The dream held me in its thrall. Four men and little old me, wondering if maybe, just maybe, I could stay here for a long time. They ranged around me, moving with me like some sort of dance, always at the tips of my fingers if I stretched my arm out. Or maybe more like a compass, and I was the center, always searching for true north.

And even though I damn well knew it was a dream, it felt real enough that I reached out to the man on my right. He was naked from the waist up, his stomach and chest as hard as any carved piece of stone, but I only caught glimpses of his skin in the shadows of the long green cloak he wore.

I knew his stomach and chest were hard, because I’d dreamt about him before and I’d let myself touch him then. I’d been dreaming about these four men for the past year. And in all that time, they’d not told me their names, or shown me their faces. Currently his face was in the shadows of his hooded cloak. I could barely see the lower edge of lips and jaw, but what I could see was pretty nice. Strong chin, full lower lip perfect for biting.

“Okay, what is it tonight? Are we discussing politics? Gardening? Maybe a little salsa dancing?” I swung around and pointed at the one I’d named Spanish. He rolled his Rs so smoothly that it might as well have been an art form.

Spanish wore a deep blue cloak and he shook his head. I got the feeling he was sad tonight, which bothered me.

“No salsa?” I sighed. “How about the question I ask every night? Want to answer that one yet? You know, why do I keep dreaming about you? I mean, not that I’m complaining. You all have the loveliest of asses, and if this were real, I would let you do me in an instant.” I flipped my hair off my bare shoulders, far sassier in my dreams than I would ever dare in real life, because in my dreams, I had no scars to hide behind. In my dreams, I was exactly as I always wanted to be. Beautiful, confident, flawless, at least my skin was. “Let me be clear, I’m not looking for love. Love hurts too much. I believe that was our discussion on night 135.”

“Dominique,” the man in the green cloak spoke my name and his tongue seemed to wrap around it and tug me forward, “this is real. We’ve tried to tell you before. We are on a plane of existence that you are calling us to. And love is not meant to hurt. Not that any of us are capable of love. That does not truly exist for us.”

I sighed. “This conversation is old news, as I mentioned. Let’s try something new.” I turned a slow circle, the long purple dress flaring out around me. The dress I’d mooned over for years, the dress that hung in my closet unworn, the tags still on it. Silken, deep purple, and stunning, I loved it and was waiting for the day I could wear it. Somehow it seemed fitting that I wore it in my dreams. I kept up my slow turn taking note of the other three men. “One for every season?” I grinned at them, but the grin slipped as I remembered why I didn’t want a man. Why I didn’t want anyone touching me. No, I would not go there, not again.

I put my hands on my hips and arched an eyebrow at the one I called Chuckles. “Look, can you just not . . . come here, anymore?”

Chuckles let out a long laugh, once more living up to his name. “You don’t want us to come?”

The blush that rose was instant, heating the bare perfect skin of my chest, neck, and face. Once more, I had to remind myself this was a dream so I didn’t have to behave. I didn’t have to be the quiet shy girl who didn’t go to the parties, the one who ran her sister’s business, the one who didn’t date. Here in my dreams, I could be anything I wanted.

“You can come when I say you can. Now behave.” I snapped my fingers at him twice even as he laughed again.

“I like her more every night. Are you sure we can’t take her yet?”

My spine stiffened and indignation scorched through me. “Fuck you. No one is taking me anywhere.” Why in God’s name was I even contemplating what he’d said as real? And I never used the F-bomb, certainly not out loud. Dreaming, I reminded myself, this is just a dream.

I wanted to wake up, and I wanted to stay asleep. I loved the back and forth with all four of them. Sometimes they took me off one at a time to talk to me, passing me around like I was the most entertaining person they’d ever met.

The only problem was that these dreams left me exhausted as if I’d not slept at all. Which meant I ended up sleeping my days away instead of job hunting like I should have been. I might run my sister’s business, but it was not what I wanted to do. I shook my head. “Dreams are not supposed to remind you about the lack of job you have when you’re awake. Dreams are about avoiding the rough facts of life.”

Behind me, one of the men sighed. “This is not a dream, Dominique.” He drawled my name with an accent I still couldn’t quite put my finger on, though. I’d guessed Spanish. It could be Italian, too. “This is a plane of existence. Why do you not believe us? Your sister is the queen of the Hive, and you have seen vampires and werewolves in the flesh. Why is it so hard to believe this is real, too?”

“Well,” I held one hand up and did a slow turn. This man was always the logical one and I didn’t understand how that was possible when there was zero logic about this situation. “As I see it, real are those things I can actually see when I am awaky wake.” I flapped my hands, wriggling my fingers. “Then maybe I might give you all more credence than a dog fart in the wind. If I’d seen you when I was awake, that is.”

