Page 22 of Wicked Dreams

“I need your help,” he answered in a husky voice, a muscle twitching in his jaw as he ground his teeth.

“With what?” I sputtered incredulously at his nerve.

“I like Anita. But she won’t give me the time of day. I’m guessing that’s because of what’s been going on with you.”

“So, you figured you’d sweeten me up, hoping I could smooth it all over for you,” I finished for him with a sigh.

“Yeah, but it’s more than that, Olivia. I reallyamsorry. I honestly didn’t know Brent was going to do that to you. I think you’re a nice person. And I’d be here apologizing even if Anita wasn’t involved. I think you’ve been given the short end of the stick for reasons I can’t even begin to understand.” He glanced at me quickly before continuing, “You’re a beautiful girl. I think other girls are intimidated by you, and I know for a fact Brent has it bad for you.”

“I’m not sure at what point guys were taught that abuse is the best way to show a girl you like her, but you can tell your boy he can kiss my ass. I’m not interested.”

“Maybe if youwereinterested, he’d let up on you.” He peeked at me and gave me a helpless shrug.

“Are you here to get me to talk to Anita for you or are you here to get me to give Brent a chance?” I narrowed my eyes suspiciously at him as we turned onto my street.

“Both,” he answered meekly, casting me an apologetic smile. He pulled into my driveway. My hand immediately went to the door to push it open, so I could get away from him.

“Wait.” He grabbed my arm and pulled me to a stop. “Please do this, Olivia. I know you don’t owe me a damn thing, but Ireallylike Anita. I’ve never liked a girl like this before. I’ll treat her right. I could make her happy. Just please…talk to her for me?” He reached behind his seat quickly and handed me a plastic bag. “I got your clothes from Jasmine before she could pitch them in the dumpster. Truce?” His damp, blond hair fell across his forehead as his big blue eyes pleaded with me.

“Keep them off my back. Keep them away from me. ThenmaybeI’ll see what I can do,” I answered curtly, eyeing my clothes. He pushed them onto my lap and gave me a small smile.

“I’ll do my best.”

“You’re best better be really awesome.” I scooped up my clothes and got out of his car, slamming the door behind me. I didn’t bother to look back. There was really no reason to. Everything I cared about was up in my bedroom somewhere beyond conscious thought.

And I was desperate to get there.

Donovan

Smoke filled the air as I squeezed through the staggering crowd of drunken bodies. Coming to a stop at the bar in the center of the busy club, my eyes landed on a pretty brunette sitting across from me. I watched her until she felt my presence. When her blue eyes locked on mine, I shot her a wink and gave her a cocky grin, making her smile and turn away. Her cheeks flushed red with embarrassment or maybe excitement.

I’d done as the devil said. I’d concentrated on her name, and then there she was, before me in the dreamscape. It was an easy task, but still one I loathed. But at least this way I didn’t have to sort through dreams with the hopes of finding a desperate soul. These on the list were served up on a silver platter for me.

I waved at the bartender, motioning for a drink. While he got busy pouring, I studied myself in a nearby mirror. My blonde hair was slicked back, and a light scruff grew on my face. I was dressed in an expensive looking suit that hugged my strong, but thin frame — I lookednothinglike myself.

Being an incubus, I possessed the power to read women. It was vital to know what types of men they were attracted to in order to get what I needed: their souls. This woman was apparently attracted to rich douchebags, because that was exactly how I looked.

When the bartender placed my drink in front of me, I told him I wanted to buy the brunette’s drink too. I sat back, sipping my whiskey and watching her. When she was handed the glass, the bartender motioned toward me. I held up my drink to say cheers. She tilted her glass in the same fashion, wearing an appreciative smile.

Some souls took a month or longer to take, but Samantha Herring, I’d have hers that night.

I kept my distance, playing the mysterious role. Inside her head, she was fighting with herself:will he come over? Should I go over there? No, I should let him come to me.

Once I finished my glass, I sat it down and stood, walking around the bar and closer to her. Her eyes followed me through the crowd, afraid I’d leave without her. I came to a stop at her side, and she spun around on her barstool to face me. Her blue eyes shone brightly, and her cheeks were as red as a rose.

“Hello.” I picked up her hand and planted a quick kiss to the top. “I’m Logan Webster,” I lied, picking a name that sounded as douchey as I looked.

“Samantha. Samantha Herring,” she cooed with her silky-smooth voice. She held her head high and stuck out her big chest to give me a better view down her low-cut, pink dress.

I made sure to look at the chest she seemed to be so proud of — if I wanted this to work, she had to believe I was interested. Even if the thought made me want to vomit. “That’s a beautiful name, Samantha,” I repeated her name, nice and slow, drawing her eyes to my mouth.

“Thank you.” The blush on her cheeks climbed higher, deepening in color as it flushed her face. “I haven’t seen you here before.”

“I’m only in town for the night. Business trip.” The bartender placed another drink in my hand, and I took a sip. “Are you from around here?” Since the barstool on either side of her was taken, I turned facing her and stepped up to the bar, putting us only inches apart.

As she raised her martini glass to her lips, her eyes locked on mine, and she offered a nod.

“So, you know all the hot spots.” I grinned while making eye contact.

---