Ildaria stiffened, her arms instinctively tightening around G.G. as if to protect him from the intrusion, but it rang again and she turned her head to peer at the bedside table in the bright sunlight pouring through her bedroom window. The ringing had woken her and the dream had slipped away with consciousness, breaking her connection to G.G.
Cursing, Ildaria glanced at the digital display of the alarm clock next to the phone to see that it was only noon. She’d slept a little more than three hours and was not in the mood for dealing with telemarketers or wrong numbers. She just wanted to go back to sleep and back to her shared dream with G.G., so ignored her phone and closed her eyes. Much to her relief, after two more rings the sound stopped, the call switching to voice mail, she supposed.
Ildaria turned on her side and snuggled under the blankets, eager to return to sleep, but stiffened when the phone began ringing again. Obviously, whoever it was wasn’t going to be put off.
Muttering under her breath with irritation, Ildaria dragged her arm out from under the blankets and snatched the phone off her bedside table. She didn’t even check to see who was calling; she simply hit the green icon to accept the call and brought the phone to her ear.
“Si?” Her voice was groggy with the sleep she wished she was still enjoying and she let her eyes close yet again, hoping it was a quick call and she could get back to sleep.
“I have tea and a sausage breakfast sandwich with your name on it.”
Ildaria’s eyes blinked open at once. It wasn’t just the fact that it was Sofia’s voice speaking to her, but the mention of a sausage breakfast sandwich. Ildaria loved sausage breakfast sandwiches. She’d tried her first one just a week earlier, compliments of Sofia, but they had become her favorite food. She was addicted to them. They were one of the few foods she was willing to miss out on sleep for. On the other hand, she’d planned to talk to G.G. . . .
“Ildaria?”
Heaving a sigh, she shook her head. “I was about to talk to G.G. about . . . stuff.”
“G.G.’s there?” Sofia asked with surprise.
“No. In our dream. I was going to explain that we’re life mates and—”
“What the hell?” Sofia interrupted. “You were going to tell him in a dream that he’s your life mate? Ildaria,” she said with exasperation. “He’d just think that was wishful thinking, and part of his dream. Or maybe his nightmare,” she muttered with disgust, and then grouched, “Get out of bed and open the door right now or I’m giving this sausage breakfast sandwich to Elijah.”
“Fine,” Ildaria snapped irritably. Sitting up in bed, she asked, “Why am I opening the door?”
“Because I’m standing on the other side of it with your tea and sandwich. Why else?”
“Well, why didn’t you just knock then?” Ildaria asked, some of her irritation giving way to exasperated amusement. Sofia couldn’t do anything the normal way. Rather than call, she’d text you to call her, and rather than knock, she apparently called and told you to open the door. The woman was whacked, she thought as she pushed the sheet and blanket aside and climbed out of bed.
“Because I would have had to pound pretty loud for you to hear all the way from the bedroom and I didn’t want to wake G.G. He needs his sleep.”
“And I don’t?” she asked sounding just a bit pissy. She padded out of the bedroom and down the hall.
“You might,” Sofia allowed. “But you aren’t the one who’s been acting like a grumpy bear for the last week and a half . . . which is what I wanted to talk about.”
Ildaria grunted in response to that as she crossed the living room, knowing she was acting a bit like that grumpy bear right now. But it was nothing compared to how G.G. had been acting the last week. At least, when he was awake. So as she turned into the short hall to the door, she said, “G.G. has been a bit short the last week or so. Is that not normal for him?”
“Definitely not,” Sofia assured her, and then lowered the phone when Ildaria unlocked and pulled the door open. Ending the call and sliding the phone into her pocket, she added, “Which is why I wanted to talk to you when G.G. wouldn’t interrupt, and perhaps give him a chance to get some proper sleep since you won’t be sleeping so . . .” She arched her eyebrows meaningfully. “. . . no shared dreams.”
“Right,” Ildaria breathed wearily as she watched Sofia bend to pick up a takeout cup and two bags from the floor—one a small paper bag with a coffee shop logo, and the other a cloth bag.
Straightening, Sofia held them up with a smile. “But I come bearing gifts to make up for it.”
Toning down her scowl, Ildaria managed not to snatch the paper bag no doubt holding the sausage breakfast sandwich from her, and stepped back, gesturing for the platinum blonde to enter. Once Sofia moved past her, she closed the door and locked it before following her to the kitchen island.
Sofia settled herself on one of the chairs at the island and waited until Ildaria claimed the chair next to her before pushing the takeout cup and the paper bag in front of her. She then pulled blood out of the other sack. Four bags of blood, in fact.
