The Dream Spell

The Dream Spell

By Emma Daniels

Copyright 2011 Emma Daniels

Smashwords Edition

PROLOGUE

Everything was ready. Dozens of candles flickered against black velvet curtains that hid the outside world from view. The cloying scent of incense thickened the air, and sombre medieval music completed the heavy atmosphere in the room.

The woman laid the ancient leather-bound tome onto the velvet draped table, opened it at the appropriate page, and sat down in front of it.

She had been preparing for this moment for months, reading the ancient text over and over to ensure she got all the phonetics and pronunciations correct. Someone had interpreted it many years ago, writing the words in English underneath, in a spidery, almost illegible hand. She didn’t know who had managed to work out what the ancient text meant, the book having passed down through the generations, finally finding it’s way to her when she cleaned out her mother’s spare room after her death.

The elderly lady had never mentioned a spell-book, had never shown an interest in magic whatsoever. Neither had her daughter, until she held the ancient tome in her hands and had felt the pull of its power.

She had started with simple spells to test the waters. Some had worked, but many failed. She had never tired anything this complicated before, probably because she had never wanted anything this badly before.

It had astounded her to find such a spell even existed, but there it was, in black and white, almost as though it had been there waiting for her.

This has to work, she thought vehemently. I’ve missed out on so much in life. Things that come so easily to others have never been mine, no matter how hard I’ve tried. Please grant me this one wish, and I’ll never cast another spell as long as I live.

If she was really honest with herself, the magic in the old gothic volume frightened her, but she was desperate enough to try anything to get what she wanted.

Taking a deep calming breath, she began to recite the words in a loud clear voice. It was a long spell, with many complicated Latin words, and her voice grew hoarse as she turned the page.

The sharp jangle of the telephone in the next room startled her.

She had worked so hard to organize this and forgotten something as simple as taking the phone off the hook. Since hardly anyone ever called her, she assumed it was some market researcher ringing to waste their time as well as hers. Trying to ignore it, she focused even harder on the spell in the book, but thought she might have lost her place.

Had her finger been on that line, or the next? Should she start over again?

The phone stopped ringing.

Yes, she was certain she’d just recited that line, so she began on the next one, continuing on until the final words rung out in the silent room.

Sighing heavily, she sat back in her chair, laid a hand against her abdomen, and said; Let the dreams begin.

CHAPTER ONE

Always having been a light sleeper, Sophie Quinn wasn’t surprised when she woke suddenly to see her room bathed in moonlight from the partially drawn curtains. She was certain she’d drawn them on going to bed, which was the first thing that told her something wasn’t right.

The feel of someone climbing into the bed beside her was the other. Either someone had broken into her flat, or she was still fast asleep.

Slowly, fearfully, she turned to see who the intruder was. When she saw the handsome, totally naked man in the bed beside her, she knew she was dreaming.

Never in her life had Sophie come across a man who looked like this. High, sculptured cheek bones, strong square jaw, Roman nose, and a wide passionate mouth made for kissing. Upswept brows over deep blue eyes, and a shoulder-length mane of untamed golden hair, completed the picture of a perfect male face.

And his body! It was strong, powerful and perfectly contoured with well-defined muscles. Nothing like anyone she’d come across on a daily basis.

It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him who on earth he was, but her dream appeared to have robbed her of her voice. She could only stare mutely at the hunky stranger, as he reached out to gently stroke her cheek. He leant against one arm in the bed beside her, and she saw just how muscular his arms and broad chest were.

He gazed down at her in wonder, as though he was just as stunned by the sight of her as she was by him. He trailed his fingers across her face and into her long hair. His touch felt more real then life itself, tender and sensual at the same time, making her shiver deliciously.

Sophie found herself reaching out to him, to touch him the same way he was stroking her, with tentative, exploring fingers, tracing the line of his jaw, his neck, the ridge of his collar bone.

He leant towards her, and gently touched his warm, soft lips to hers. It was by far the most delicate kiss she had ever known.

She slid her fingers into his golden hair. It felt as soft as it looked, and she gripped the back of his head so he couldn’t pull away as she returned his tender kiss.

