Page 6 of Just Right
I blame a belly full of oatmeal for the wicked dream that chases me through my sleep. At first, I thought I had woken up. That there was the sensation that I was lying in an unfamiliar bed, in a dark room lit only by a single flame from my pilfered oil lamp, but I wasn’t alone.
In my dream, I blinked my eyes, staring, though I couldn’t find my voice as my gaze locked on the supersized shadow lurking in the corner of the room. The floorboards creaked, I gripped the edge of the quilt, and—just like my earlier thoughts of another golden-haired girl lost in the woods—I swear I saw a bear.
I strangled back a scream, too scared to actually let it loose. Or maybe I did. I don’t know. In dreams, you think you’re talking or you’re trying to make a sound, but it’s eerily quiet as an eight-foot-tallgrizzly bearmoves from the shadows to the edge of the bed you’re in.
I wanted to scream, but as the bear folded in on itself, going from a wild beast to a man about two feet shorter than the bear, I couldn’t evenbreathe. His dark gold eyes flashed hypnotically in the lamplight, a hand reaching out for me.
I looked at his fingers before my gaze dropped just enough to notice that the man in my dreams? He’s fuckingnaked. I looked at his fingers, then I got an eyeful of a cock that started stirring the moment he noticed he had my attention.
I didn’t scream.
I didn’t breathe.
But I did fall back into unconsciousness which proved that it was a dream—a nightmare brought on by a nervous stomach—instead of the first beast of Blackmoor finding me when I was at my most vulnerable.
Fairytales have teeth, but I’m not ready to be eaten.
I don’t knowhow much longer I sleep after my strange dream. I don’t have another one, but as though my psyche was warning me that it’s not the brightest move to sleep in a stranger’s bed so soundly, I come to fully awake and ready to snatch something from the kitchen, then head out for another day of searching for a cabin thatisn’tlived-in.
At least, that was the plan… until I sit up, prepared to get out of the bed, and pause when I notice that I havethreepairs of eyes on me.
I yip, grabbing the edge of the quilt, tugging it all the way up to my chin as if I can hide from the accusations in their stares. Three large men are gathered at the foot of the bed, each one looming, watching me closely. They don’t make a move, even as I do, as though they’re giving me an opportunity to get used to them.
Two of them are undoubtedly twins. They have the same sculpted features, same broad chests, same red, blue, and green flannel shirts stretched across their back, though the twin on the left has his unbuttoned and slightly open. Each of them has a pair of dark gold eyes and light brown hair; the twin on the right has a single curl of hair flopping forward, covering his forehead, while his brother’s hair is slicked back. That twin has a hungry smirk on his handsome face. The one with the curl? His lips are twisted in a welcoming smile that manages to calm me enough that I don’t start pissing myself out of fright.
Of course, then my gaze flickers over to the third guy and, whoa. I’m not sure if I’m terrified—or if I’m turned on.
He’s gorgeous, I’ll admit that much. With skin a little darker than the twins, and a close-cropped haircut that hints at hair that’s a richer shade of brown, his eyes are a striking molten gold color. He’s not wearing a shirt, allowing me to ogle a bare chest that is muscle upon muscle. He’s big, and I’ve always liked my lovers on the bigger size, but the flat expression on his face says that he’s not so keen on thirty-two-year-old Jersey girls breaking and entering.
This has to be their home. This bed belongs to one of them, and as I cast another nervous glance over the three guys, I know instantly whose it is.
Mainly because, on that second review, my stomach twists in recognition.
“You,” I whisper, staring at the twin with the curl. He’s dressed now, in that flannel with a pair of worn jeans and hiking boots, but when I saw him last night… he hadn’t been.
He’d also been abear.
Dream. It was supposed to be a dream. Bears can’t turn into men, especially not gorgeous men who are looking at me with undisguised pleasure that, of the three of them, he’s the one who has my attention.
Not for any good reason, stunner, I can assure you.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I try again. “I… I saw you. Last night.”
When you were a bear.
I wait for him to deny it. To tell me that this is the first time he and the other two men have returned to their home since last night—because the sun streaming in through the window tells me it’s morning—and it’s just straight coincidence that I saw himnakedin my dreams before being confronted by him now.
But he doesn’t deny it. Instead, his expression turns concerned. “I hope I didn’t scare you. When my bear said we had someone on our territory, I let him take over. But he recognized you as our m?—”
“Finn,” rumbles the big man behind him, a slight accent to his voice.
“Oh. Yeah. Sorry. Anyway, he knew who you were and let me take control. But then you passed out and, well, I got my brothers. We decided to wait to make sure you were okay.”
He—Finn—says that so pleasantly in a similarly accented voice, it takes me a moment to understand exactlywhathe said. At first, I just admit to myself that what I saw last night… it wasn’t a dream. It really happened. Passing out? I guess that could explain why I fell right back to sleep. Seeing a bear turn into a man would freak out anyone, dream or not.
Of course, then I run his first few comments through my head again and, yup. He said what I thought he did.Mybear.
“Your bear?” I strangle out. “You… you can turn into abear?”