Laughter echoed from my left and I spun and pointed again. “And you, Chuckle Buckets, enough of that. Not everything I say is that fucking funny.” My words only set him off more. Damn it, that was not what I’d been trying for, though, I had to admit, it was nice to be the center of attention. I wasn’t used to it, but I certainly could.

“Goddess, save us from her.” This was the last man, the one in the black cloak. The one who rarely spoke, and when he did, he was more than a little irritated. To be fair, after a year of me throwing questions at them, at my lingering touches, he had the right to be irritated.

“Cranky Pants,” I pointed at him. “Keep your mouth closed unless you have something nice to say, okee dokee? Like how pretty I look in my dress, maybe?”

A hand dropped on the back of my neck and all the sassiness fled, replaced with nothing more than a red-hot burning need to rip my clothes off and throw my body at the man whose fingers grazed my skin with the lightest of flicks. Like a tongue on a clit, flick, flick, stroke, flick, flick, flick, stroke. . .a groan slid from me. “Stop that, Pompous.”

“Stop what? You know you have never so much as taken your dress off. We were expecting you to be . . .eager for us, not this avoiding creature who seems to delight in tormenting us night after night. If you would take your clothes off and let us bed you here, in this place, there would be no need for any other measures to be taken.”

I clenched my hands, and shook my head. “Nope, not going there. For several reasons, but let me give you two. The first is simple.” I reached up and lifted his hand off my neck and let it drop, even though I wanted to stuff it down the front of my dress and let him loose on my body. “This is not real. The second brings us back to the earlier, and previously discussed, love hurts. It fucking sucks because the people you love are the ones that have the power to destroy you. And I am not interested in ever putting myself in that situation again.”

“Who said anything about love?” Cranky said, his voice a rumble that made me clench my legs together.

“Maybe you men don’t get attached when you sleep with a woman, but I know myself. Sex and love are too deeply tied for me to separate them. So, it’s a no go.”

“You said several reasons,” Chuckles said, his voice light. “What’s another?”

I lifted both hands in the air. “How the hell am I supposed to choose between you?”

Chuckles shook his head. “Who says you have to choose?”

I rolled my eyes. “Well, that’s how it works? This is like some weird dream form of the Bachelorette where I ask you all questions,” I swayed from side to side as I walked around the circle, letting my fingers trail across their bare skin, “and sometime near the end, I pick the one I want to let see under this.” I swept my other hand out indicating my stunning dress. “Sound about right?”

Fatigue hit me out of the blue and I swayed where I was, put my hand to my head and sank to the floor. Four hands shot out, catching me at four points, holding me up. I let them because the fatigue was bad enough that I knew I wouldn’t be able to stand much longer.

“I need to sleep, boys,” I said softly, stifling a yawn, “and even though this is a dream, its one that leaves me feeling like I haven’t slept a damn wink. Besides, I’m going to wake up horny and I’m going to need to take care of that with Bob.”

As a unit, they snapped their hands away from me, letting me fall. “Who the hell is Bob?” Cranky snarled.

I laughed softly and laid back, my skirts billowing up around me like a giant balloon. “Seriously, you have got to get out more if you haven’t met Bob.”

I closed my eyes as they took a step back as a unit, each of them very much their own man. Cranky and Chuckles, Pompous and Spanish.

I sighed, alone in the darkness of my dreams and realized that I might be alone, but I was still dreaming this shit ass dream. I hadn’t gone into a normal dream. I hadn’t drifted off into an actual rest. I drummed my heels on the floor and opened my eyes. “Wake up then, if you can’t enjoy this, you might as well be awake, you idiot.”

* * *

I jerked upright so fast, the blanket slid off my upper body. Sweat rolled down my neck and between my breasts. The cool air of the early morning chilled the sweat and gave me a shiver . . .as if a man’s finger trailed their way along my skin, testing for my sensitivity, seeing if I followed the pull of his fingers as they dropped lower and lower— “Nope, do not go there. They aren’t real. They are not real no matter how delicious they seem.”

I blew out a slow breath and tried to focus my mind on being awake. I looked around at the room I slept in. The basement of my big sister. I was a free loader and had been for months ever since that night at the bar. That night I couldn’t remember but had left me a memory I couldn’t escape.

I rubbed a hand over my face. It didn’t matter to me that Ally had left me her house when she went off into la-la land with her fabulous five men to be queen of the vampires. I snorted to myself and then paused, thinking about how I really felt. Was I jealous of the fact that my older sister had found her happy spot, and that it happened to be with not one, but five hotter-than-hell men in a place I didn’t belong?

Or was I just lonely? There wasn’t much in this world that I loved anymore. I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life, and since my parents had died, and Ally had moved away, I was alone. I didn’t want to be alone.

