Target: BillionBear: BBW Bear Shifter Paranormal Romance Read Online Free PDF Page B

wrong. If everyone avoids her, then she thinks we’re the next best thing to an M. Night Shyamalan horror town. You know, seething with secrets. I think we need to smother her with boringness. Hey, maybe we could round up some volunteers to be the actual cult, and invite her to a celebration, where we read a thousand verses of weird poetry or long testimonials that all end in hard sells to get her to donate, on a really cold night, and insist that she has to be in the buff . . .”
    Kesley was hit by a sudden image of that guy without a shirt.
    Or pants.
    The pan she’d been scrubbing fell out of her hands and hit the dishwater with a splash. Naturally a tidal wave of suds slopped over the edge of the sink, but at least cleaning it up gave her a chance to hide her neon red face. “And everybody gets sick? Not funny,” Kesley muttered.
    McKenzi gave it up, but Kesley knew from her sister’s grin that she was probably going to go for a cat prowl that night (if the rain stopped—McKenzi hated water when she was a cat just as much as regular cats did) to try and find volunteers.
    All in all, Kesley was glad to get home and fall into bed . . .
    Where she dreamed all night about a tall, dark-haired guy with shimmering hazel-brown eyes.
    Naked . . .
     
    * * *
    Jameson dreamed about her .
    He woke before dawn with the world’s most painful hard-on, tatters of an intensely vivid dream lingering. He reached mentally to pull them back and to wrap himself again in the dream, but they melted like mist. The last to go was her face—straight brows under an untroubled forehead, and an honest gaze—with that wind-blown chestnut hair playing about her shoulders above magnificent breasts, and below those, more delectable curves.
    In his dream, they’d both been naked.
    Painfully, he got himself to the bathroom, where he cranked the water to the max and stepped under stinging spray. Okay, new fact for the gleaning: he had no problem getting it up. He couldn’t remember any stirrings down south since waking in the hospital—not that he’d cared. The few women he’d seen at Tranquil Breezes had all turned away from the scar down his face.
    When he got out, he toweled off and frowned at the pill bottles sitting on the dresser. Maybe the dream was the result of cutting off his meds. He’d been glad of them early on in his hospital stay because they had not only masked pain, but they had killed the nightmares of fire and explosions that had tormented his sleep.
    Maybe this stuff got toxic over time? He’d felt more cotton-headed at Tranquil Breezes, not less, though physically he’d recovered rapidly.
    Without the meds, even after a long day’s drive, he’d slept well. His body didn’t hurt much anymore. And his mind was slowly clearing. So maybe that meant he could tough his recovery out on his own. Whatever his habits of recent years, he knew he didn’t like feeling fuzzy-minded.
    It felt right to figure things out on his own. He was no longer an invalid, except for those holes in his memory.
    He glanced at the window. Not quite dawn, but he felt like this was his usual rising time. Sleep was gone for the day. As he dressed, his mind mentally drove back up the hill toward where she lived. The urge to stealth his way up there and follow that dirt road to see where it led was so strong.
    And wrong.
    Only a complete tool would do that, though instinctively he knew he could. He finally compromised: he’d walk to that breakfast place up beyond the grocery store. From there he could see the turn off from Main Street. If she came down, he’d glimpse her, and without any stalker assholery. If she didn’t come down the hill, she didn’t come down the hill. His take-away here was that his body was waking up again.
    The morning was crisp and cold, with a faint hint of brine carried in from off the Pacific Ocean. He breathed it in, smiling as he walked up Main Street. Though it was strange to see the sun rise over the land instead of