He didn’t disappoint her, tracing the outline of her lips with his velvet smooth tongue. Sophie opened her mouth and welcomed him inside. He tasted absolutely delicious, and totally intoxicating.

Sophie took hold of his smooth broad shoulders with both hands, drawing him closer. He came willingly, and she felt the hard wall of his chest brush against her. Her nipples peaked at the contact, sending sharp jolts of desire through her. He trailed his fingers down her neck, and she felt them at the buttons of her nightshirt.

Trust her to go to bed in her oldest, shabbiest sleep wear. And why was she still wearing it anyway? She was meant to be dreaming, wasn’t she? Surely incidental things such as clothes wouldn’t pose a barrier in the subconscious realm!

He seemed to have no trouble undoing the buttons one-handed, and a moment later he bared her full creamy breasts, gently pushing the garment from her slender shoulders.

Her dream man gazed tenderly down at them for a moment before he bent to take a pink nipple into his mouth.

The way he suckled on her breast made her gasp and moan with delight. She gripped hold of his hair, arching her back to him. He sighed and buried his face between the cleft of her bosom.

Then he turned his attention to the other one, tantalising it in the same erotic fashion. Sophie ran her hands over his broad back, marvelling at the play of hard muscle beneath his satiny skin.

His hand caressed her stomach, her hips, and down her thighs. His fingers trailed a line of shivery sensation over her skin, to finally slide into her soft triangle of curls.

It shocked her to find how hot and wet she already was. It surprised her even more when he easily found her nub of sensation. Of course only a dream man would know exactly what would make her feel good.

Sophie sighed with pleasure as he found her mouth once more, now kissing her fervidly, as her mounting excitement fuelled his. She felt him grow hard and hot against her. She slid her hands down his back, to cup his sexy tight butt. He really seemed to like that, moaning thickly against her ear.

This man felt so good in her arms, and what he was doing to her body became almost too much to bear. Before she knew it she thrust her hips against his hand, gasping in delight, as exquisite waves of release pulsed through her.

Her dream man smiled serenely down at her as she trembled wantonly in his arms.

Sophie sild her hands along his hips to take him in hand. He felt like steel encased in silk, and she suddenly longed to have him inside her.

She had to have him inside her.

She opened her thighs to him. He came willingly, sighing with delight as he slid into her. He felt so good, so big and hard and hot.

They moved in the timeless rhythm of love, their pleasure mounting, soaring. He trembled in her arms as he reached his crescendo, the ecstasy on his handsome face a wonder to behold.

Sophie held him tight as he shuddered with release, filling her to overflowing. She clung to him, never wanting to let him go…

But suddenly her arms were empty and she lay alone in her bed, her body awash with sensation, her insides damp from their lovemaking. Her lips still tingled, as though she’d been kissing a real live man.

Sophie hadn’t made love in over twelve months, not that she could call what she’d shared with Duncan Quinn in the last years of their marriage as love-making, more like mechanical sex to try and make the baby that never came

She threw the covers back in frustration, letting the chilly winter air cool her over-heated body. She’d just started getting back on track with her life, but this far too realistic dream was way more than she could handle.

Surely it wasn’t telling her to go out and find a man! That was the last thing she wanted, or needed. After Duncan’s cruel parting words, Sophie hadn’t even wanted to look at another man, let alone have one touch her.

I’m still young enough to find someone else, he’d told her coldly, when she’d asked him to undergo one more IVF cycle. She’d only just come home from hospital after her third miscarriage, so she was still sore and bleeding heavily.

Instead of comforting words and a warm hug, he’d delivered this bombshell. I want out Sophie. I can’t go through all this again.

You can’t go through it! Excuse me? I’m the one who’s been turning herself into a pin cushion with all these tests and operations. All you had to do is jerk into a jar.

I want to make a baby the normal way, with someone who isn’t obsessed –

Obsessed! she’d cut in irately. I’m not obsessed with carrying on the Quinn name. I just want a baby.

Well it’s obvious you can’t have one, so isn’t it best we just get a divorce.

That had hurt worst of all.

