dreams was her total inability to initiate the topic of conversation.
She d tried more than once to ask John about that number he d told her. About the odd coincidence she d
found in the data-storage division server.
But, as was the way with dreams, her words wouldn t come out right. And John blithely chatted on,
ignoring her attempts to articulate questions. Then he d do something like touch her hand or brush her
cheek, or look at her in that way and she was lost.
She couldn t help but realize the sexual attraction between them was growing. She hadn t been naked
with him since that first time. And she was starting to wonder if that was his doing or hers. Who was
nervous about what might happen?
She got wet thinking about it. Did dreams get hard-ons? Could they actually get down and dirty? The
few brief moments Martine permitted herself to indulge in this train of thought passed rapidly. Then she
shut it down. She wasn t about to take the risk of doing any mental broadcasting of her newly enhanced
sexual awareness. Guys tended to pick up on that sort of thing, whether it was pheromones or something
else. Give a woman a hot night of sex and the next day men would follow her with their eyes,
metaphorically panting. There was probably some scientific rationale for it, and doubtless it had been
examined, explained and filed away in the annals of human sexuality.
She didn t know and didn t care. She just wanted to make sure she kept her private thoughts exactly
that. Private.
The invaders thought they had crushed humanity. They messed with the wrong species.
Metal Reign
© 2010 Nathalie Gray
An Impulse Power Story
Francine Beaumont is tired. Tired of waiting for an armada of Imber ships to finish off what s left of
humanity. Tired of fear and privation. Tired of living like a rat, feeding off what scraps the cat lets her
have.
When the chance comes to hit the Imbers where it really hurts right at their fuel supply she takes
it. One stealth cruiser. One pilot. A cargo hold filled with explosives. A suicide mission for sure, but better
that than doing nothing.
As the ship s cook, John O Shaughnessy knows everything that goes on aboard the warship. And
something is definitely up with his Frankie. If she thinks he s going to let her carry out this crazy plan of
hers alone, that stubborn woman has another think coming.
Frankie thinks she s gotten away clean& until her instincts tell her she s not alone on her mission.
Still, it s a shock to find her peace-loving John standing there with eyes that spell murder. Now is a hell of
a time to discover they re more than friends. But there s no turning back&
Warning: Space invaders were seriously harmed in the making of this story.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Metal Reign:
Everything happened fast.
One second, about a dozen alien ships were flying a couple thousand meters ahead and the next
second, a hit sent the reefer barreling to portside. The impact rocked both Frankie and him back against
their seats. Only the harnesses saved them from being projected across the bridge like the rest of everything
not anchored or strapped down with thick cargo netting. Clacks, clangs and rattles drowned what Frankie
yelled. Alarms wailed, lights flickered, died for an agonizing second then switched back on.
John s instinct surprised him. Instead of trying to stay the ship, he extended an arm to grip Frankie by
the back of her coveralls. Just in case. He d never known a protective nature hid under his cynical crust.
Great timing&
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