DREAM LOVER

August 18, 1896

She was suffocating.  Rochelle’s hand went to her throat then fluttered weakly to her side.  Her throat was so dry she could barely swallow, and she would have wept if there had been an ounce of moisture left in her body. Was it night or day?  She couldn’t tell, not when they’d so carefully applied a thick layer of mortar before fitting each brick snuggly into place.  There hadn’t been so much as a pin sized hole for light to seep through.

Even knowing no sound could possibly be heard beyond the airtight room they’d entombed her in, Rochelle had screamed until her voice was so hoarse and raw it had come out as nothing more than a rasping whisper. Only then had she given up.  They’d finally broken her, but what did it matter?  He wasn’t coming.  She knew that now, just as she knew her last breath was only moments away. 

Rochelle’s heart ached, but not for herself.  It ached for the man who would be utterly crushed when he was told she’d deserted him.  He wouldn’t believe their lies at first of course, he was much too certain of her love for that.  But as time passed and she didn’t return to his waiting arms, would he give credence to their false accusations?  She prayed he wouldn’t, prayed that he would be as strong in his belief of her devotion to him as she was to his.

Her eyelids closed as her labored breath came less frequently and the weariness of fighting for air took its toll.  Rochelle allowed herself to slip sideways along the rough wall until she lay with her cheek pressed against floor, the stone slab only slightly colder than her own body temperature.  The only warmth she felt at all was in her shoulder where the bullet had lodged but even that was beginning to fade.

She would sleep now, Rochelle decided.  She would sleep and she would dream of a time when nothing else mattered but the love that shone from his eyes for her, only her.  In his arms she’d been safe from the world, secure in the knowledge they were destined to be together forever.  Even as death slipped its icy fingers around her throat and began to squeeze, she wasn’t afraid.  Because her love knew no bounds, and because she could already see Nicolo’s handsome face and the wicked grin he always wore just before he seduced her back into his bed. 

One brief kiss from his sensuous lips was all it had ever taken to ignite a fire in her soul.  And his hands…so strong and yet so incredibly gentle as they stroked her intimately, the warmth of them searing her skin and giving rise to an inner heat that was as volatile as a live volcano.  It was always so good with Nicolo, so good. 

Rochelle smiled, breeching the gap between life and death as she slipped into his dreams and gave herself to him one last time. 

Present Day

Nic bolted upright, staring into the darkness for several minutes before shoving the blankets back and swinging his legs over the side of the bed.  Raking his fingers through sweat soaked hair, he tried to shake off the feeling that what he’d experienced was real, that
she
was real.  He dreamt of her often, the raven haired beauty with eyes the color of jade and skin that felt like satin beneath his fingertips.  She haunted him, and not just at night when he slept.

At work, at home, even when he was on a date with another woman his mind was consumed with thoughts of her; thoughts that made his whole body ache to hold her, touch her, feel her writhing beneath him as she surrendered herself to him.  Just as she did in his dreams every night.  Nic groaned out loud and pushed himself off the bed, thoroughly disgusted by the physical reaction he was having to a woman who didn’t even exist.

He padded to the kitchen and downed a glass of ice water before climbing back into bed, only to lay there with his eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling.  If she was just a woman his subconscious mind had planted in his dreams, why did he still feel her warmth surrounding him?  Why did her soft scent linger in the air and on his skin long after he’d woken up?  And how was it possible he could still taste the sweetness of her lips or that he still tingled where her elegant hands had wandered?

If she wasn’t real…why did he feel this horrible loss deep in his chest as if his heart was being ripped out every time he woke to find she wasn’t lying beside him?

“Pathetic, truly pathetic,” he muttered.

He was a healthy, mentally sound man who’d managed to reach the ripe age of thirty-four without once becoming so obsessed with a woman he couldn’t drive her out of his head.  Except for
her
.  Nic wondered what his colleagues would say if they knew he’d been plagued with erotic dreams for almost a year now
and
that he had genuine feelings for his imaginary lover.  What deep seeded childhood issue would they try to drudge up to explain it? 

Even as Nic scoffed at the idea, he knew it was the first thing he would have targeted as a possible cause.  Recurring nightmares were often a reflection of childhood or even adult trauma, but in those cases there was something tangible to grab onto.  He was a realist; he didn’t believe dreams were anything more than fantasy or an indicator of a troubled mind and balked at the concept they were visions of the future, or even more ludicrous; memories of a past life. 

Nic had devoted his life to sleep study and held fast to the belief it was usually some form of anxiety buried in the subconscious mind that found a way to manifest itself in dreams.  Still…he could almost hear those soft, throaty moans she made when he was kissing her, followed by a sharp little gasp as he eased himself into the warmth of her body.  His chest tightened as her whispered words of love sent a thrill racing through him.

Good Lord, he needed to find a real woman and fast!

