Unmanned Read Online Free PDF

“For what?”
    “I only eat waffles in my dreams.” His manhood was starting to wake up, reach toward me. I should sleep more often. “Don’t have a waffle maker.”
    He lowered the towel a little. It looked snowy white against the skin of his lean-muscled thighs and did nothing to hide his erection. Naturally.
    “They’re pancakes,” he said. “Mama’s recipe.”
    I nodded, not taking my eyes off his penis. “Rachel was right. You’re hung like a breeding stallion.” Rachel had been one of his exes. One of his many. But exes don’t matter in dreamland.
    He took another step forward. Even his damned feet were attractive. But why wouldn’t they be? “You okay, McMullen?”
    “Never better. You want me to get the syrup so we can get things started?”
    His dick throbbed a little. Gotta like that.
    But then he scowled and wrapped the towel around his waist.
    My dreams screeched to a halt.
    “Take that off,” I ordered, but my voice sounded kind of scratchy now and my head was spinning.
    “What the hell’s wrong with you?” he asked, and taking one more step, put his palm on my forehead.
    His hand felt suspiciously real. I scowled, then, reaching up, poked him tentatively in the chest.
    “Are you on drugs?” he asked, flicking up my eyelid with his thumb.
    I blinked. And suddenly I felt sick to my stomach. It twisted hideously and then I knew the truth: The green magic had conspired against me. I wasn’t dreaming, I was awake! Lucid. Well…awake.
    Stumbling backward, I bumped into the doorjamb and ricocheted sideways. I wanted to rush into my bedroom and shut out the world, but my guts were trying to climb up my esophagus.
    So I reached out, snagged my fingers in Rivera’s towel, heaved him out of the bathroom, and slammed the door behind him. A second later I was yakking into the toilet.
    By the time I settled back onto my heels my eyes were streaming but my stomach had been pacified. I turned on the tub tap, rinsed my mouth, and buried my face in the nearest towel as memories stormed in like flying monkeys—gunshots, dead eyes, Nyquil.
    “McMullen.” Rivera knocked once. “You okay?”
    I peeked over the towel, wondering if he’d believe me if I told him I was dead. Probably not. “Don’t come in,” I said, and then he came in, stepping into the bathroom with a good deal more reality, but no less sex appeal than he’d displayed a few minutes before.
    “What the hell’s going on?”
    I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Sometimes humiliation can weld my tongue right to the roof of my mouth. Sometimes that’s the best place for it.
    He was staring at me. I was staring back. Couldn’t help myself.
    “Are you drunk?” he asked.
    I shook my head.
    “Drugs?”
    “Nyquil.”
    “How the hell much did you take?”
    I glanced toward the bottle on the sink and winced. “Might have been full when I started.”
    He cursed, scowled, then sat down on the edge of the tub a few inches away. The towel still looked snowy white against his thighs. “Did you tell me I was hung like a breeding stallion?”
    I pulled the towel up over my eyes and shook my head.
    “Yes you did.”
    I snatched the towel from my face. “You’re supposed to be a dream! Why the hell aren’t you a dream?”
    His brows had risen into his hairline. “I guess it’s a good thing I told Mandy to cancel your appointments.”
    I had a nagging suspicion that I should be angry at his high-handed behavior, but if I remembered correctly I had offered to fetch the syrup so we could—
    “Did you offer to get the syrup so we could—”
    “You’re hallucinating!” I snapped.
    And then he laughed. “Jesus, McMullen, I can’t decide if I should be horny or horrified. Come on.” He stood up. “I cooked breakfast.”
    “I’m not hungry.”
    “Now I
am
worried,” he said.
    “Go away.”
    “Don’t make me do something drastic.”
    I snorted. I’d just propositioned him with syrup. How much worse could things get?
    He stared at me