Morgan Aiza is tormented by a dream seductress, a woman who has haunted his dreams like a nightmare, but leaves him craving for a completion he's never known — and has never wanted. When Fate steps in and his dream woman literally runs right past him, Morgan is determined to prove he has no need of a wife, or a mate.
N'Rea Gordon has been alone since she was a teenager, moving and hiding, but from what she's never really admitted. When Morgan appears and offers more of himself than any other person in her lifetime in the name of compassionate aid, she is compelled to fight the attraction and help tooth and nail.
Trouble is hounding him, and evil is stalking her. From the gates of the Renaissance Faire where Morgan is granted an honorable knighthood, to the very doors of the family, they are stalked by an unknown danger. To survive and to acknowledge the deepest trust either have known, they are going to have to face the ultimate good versus evil struggle— together.
It was the dream, the merciless attack on his sleep that Morgan couldn’t avoid. Unconscious, he craved it, though he silently decried it and its meaning when awake in the light of day. The nameless goddess had plagued Morgan for over a month. A woman of uncommon beauty with eyes the color of the darkest green, like the dew-kissed nettles of a mountain fir tree. Helpless in his sleep, he tossed restlessly as the image of the woman enthralled him, made his blood sing, creating sparks of flaring desire that never really faded.
Within the hidden secrets of his dream, the silken sweep of her lustrous hair seared his thighs. The long, ebony tresses defied their own darkness, glinting a red and gold fire in the full moonlight that sliced into his room, as though there were flames hidden within the heavy fall of midnight. A wild, untamable fire flowed through her, moved with her. Even in a dream, the surging heat lingered under his skin everywhere she caressed and teased him. He tasted it on the air. When she moved, her hair swayed with a scalloped motion, a natural wave that called out to him to touch, to worship. He followed it hungrily, feasting on all of her like a starving man.
This woman had become an enticement, a temptress of unfulfilled desire as he slept. She beckoned to him, calling to him not by name but by a word: mine. The one word was all she ever said, a seductive whisper winding over his ear, a sultry sound that made him ache.
His goddess would appear slowly, only her eyes, as if his vision were panning out, opening wider to enjoy her completely. Her features would become more focused until he could see her entire face, smooth, fair skin crowned with the full, rich midnight and fire of her hair. Delicate features, high cheekbones forming to a lush mouth, parted with the promises of passion. She glided over him with a graceful presence as he hungered for the next moments of the dream. After so long, he knew what to expect, and she didn’t fail him.
Her body was long and lean, supple, hot flesh, arching and writhing beneath his fingers. She brought the same burning hunger he carried when she invaded his dreams. Long, red nails, sharp but purposely teasing, brought him to a fever pitch, stroking, holding, tempting. The sensations were electric, tightening his skin until it was almost painful to breathe.
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