“HEY, DANI-GIRL.”
I smile.
“There’s that beautiful smile,” the voice says, and my smile deepens.
“Jesus Christ. What the hell did they give her? Izzy!” another voice booms. “The fuck did that bottle say? She’s out like she’s in a goddamn coma!”
I frown when my father’s voice enters my heavenly dream.
Good lord, what is he doing in my dream? Daddy shouldn’t be here. Not when I finally have Cohen Cage in my bed. Well, besides the fact that that would be sick, he would kill Cohen if he caught him putting a hand on me. Literally. Cohen would be dead.
“I’m sure it’s fine, Axel,” Cohen says softly. “Mom sent me over with some soup and some show that the girls have been going nuts over. I don’t mind sitting with her.”
Ha! Yeah right. Sitting with her would mean that Daddy would trust something with a dick near his daughter. Regardless of who it is, that would never happen. Yup—definitely dreaming.
“Yeah, sure, son,” he stutters.
I can just picture him rubbing the back of his neck with a helpless look.
“Let me go call that stupid kid doctor and see what the hell he did to my little princess. I knew he didn’t look old enough to be out of med school.”
“You got it,” I hear him mumble, and the bed dips.
I listen as my father’s footsteps stomp out of the room and the door shuts softly behind him. Ah. Finally. My dreams of him never last long enough, and there is no way I want to share good dream time with my father in the picture.
I have a feeling that, even in my dreams, he would be like a giant shield against any man who even breathed in my direction.
“Dani-girl,” he whispers in my ear. “I have your favorite soup from my mom here. Why don’t you open those beautiful green eyes and take a bite? If you do, I promise I’ll even sit here and watch a few episodes of Game of Thrones with you.”
“You furrr real?” I slur and open my eyes slightly before quickly closing them when the bright light from the sun hits my tired eyes. “You can’t be real. You’re in my dream bed, Cohen!” I reach out and pat his stubbled cheek a few times, trying to get my eyes open and focused on his face. “You can’t be here. What if Daddy catches you? Wait. Why are you dressed? You’re not usually dressed when you’re in my dream bed.” My hand drops from where I was rubbing all over his face and starts to roam over his cotton-covered chest. “You can take it off. I won’t bite.” I giggle and start to trail my hand lower to get this stupid shirt off him.
God, he feels like heaven.
A surprised noise somewhere between a choking gasp and a shocked stutter comes from his mouth, which is followed by a groan that rumbles against the palm I have resting against his chest.
I bite my lip, thinking that I can at least try to do something seductive. They’re always doing it in the books I love to read. Even if I never understood what’s hot about lip nibbling, I might as well give it a go.
“You’re so hard,” I whisper in awe as my hand continues to palm his pecs, his abs, and everything between. “And warm,” I add, nuzzling in close. My head moves to his shoulder, my hand still rubbing his hard stomach, and I pull one leg up to wrap around his hips.
“Jesus Christ,” he moans when my leg hits his crotch.
“Are you hard . . . everywhere? My dream is going to stop soon. It always does. You should just tell me now. Then, when I wake up, I won’t be disappointed because I once again missed all the good stuff.” I sigh deeply. “I bet you’re huge,” I giggle.
“Fuck. Me,” he whispers on a prayer.
“That would be nice too.”
“Dani-girl, what in the hell has gotten in to you?” He lifts his body and moves out from under me, lightly swatting my hands when I start to grab after him. “I’m just . . . uh . . . I’m just going to go to the bathroom.” He stands from the bed.
I drop back with a pout. “But we were going to fuggle,” I complain.
He turns sharply to ask, “The hell is a fuggle?”
“Duh. It’s a cuddle fuck,” I giggle and reach for him again only to stop when he walks away and starts to pace.
“Jesus fucking Christ.”
I was having the most beautiful dream. Well, every dream that involves Cohen Cage is beautiful—overwhelmingly beautiful. And trust me. There have been a lot of dreams over the years with him as the sole star. Each and every one of them ends in disappointment, though, when they stop before he can get to the good stuff.
This one, even though it lacked the erotic content that usually partners with a Cohen sex dream, was different—it felt so real. God, what I would give to have him in my arms that way for real.
“You coming back to the land of the living now, Dani-girl?”
I still instantly.
Holy shit.
“Uh . . .” I stammer.
“Yeah. There’s my girl,” he laughs. “Let me go call your dad and let him know you’re awake. I thought he was going to lock himself in your room earlier when your mom said they had to go. She tried to tell him you would be fine, but you know how your dad is.”