It cut through her like a thousand knives, gouging and slicing at her already shattered heart. It told her how little their ten years together really meant to him. Sophie never though she could truly hate anyone, but at that moment in time she positively loathed her husband, and wanted to hurt him like he’d hurt her.

But instead, she’d walked away, gone home to her mother for the comforting words and warm hug she so badly needed.

Sophie had given up so much for Duncan and their baby dream. She’d sold her thriving bead shop so she could attend clinic appointments, since her body-clock couldn’t be set to retail hours. She’d found a government job with flexible hours, which even though stable, was about as exciting as watching paint dry.

Six years later, she was still there, wondering how on earth she could set up another bead business in the current economic climate.

Glancing at her clock radio, she saw it was almost time for her alarm to go off. Not only had the dream left her feeling disconcerted, she was also exhausted, as though she really had spent half the night making love instead of sleeping.

Sophie went through the motions of eating breakfast, showering and getting dressed. She set off for the train station a good half an hour earlier than usual, reasoning that she could leave on the dot of four instead of her usual five-thirty.

A grim overcast July morning greeted her. Sophie hated Sydney in winter. Having grown up on the Central Coast she was used to sandy beaches and wide open spaces.

Most of all she hated her poky two bedroom apartment. She and Duncan had bought a lovely three year old brick house in Camden, which they’d had to sell due to their divorce. Neither could afford to take over the loan on their own. The high cost of IVF was another reason he hadn’t wanted to keep going.

Dirty rotten scumbag, she muttered under her breath as she stalked into a lift and jabbed her finger against the button to level ten. Sophie was glad no one else got in with her, because she was just as likely to snap their head off, the mood she was in.

It was all the fault of the handsome blonde stranger, with the tender hands and sensual mouth for bringing back all the unwanted memories of her failed marriage.

From which subconscious realm had she come up with a blonde lover, for goodness sake?

Sophie had always been drawn to the dark and swarthy, not that Duncan had fitted that particular image either. His hair had been red and he couldn’t tan. He’d had a good body when they’d married, and a charming if not classically handsome face.

But the blonde man of her dream had the kind of face that turned heads. She could still see it in her mind’s eye. The memory of that, and his strong, well-toned body, sent another unexpected and unwanted tingle of desire through her veins.

The lift doors opened, and she stepped into the lobby. Taking a deep breath, she banished his sexy image from her mind, and headed for her section down the other end of the floor. Sophie worked in administration, preparing international student claims for a team of case assessors.

Not once since starting in the department had she applied for a promotion, too busy trying to have a baby to think about bettering herself career-wise.

Once she had the child she longed for, she would have gone on maternity leave, only returning part-time if their financial situation warranted it. Now it looked like she was stuck here until she decided what to do about her future. Even after twelve months on her own, Sophie still hadn’t made up her mind what she was going to do job-wise. She’d slipped into a complacent but depressing rut she could see no easy way out of.

Sophie was the first member of her section to arrive. It was nice being here alone; not having to worry about Louise’s back-stabbing, Jane’s slave-driving, or Marie’s boyfriend woes. Sophie was used to working in an all female environment. Her bead business had attracted only women and schoolgirls, but in her shop there had been plenty of other diversions. Here the work was too boring to detract from the daily grind.

Duncan had been her fix-it man, coming round to clean the windows and do other odd jobs around the place. He had completed an apprenticeship in building, but didn’t have the head to run a business. Once their relationship took off, Sophie had offered to help him set up a business, but being a typical male, Duncan hadn’t wanted help from a woman.

Her mother had commented often enough that Sophie was marrying beneath her station, but Sophie maintained why should the man always be the one earning more than the woman? Even in her government job she’d earned more than him.

She was doing it again, thinking about the rotten creep she’d married. With a sigh she got up and collected her daily allocation, returned to her desk, and set to work.

Her colleagues arrived throughout the next half hour.

Jane Wu was a five foot nothing Asian dynamo in her late twenties, who expected everyone to work as hard as she did, which was fine with Sophie. She abhorred managers who abused their positions, and was glad that Jane treated them fairly, if abruptly, at times.

Louise, on the other hand, needed a bomb placed under her to get her moving at the start of each day. She was always too busy bemoaning the injustices of the system and gossiping to concentrate on what she