Waking Dreams

Angelle groaned. “You are such a moron.”

Eric forced a laugh and dropped Amelia’s hand. If he had hoped that his skin would sizzle as it did when he had touched his Megan, he was disappointed. He strolled back over to the island, and leaned lazily, elbows propping him up.

“This is Mabel,” Angelle said with laughter in her voice. “She’s our housekeeper, cook, and den mother.”

“Hello, dear. How was your trip?” Mabel asked distractedly.

“It was okay,” Amelia answered, with the same sweet tones that Megan’s voice held. As she spoke, he watched her intently, waiting, wishing she would show some sign, any sign, that she felt something, anything, being so close to him.

“That’s good, dear. Look at this disaster.” Mabel let out a long, exasperated sigh. “At least I caught him before he burnt the house down.” She paused, scrubbing at the counters. “Why in the world were you making pancakes? It’s almost dinner time.”

“She had a long trip,” he shrugged. “Thought she’d be hungry.” Eric was still leaning against the counter, watching the girl, scanning her over from head to toe. Her heart was racing, fluttering like a humming bird’s wings, and it was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.

“We just finished rebuilding the kitchen from the last time Eric tried to cook,” Angelle added.

“Um, can I help clean up?” Amelia asked, and took a small step towards the sink, looking around.

“That’s okay, dear,” Mabel said. “You two run along now, and I’ll clean up this mess.” Mabel made a shoo-ing gesture and shot Eric a look, not a good one.

“That’s her nice way of saying get out of my space,” Angelle said, ushering the girl away from the mess. “Believe me, you don’t want to stay and help. Come on, I’ll give you the grand tour.” Angelle snagged the girl’s hand and started pulling her through the kitchen. As they went, Angelle glanced over her shoulder at him and said, “Eric, bring Millie’s bag to her room.”

“Make the tour quick,” Mabel said. “I don’t want you to be late for dinner. I’m making your favorite, Amelia, Fettuccini Alfredo with chicken.”

Angelle towed her through an open doorway, out of the kitchen, and into the living room.

The girl snuck a peek over her shoulder at Eric, catching him staring. His eyes met hers, and his heart stopped. They drew him in, and everything around him vanished. She flushed, and her beautiful heart fluttered. He had an overwhelming urge to run to her, pull her in his arms, and sink his teeth into her neck. He wanted to claim her. He wanted his name to appear on her neck. She licked her lips, and right then he knew he could, and she would let him.

She’s not yours! his conscious hissed, breaking the spell. He blinked and gave his head a little shake. She gasped, and he forced a grin on his face. He winked at her and turned away, leaving the kitchen as fast as he could.

Crap! Crap! Crap! The word echoed through his brain with each step he took. How the hell could this happen? What if Mitchell was wrong? Okay, Eric knew that was impossible. You can’t be wrong about the soulmate bond. It just doesn’t happen. Mitchell had been dreaming about that … that … girl for five years. But … but … his brain couldn’t finish the thought.

Eric rushed into his bedroom, closing the door, and leaned against it. He didn’t know how he would survive this or even if he could. No matter what his brain told him, his heart was pulling him in another direction. And his stupid, reckless heart was sure that his father’s Amelia was, in fact, his Megan.