Why can’t I clear the cobwebs in my head?
“Anyway,” he continues, “they had that charity function for local Wounded Warriors that Maddox runs to go to. If it would have been anything else, I don’t think she would have been able to get him out the door. You should have seen it, Dani. I’ve never seen your dad deflate so quickly.” He laughs to himself, and I feel him shift before the bed lets up when his weight is removed.
Oh. My. Gosh!
Cohen’s in my bed. Like, really in my bed. I don’t think my panic level could get any higher than it is right now. I frantically search the murky depths of my memories to see if I can piece the last few hours together.
All I remember is Nate and his disgusting wake-up call, Daddy dragging me to the doctor, and my Cohen dream. Holy crap. That was a dream, right?
Opening my eyes, I look over to where he’s standing with his phone against his ear. He looks up and gives me that panty-melting smile, and I feel myself flush instantly. Blush like an innocent schoolgirl. How. Embarrassing.
He shakes his head a few times and moves his attention to my dresser full of pictures while waiting for the call to connect. I use this time to study his handsome face.
He’s always been an attractive person. When he was a kid, he had that youthful perfection. His skin always looked flawless and he carried a good tan all year long. His brown hair, until he enlisted in the Marines, carried that sexy shaggy look any female worth her salt would get an itchy palm that just begged her to run her fingers through. Now, he keeps it slightly longer than regulation with a buzz on the sides. It brings out the sharp angles of his jaw and cheekbones. Not to sound like a freak—hey, maybe I am—but I’ve been studying this man for so long that I could probably draw him to exactness from memory alone.
What all his good looks really do is make him look like one deliciously sexy man who puts me in a state of constant arousal when he’s around. His dark-brown eyes look over at me again, and he raises a brow when he sees that I’m still looking at him, but he quickly glances away when I’m assuming my dad picks up.
“Axel,” he starts only to pause and roll his eyes. “She’s fine. Awake, tired, and I’m sure getting more annoyed by the second that I’m reporting to her father . . . Yes, sir . . . I’m positive I’ll get an earful as well . . . No, sir . . . I’ll get her to eat something as soon as I get off the phone . . . No, she hasn’t taken her meds yet. She just woke up, uh . . . She just woke up.” He looks over at me almost uncomfortably before looking away.
Weird.
I start to cough, and he rolls his eyes.
“It was just a cough, Axel. She’s already back to scowling at me. Yeah, I’ll get the soup and her meds and demand she doesn’t move a muscle indefinitely. No, sir, I’m not making fun of you.”
When I laugh, Cohen shoots me another look. This time, he’s warning me to hush before my daddy goes nuts.
“Yes, sir. She’s fine. I’m sure she going to listen because she knows that’s best too. Okay. Yes, sir. Bye.” He shoves his phone back in his pocket and shakes his head. “Your dad. I swear that man still thinks you’re six and riding a bike for the first time. Remember when he wouldn’t even let you attempt to ride it without training wheels before he had a fully stocked first aid kit attached to his back?”
We both laugh at the memory of just one of his over-the-top parenting moments.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, waving my hand around the general area of my bedroom.
“Nate. Well, Nate indirectly. He called me earlier.” He raises one shoulder in a shrug like that should be enough.
“Yeah? And that explains what, exactly?”
“Oh shut up, brat,” he teases. “He mentioned, in between his bouts of hilarity over the morning craziness at the Reid house, that you were sick, and I figured I would come bring you Mom’s soup and keep you company. You know, like old times.”
“Old times?” I question, confused.
“You know. I used to always sit with you when you were sick.”
“Cohen, the last time I was sick, I was, like, ten and you had no choice since we were the only two with the flu and our parents didn’t want us spreading it to our siblings.”
What in the hell is going on here? For a couple of years, he’s treated me with a friendly indifference. Not rude, but never . . . this.
“Still, it helped,” he smirks.
“Yeah, it did.”
Of course, he probably thinks it helps for an entirely different reason than it actually did. I was beside myself the whole week we were basically quarantined together. Not because I was sicker than shit and miserable. I was sick as hell, but I was in heaven. Absolute euphoria because I was alone with Cohen—just him and me—for a whole week.
There is seriously something wrong with me. Besides the obvious. In case you haven’t guessed it, I’ve been madly in love with Cohen Cage since I was a little girl—I think I was six when I realized just how much I loved him and he was ten. That childhood crush has grown over the years into something that is so big—so soul consuming—that even I feel like it will crush me at times.
And the worst part is that he’s completely blind to it.