                         ***

Rachel Delacourte scanned the directory listing encased on the wall, a slight scowl marring her delicate features.  Lucisano Research owned the entire building, a minor detail her hair-brained sister had neglected to tell her when she’d coaxed Rachel into coming here.  She checked her watch, letting out an irritated huff when she realized she was already five minutes late.  How long had she been standing here, staring like an idiot as if the answer would miraculously appear to her?

She gnawed at her lip.  What difference would it make if she didn’t show up for this appointment?  It wasn’t likely they could help her anyway, and at least she’d be spared having to recount the nightmares that plagued her to a perfect stranger.  But what if they
could
help her?  The chances were remote but even the smallest of odds were worth gambling on at this point.  Because the dream scared the holy crap out of her, Rachel admitted to herself, and because it was becoming more and more vivid each time she had it.

She wasn’t the only one who noticed the dark circles under her eyes or the gradual withdraw from outings with friends and family functions over the past year.  But she just couldn’t seem to gather the energy that was necessary to socialize, and there was such a
heaviness
in her heart all the time, as if she’d lost something she would never be able to get back.  Maybe it was just the sleep deprivation, but Rachel didn’t think so.  Deep down inside, she could feel something ominous brewing and it was only a matter of time before…

“Excuse me, Miss, may I help you?”

Rachel turned to find a pleasant faced woman with kind eyes and a sympathetic smile standing behind her.  A badge that read
Bridgette Mason, Lucisano Research Security,
was pinned to her jacket though she certainly didn’t look like she was concerned about Rachel being a security threat.

“I wish you could,” Rachel sighed.  “Unfortunately, my little sister set the appointment but forgot to tell me which suite or even what floor it was on.”

“I’m sure we can figure it out in no time,” Bridgette assured her.  “Most people who come here don’t realize what a huge corporation Lucisano Research is, so we’re used to it.  Now, if you’re here to be part of a group study I just need to know what kind of study it is and…”

“No, it’s nothing like that.  I’ve been having trouble sleeping because of a recurring nightmare and just had an appointment for a consultation.”

“Ah, then you want the Sleep Study labs on the ninth floor.  Just take a left when you get off the elevator and the receptionist will direct you to the right office.”

Lord, she didn’t want to do this.  She wanted to do it even less when she stepped out of the elevator on the ninth floor, and by the time Rachel stood in front of the door for Drs. Agostino, Covelli, and Montesanti she was practically cured of her desire to be rid of the nightmare altogether.  Maybe it was a sign, or maybe it was just the price for lingering a little too long, but it was at that precise moment the door swung open.

“Miss Delacourte?  Excellent,” the woman said when Rachel nodded mutely.  “I was afraid you’d gotten lost and wound up in one of the other offices.”

Rachel was ushered inside and handed a form to fill out, and for the next fifteen minutes she agonized over how much of the nightmare she should reveal.  There was the suffocating and dying part which was probably important to notate, but there was also the erotic ending where she and her dark haired lover did things to each other that were way too intimate to convey to a stranger.  Just thinking of it brought a blush to her cheeks and even worse, a longing to slip back into the fantasy so she could relive the passionate kisses and ardent love making once more.

She was losing her mind, there was no other explanation.  Why else had she stopped dating in the past year since the nightmare began?  It was ludicrous; having such deep feelings for a man who didn’t even exist and avoiding relationships with other men because if it.  The few times she
had
gone out on dates were complete and utter failures because, absurd as it seemed, she’d actually felt as if she was being unfaithful to her dream lover. 

Rachel’s pen hovered over the form before she jotted down the part about being intimate with a man she’d never met, though she was careful not to elaborate.  No doubt they’d say it was just her subconscious mind that had created a hero to come and rescue her.  Or maybe they’d tell her there was something more symbolic to it.  She’d read somewhere that dreams shouldn’t be interpreted literally and usually had some deeper meaning.  She seemed to recall that dreaming of spiders indicated you were feeling entangled by a clingy relationship or something along that line.  Too bad she didn’t remember what having hot sex with a tall, dark stranger meant.

“Excellent,” the woman smiled brightly when Rachel brought the form back to the check-in counter.  She gave the form a cursory glance before leading Rachel down a long corridor.  “You were actually scheduled to see Dr. Covelli but he was here most of the night with one of his patients so you’ll be seeing Dr. Agostino for the initial consultation.”

Rachel groaned inwardly.  It was going to be painful enough to discuss the nightmares with a stranger but if she had to repeat everything all over again she’d just throw the towel in and learn to live with it.  She entered the office of Dr. Luis Agostino feeling a little apprehensive and seated herself in a chair across from his desk.  He looked up briefly when she entered and offered an even briefer smile before taking the form she’d filled out from the woman who’d accompanied her and began to read.  Rachel shifted nervously, gnawing at her bottom lip until he finally finished reading and greeted her with a genuine smile this time.

“You say the nightmares started about a year ago.  Do you recall anything traumatic occurring around that time which might have triggered these nightmares?”