The Dream Crafter Read Online Free PDF Page B

particularly difficult customer walked out the door. Or running around after several three-year-olds in preschool – enjoying every moment but still collapsing in exhaustion at the end of the day.
    As Amana settled into her sheets to bring about sleep, a barrage of faces flickered past closed eyelids, friends met during her wanderings.
    Now that she thought about it, it had only ever been friends she had met up with. She had never wandered into a dream of someone she didn’t like, no one violent or evil. Why was that? Chance? Or did some part of her power direct her to the people she needed, the ones who kept her going when her waking hours did nothing but break her down and chip away at the will to continue?
    That had to be true. Hundreds and hundreds of meetings, and none of them hurtful or damaging to her. It couldn’t be an accident.
    Take the man from yesterday. Everything about him was beautiful, exciting in ways she hadn’t known she liked until she saw it on him.
    The smile, and those biceps, and the smooth tones of his voice as he talked to her, and the looks he gave her, banked heat and appreciation in his gaze, but it was more than that. His words and actions were respectful of her, giving her space, always waiting that one moment before making another move to make sure she was comfortable with him progressing.
    Not many men she was around on a daily basis bothered with that. To them, she was a piece to play with and display, and if her wants even entered their minds for a moment, she’d keel over in shock.
    Longing swept over her, a craving to be near him, to let the hollowness of this day fade in his presence. If she had to use this damn power, she wanted to use it to get to him.
    Let this power give her at least one good thing in this life. Let her have one happy memory associated with it.
    The thick black markings on his arms came to her mind. As a rule she didn’t like tattoos, considering the ones she was most associated with meant gangs and warfare, but his sparked something primal in her. The way they highlighted and curved over the thick muscles of his arms, on him it only spoke strength, a primitive show of superiority, a bold display of power.
    How much of his body was covered by those lines? There was a hint of tattoo under his hair at the neckline, which she saw when the wind lifted it for only a moment. Which meant his back had to have at least some amount of ink as well. How far down would it go? Would it only be at the tops of his shoulders, or would it trail down the length of his torso, beckoning the gaze to follow the line of his back?
    He was in front of her now, in a sleeveless t-shirt, the lines of those tattoos stark against the white fabric. He had such wide shoulders it created a noticeable V as they led to a slim waist, and the only word that came to mind to describe his rear end under those grey sweats was plush , waiting to be bit into like a juicy piece of fruit.
    As if he sensed her staring he turned, surprise and confusion and joy and suspicion warring to become the prominent emotion on his face. He looked down at his arms, head moving in wide sweeps as he took in the limbs. With that done, only joy and surprise remained in his expression, and a smile made of equal parts sensual and delighted took over his face. “I wasn’t expecting to see you today.”
    She’d done it. She’d gone into a dream on purpose.
    Fear leapt at her with unexpected force, blossoming in her chest with this first use of power in so long. Now was her turn to look around, to look for danger, to see what she invited with this use of power.
    Yet there was no other, nothing hanging along the edges, ready to strike out at her the moment she let down her guard. It seemed she was safe. Just maybe, she was safe.
    Giddiness – with this victory, with this meeting – suffused her voice. “I couldn’t wait to see you.” It was true. The only person outside of her family she had ever felt that way about,