calling the police if you don’t leave.”
Sara.
She shivered as the sound of her name floated up to her on the warm breeze. She felt a sudden tug at her body, compelling her to go down into the garden.
Turning, she rushed from her father’s room, ran down the stairs and marched into the large kitchen facing the garden. She went to the glass doors at the breakfast nook, turned the lock and opened them.
Sara. I’ve been waiting for you.
Again something tugged at her, as if an invisible rope had been tied around her waist. She walked out onto the porch.
Was it her dream lover calling her? Although she knew it to be impossible, she wanted desperately to see him. To be able to actually, physically, touch him. The seductive summons from the garden seemed familiar. Like the sound of his lilting voice. Curls of desire started to unfurl between her legs as she stepped down the steps and onto the garden’s stone path.
She walked briskly, with purpose, as if whatever was calling to her wanted her to hurry. She could feel the urgency in the summons. And the seduction.
As she neared the fountain, her heart hammered in her chest. The hair at the nape of her neck rose to attention as a delightful tickle rushed down her back. She gasped as the pleasant sensations moved over her body and brushed at her inner thighs as if to coax them apart.
A sudden urge to rip off her clothes filled her. She wondered how the warm breeze would feel blowing over her heated flesh. And hot she was. Sweat dribbled down her chest to pool in her navel. Lifting her hands, she unbuttoned her blouse, her fingers quivering with the effort. Finally, she was able to shrug the cotton off and let it drop to the ground.
Instantly, she felt relief as the ocean air caressed her skin. However, it was not air she wanted but other flesh. A man’s hands. Her dream lover’s hands.
Certain he was waiting for her at the fountain, Sara jogged down the stone path, eager to finally be in his solid arms. However, when she reached the stone circle, she was alone. No one was there waiting for her. Not that she could see, anyway. But she had a sense of being watched.
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