Someone's watching me.
She slowly scanned the room, looking for the source of her discomfort. Standing in the back as she was, she couldn't see anyone paying her the slightest bit of attention until she looked up.
To her left, a balcony ran the width of the room and a man stood in the center, his gaze fixed on her.
His raven-black hair was long and loose, trailing below his shoulders. He looked quite tall with long legs encased in black leather knee boots and tight black pants. A burgundy velvet jacket covered impossibly wide shoulders while white ruffles from his shirt peaked through the open front. A simple black mask covered most of his face, but not his mouth. Unsmiling, he looked firm and commanding.
She looked away, willing her breathing back under control. She was being foolish. It couldn't be him because he didn't exist. He never had.
For as long as she could remember, she'd had dreams about a tall raven-haired man who was her lover. The dreams had started when she was in her late teens and they'd begun innocently enough. Every three or four months, she'd dream of walking under a full moon, his hand in hers, of stolen kisses that curled her toes under the cool, blue light. They would laugh, talk, and lie in fields to stare at the stars.
As she grew older, the dreams changed and increased in frequency. They were almost always sensual or erotic in nature, leaving her damp and aroused when she woke. On most occasions, she'd been aroused to the point that a simple touch from her hand would bring her the satisfaction she craved.
She glanced up once more and their gazes connected. He nodded, sending a shiver of anticipation through her as she saluted him with her glass and a big smile.
She'd rarely sustained a long-term relationship because, as crazy as it sounded, she'd always had the strange feeling that she'd been cheating on her dream lover. Face it, no real man had ever measured up to her nocturnal visitor.
What time she'd wasted being faithful to a figment of her overactive imagination. The man on the balcony probably wouldn't measure up either, but she might have fun finding out.
A waiter dressed in a white loincloth distracted her when he offered her a mouthwatering selection of mini-quiches. Though she didn't want one, she selected a mushroom quiche and nodded her thanks as he left. After nibbling her treat, she took a leisurely drink of her champagne before returning her gaze to the balcony.
He was gone...