“To make up for waking you,” Sofia explained, sliding the bags in front of her as well. “We can get by without sleep. A little blood and it’s like we slept soundly all night. G.G. doesn’t have that advantage.”
“No, he doesn’t,” Ildaria agreed. She wasn’t at all sure if she’d accept the blood, but wasn’t awake enough to argue yet.
“Speaking of lack of sleep,” Sofia said brightly. “How is it?”
“How is lack of sleep?” Ildaria asked with disbelief as she opened the drinking tab on her cup of tea. But she was thinking here was the proof that she wasn’t awake yet because Sofia’s words made no sense to her at all.
“Not the lack of sleep itself,” Sofia said with a faint smile. “The reason for it.”
When Ildaria stared at her blankly, Sofia shifted impatiently and said, “You’ve lived here for two weeks now, right across the hall from G.G. Close enough for shared sex dreams and I know that’s the dream you were talking about earlier. You’re having them. So . . . how are they?” Sofia asked, her eyebrows wiggling up and down on her forehead. “Are they super hot? They are, aren’t they? Tell me they are.”
When Ildaria started to shake her head, Sofia gave a “bah” of exasperation, her hand waving away what she obviously thought was a denial. “Don’t even try that. If you’ll remember, I can read G.G.’s mind and what I’m reading there is straight-up Mimi porn.”
“Mimi porn?” Ildaria echoed uncertainly.
“Mortal/Immortal making it,” she said helpfully, and then added, “If you went out with myself and our coworkers once in a while like we’ve asked you the last couple of weeks since you started, you’d already know these things.”
“You’re right, of course,” Ildaria said apologetically. “I’m just still trying to adjust to my working hours and living alone.”
“No, you’re not. You’re exhausted from all the shared sex dreams messing with your sleep,” Sofia countered easily, and then announced, “So is G.G. Half the time he looks like an exhausted zombie, and the other half he’s a grumpy bear. As are you,” she added, mouth pursing with displeasure and eyebrows arching on her forehead. “You really need to jump the poor man’s bones or something. Then he’ll pass out and maybe get some real sleep.”
When Ildaria didn’t respond, Sofia added, “We’d all appreciate it. We are not used to a grumpy G.G. The guy is usually a teddy bear, not a grizzly.”
Ildaria shook her head wearily. “I can’t believe you’re asking me to sleep with G.G. for your sake.”
“And yours,” Sofia assured her quickly. “I mean, you’re suffering the frustrations of hell at the moment, so . . .” Turning in her seat to face her, Sofia leaned her elbow on the island and raised her eyebrows. “Tell Mama all about it. What are shared sex dreams really like?”
Ildaria bit her lip, her thoughts turning to the dream she’d been having before Sofia had woken her. It was one of many she’d enjoyed the last two weeks. She’d had the first one her first night. She’d gone to bed in the lovely, comfortable bed from Marguerite’s home that they’d brought for her, and—exhausted from all the setup she’d done in the apartment that day, and then the hours she’d spent working before continuing with laundry and cleanup after taking H.D. up to her apartment until G.G. came to get him—Well, between all of that, she was nearly asleep before her eyes were fully closed.
G.G. had obviously been asleep already by then, because she’d fallen right into a dream. She’d found herself in the Night Club office, H.D. curled up in his basket, and her working in the tight pencil skirt and blouse she’d worn for her first night of work, and G.G. had come in to check on her. Only instead of just popping his head in and speaking for a few moments, he’d entered and crossed the room to come around the desk, his eyes smoldering as they slid over her body.
He hadn’t said a word. He’d simply reached out, caught her by the upper arms to lift her to her feet and then had clasped her face in his hands and claimed her lips.
G.G. was an amazing kisser. At least, he was in dreams, and Ildaria had hardly noticed when his hands had slid into her hair, delving through the strands until the neat bun she wore it in for work was gone and her hair was sliding down to curl around her face, neck, and shoulders.
He’d lifted his head then, saying in that deep sexy rumble of his, “I want you. You’re immortal and I know I shouldn’t. But I want you so damn bad.”
The next thing Ildaria knew, she was climbing him like a palm tree. While his mouth claimed hers again, and she responded, she was also tearing at his clothes, desperate to touch his skin. Ildaria wasn’t the only one. He was tugging her blouse out of her skirt, sliding his big hands under to span her waist before they began to rise. Ildaria had pushed his shirt up his stomach, and was eagerly running her hands over the wide expanse of his chest when he suddenly scooped her up and turned to set her on the desk.