Jillian Spectre and the Dream Weaver

"That's ridiculous. Cruise is old enough to be my mother. And I love Roxanne."

"I know you do, and she knows you do. But your teacher has seriously screwed with your mind." I can tell he doesn't believe me, so I decide to tell him about seeing him in a reading. "Okay, you have to pinky swear with me that you will not tell Roxanne what I'm about to tell you."

His face tightens. "What?"

"Pinky swear." I stick out my pinky.

He shakes it with his. "Yeah, sure. So what's the big secret?"

"I saw you in my crystal ball the other night."

"You did a reading for Roxanne?"

"No, Jake. It was a reading for someone else who is a student at our college, but you were in it. You were kissing Ms. Cruise. And it looked like you were going to go a lot further."

We're both propped up on a couple of hospital beds with electrodes attached to our heads. Jake is noticeably upset about what's been going on with Cruise, especially after talking with Sebastien about her. After two hours of testing, I'm ready for answers.

But when Sebastien walks in with a worried look, I know I'm not getting the answers I want.

"You can remove the wires now," he says. Jake and I quickly pull the sticky connectors from our foreheads.

"So, what's the verdict?' I ask.

Sebastien looks down at a printout. "Both of you have been affected in the same way."

"How so?" asks Jake.

"Your brain waves have been altered."

My eyes widen. "Altered?"

"The patterns have changed slightly. In the Delta waves."

"The subconscious ones," says Jake. "The ones her father wanted to access in her."

"Correct," says Sebastien. "Jake, I know you would like to drop this class, but if we are to study this situation we need you to remain close."

"I understand," he says. "Not sure Roxanne will, though."

"And Jillian, I need you to monitor her class, but only using your alter ego. Remember, she cannot access your brain waves when you are a projection. We will need to compare what Jake takes from the class to what she is actually saying."

"Okay. So…what does this mean?" I ask. "Can we be, you know, fixed?"

Sebastien looks at the floor. "I'm told it's like a virus in your brain waves. Right now we have no idea how to deal with it, but at least we have isolated the problems."

"So how do I know when I'm dreaming and when I'm not?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "Unfortunately, I cannot answer that question. You will simply have to be very careful."

"If it's a virus, like the computer virus we gave to Jillian's father, will we get sick?" asks Jake.

"It's not physical, it's mental," says Sebastien. "But when you take that into account with the things you both have been experiencing, it serves to confirm our suspicions."

"And those suspicions would be?" I ask.

"That the dream weaver exists."

It's a beautiful fall day, late in the afternoon, temperatures in the seventies and low humidity. The leaves will be changing soon, the maples bringing color to my favorite month, October, which is just around the corner. It's a perfect day for a walk to clear my head, which currently has all sorts of problems bouncing around like bingo balls. When I shove one concern to the back burner, another moves to the front.

The streets are surprisingly quiet, the only sounds coming from the dribbling of a basketball at a nearby court. I look ahead and see there's only one guy shooting hoops. Maybe I'll join him. I've got a pretty decent jump shot and I could use some exercise.

The guy has his back to me, but he's shirtless and what I can see is impressive. His well-defined shoulder muscles twitch with every shot. Each time the ball swishes through the hoop, nothing but net, and comes right back to him. He starts to dribble a bit, tries a bank shot, misses. The ball rolls toward me and he gives chase as I bend down to pick it up.

When I stand back up I'm face to face with Trip Logan. "Oh, Trip, it's you."

"Hi Jillian." He reaches down to a bench, grabs a towel, and begins to mop his brow. His chiseled body is glistening with sweat. The sight of him in just a pair of shorts makes me gulp. My original assessment of him as a Greek god was correct.

"I was, uh, out for a walk."

He smiles at me as he moves closer and drapes the towel over his neck. "Uh-huh. You know, Jillian, for a girl who needs to avoid me, you sure do seem to run into me a lot."

"Coincidence."

"Coincidences are destiny's favorite trick when it comes to romance."

"I already have someone, Trip. I thought we cleared that up."

He grabs a bottle of water from his gym bag, takes a sip, and puts it on the bench. "I still can't get that night out of my head, Jillian. That feeling hasn't gone away." He reaches out, tilts my chin up, the way he did at the dance. My pulse quickens as his touch brings the now familiar electricity.

"Trip, this isn't a good idea. I…I really should go."

"You don't have to. We're just talking."

"Talking with you is dangerous."

"Why? You afraid it might lead to something that you actually want to do?"

"Trip, I really need to go. Being here is not a good idea."

He moves a bit closer, locks eyes with me. "You know you're attracted to me, Jillian. We're meant to be together. Why are you fighting it?"

My heart rate kicks up another notch. "Because I love Ryan."

He nods. "You may love Ryan. But you want me."

And I know what he says is true.

"You know I do things to you that he doesn't." He gently takes my shoulders and pulls me closer.

His look, his touch, take my breath away and render me powerless. I can't stop myself. My hands come up like they have a mind of their own and rest on his sides, then slide forward as I run them across his washboard abs. The sensation steals my breath and sends fireworks through my heart. "Oh. My. God."

"Problem?"

"Not with your body."

"It's all yours if you want it."

I'm staring at his abs, his chest, hypnotized by the feel of his muscles. It's like nothing I've ever experienced. "Please, Trip. Let me go."

He takes his hands off my shoulders and gives me a casual smile. "Nothing's keeping you here, Jillian. You can leave anytime you want."

My head tells me to leave but my feet seem to be stuck in cement while my hands are busy exploring. They slide up onto his chest, then across his shoulders and around his neck as I look up into his eyes.

"Thought you were leaving."

"I really need to go, Trip."

"So go."

"I…I can't."

He licks his lips as he looks down into my soul. "Do you want something?"

I'm craning my neck as I look up at him. "I do, but…you're awfully tall."

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.