I sat, thinking, as I drew the blanket up over my shoulders, hiding the scars that were not apparent in the dream. I couldn’t look at them without remembering how they’d happened—or in my case not remembering. That was the most frustrating part, to have a physical reminder of something being done to me, but being unable to understand what, when, who, or why. It was like I went to sleep one day and woke up completely different the next with literally no memory of how the scars came to be.

Leaning over, I checked the clock. Four thirty in the morning, the hot damn ass crack of dawn. Hardly when I wanted to be getting out of bed, but what choice was there? If I went back to sleep I would see them again, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to do that no matter that there were times I enjoyed our discussions, and I liked the figures they cut. To be honest, I wasn’t sure that I could keep my clothes on much longer, and I was not going there.

It wasn’t that I’d sworn off men. More like I didn’t need any hang ups. The last man in my life had turned out to be total tool, and he’d seemed like a dream come true. I shook my head. “Ridiculous, dream-men do not exist, Dominique. You know that.” I spoke out loud to convince myself it was indeed ridiculous to think of those four men as being anything more than a weird twist in my psyche. My therapist would probably tell me it was pent up sexual frustration.

High libido, no sex, was a bad, bad combination.

I snorted again, hardly ladylike but who cared? Not like there was anyone to impress in bed beside me. I stood and made my way through the dim, cool basement into the guest suite that was mine for as long as I wanted. Forever if I wanted was what my sister Ally had said.

But I didn’t want to be here forever. There was something waiting for me out there, a purpose I just couldn’t put my finger on, and it frustrated the holy bloody hell out of me. No job seemed like the right fit. Though I gravitated toward the medical profession, the idea of so much death horrified me.

I flicked on the bathroom light and let the sheet fall from my body. From the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror as I hurried to the shower. Long curling blonde hair, a gently curved body many sizes smaller than it had been a couple of years before, and larger than average breasts. I had my share of men before the scars . . .and since then, I’d not let a single man see me naked.

“Now that’s not true,” I said softly. “You let Bruce see you naked.”

Bruce, the guy who said he would love me no matter what, and I’d warned him about the scars. I’d warned him that they were still raw looking and extensive. He’d assured me that none of that mattered, but then he’d recoiled from the still angry red scars that crisscrossed my upper chest and back. “He ran like a chicken, nearly shitting his pants as he took off.” I smiled as I said the words because I needed to remind myself of how stupid he’d looked. Tall and gangly with nothing but his boxers on, he’d run from my room, stating an appointment he’d forgotten, which was totally bogus. His limbs flailed like a Gumby doll, he tried to get away from me so fast.

I turned the water on, put my fingers in the spray and waited for it to heat. “For a lawyer, you’re a piss poor liar, Bruce. No jury would believe your lies.”

My smile was bitter, even I could feel that. Bitter because what man couldn’t see past the scars? Especially when I couldn’t even tell them how I’d gotten them. If I were being honest with myself, that had been part of Bruce’s frustration. How did you tell someone you had no memory, and because of that, the police could do nothing? They had my file and my statement but there had been no evidence. Not even a knife left behind from the damage.

Who could ever be with--never mind love--a woman with a history like that?

Maybe four dream men who’d been haunting me for the last year? My lips twitched at the thought then dipped into a frown.

No . . .no, they weren’t real and going down that path would only lead to a delusion that would swallow me whole if I let it.

I stepped into the water and put my head under it, letting the spray wash away the sweat and fatigue in my limbs from the piss poor sleep.

I let my hands trace over my skin, imagining . . .that is was . . .who? Chuckles? My lips twisted upward into a true smile as I tugged on my own nipple, drawing a groan. I bit my lower lip as my breath caught. Yes, I could imagine his hands there, teasing me into a melted pile of pleasure.

My other hand slid between my legs. Pompous would go straight for my clit, over confident that he could bring me pleasure without asking and that would be fine by me. I could always teach him a thing or two about what I liked. I leaned my head against the tile of the shower as I let my hands bring me to a quick panting mess as my mind placed the men I dreamed of in the shower with me.

I easily imagined a bite on the back of the neck, the press of a chest on either side of me, hands caressing my entire body, stroking away the frustration and drawing my desire to a head, my imagination ran wild with the possibilities and my breath came in gasp after gasp, my body trembling as the orgasm built more from what I wanted than from my own touch. My mind was doing all the work, placing men I could never have into my hands, working my clit and nipples with a fervor that came from being denied any male touch for so long.

“God, yes, fuck me,” I groaned as the sensation of the men with me grew until it weighed across every inch of my skin, and I could feel them. The orgasm rolled over me, not wild and out of control, but a steady pulse that beat in time with my heart, leaving me bereft because I knew that if there was really a man with me, this would not have been the end of the shower fun. I breathed hard trying to get myself under control before I opened my eyes.

The brush of a pair of lips against my back spun me around, and I slipped on the wet tile. I fell backward, barely catching myself before I realized there was no one there. No matter how much I wanted there to be.

I was alone.