Dreaming in Color Read online

  “No, I'm here now,” he said, to God only knew who. “I won't let you reject me when I've just found you.”

  Moving forward again, his steps a little more tentative this time, Colin rapped his knuckles against the wood. He left his fist resting against the door for a moment, and he swore a little zap of electricity zinged against his fingers.

  Okay then. Now or never.

  “Hello? Anybody home?” Colin chewed on the inside of his cheek and beads of sweat started trickling down the back of his neck. Nervous energy didn't even begin to describe the vibrations humming inside him, but he dug his shoes into the porch so he didn't turn tail and run.

  This is it. No changing your mind now.

  Colin stood smack in front of the door, terrified and excited by whoever existed on the other side…until nobody answered. He waited one more minute and knocked again, calling out another hello. Only the island birds answered.

  Deflated after flying so high on anticipation, Colin muttered, “How can you be my destiny if you aren't here to answer?” A strong breeze kicked up right then, carrying with it the tangy smell of the Pacific Ocean. The wind rustled panels of gauzy white fabric on either side of the porch, making Colin notice for the first time that the windows were ajar.

  Once seen, there was no way Colin could unknow that information. “Open windows could mean an unlocked door.” He talked out loud, perhaps hoping someone would pop out of the thick trees surrounding the house and tell him to go for it. Scrunching his face, Colin twisted the knob, and the door popped open.

  God, you fucking idiot. You're going to get arrested for trespassing. That is, if whoever owns this place doesn't put a bullet or a knife in you first.

  Fully aware, Colin eased the door open the rest of the way and stepped inside. “I just know I'm going to end up in a foreign jail.” He paused right inside the door, but kept his hand wrapped around the knob, taking strength in the heat sinking into his hand. “Hello? Is anybody home? My name is Colin Baxter, and I'd like to speak to the owner of this house.”

  “Owner doesn't like people on his property.” A deep male voice bludgeoned the morning air with the heaviness of a sledgehammer, whipping Colin around in search of a body. To his left, the rustle of dried leaves crackled, and, holy shit, Colin set eyes on the man who owned his dreams.

  Sort of.

  A man stood at the side of the house, half his body and face in shadows. From the guy's profile, Colin could see a thatch of thick dark hair fell to his shoulders and what looked like a couple days' growth of beard covered his jaw. A denim shirt and khaki pants covered a body a little bit leaner than the one Colin already knew intimately in his mind, but it certainly did not suffer a lack of muscles. Not even close. Colin's very being ached to touch, to know more, and he took a step toward the man.

  A hand went up, stopping Colin cold. “You should leave before the owner sees you here.” The guy's sandblasted tone held warning.

  Careful. Be careful. In some ways, Colin felt like one of those wildlife experts on TV dealing with an unpredictable animal. Still, I know it's him.

  “I really can't do that,” Colin said. “It's important that I speak to him.”

  “He doesn't get many visitors. State your business with him, and I'll pass it along.”

  “Can't say.”

  The man shot back, “Won't say, you mean.”

  So he's quick, as well as sexy. No matter how hard the man tried to convey he was only an acquaintance of the owner, Colin knew he stood only feet away from the person who lived in this home. Literally, the man of his dreams.

  “I suppose that's true enough.” Colin wandered to the stairs and plunked himself right down on the top one. He planted his feet a few steps below and settled his elbows on his knees. “I still need to talk to him though.” He slid a glance to the side of the porch, fighting a nervous smile. “I can wait.”

  “This is private property.” The man stormed around the house, ate up the stairs in two strides, and hauled Colin to his feet with incredible strength. Nearly at eye level, he got right in Colin's face. “You need to go.”

  Oh my God.

  Piercing pure blue eyes held Colin's, hurling him backward in time. The rest of the face and body bore little resemblance to the teen Colin vaguely remembered, but something about those eyes and strong cheekbones had always captured his interest back in the neighborhood. Holy shit. Colin had fantasized and imagined a thousand different scenarios for what and who the man who haunted his dreams might be. Never once had he pictured someone he already knew.

  Sort of.

  Long, strong fingers dug into Colin's arm and pulled him down the stairs. “Get off this land”—that voice, oh God, that voice held nothing but impatience—“before I have you arrested.”

  Colin yanked his arm out of the bruising hold but didn't back away. In fact, he pushed a little himself.

  “Are you going to pretend you don't know me?” he asked. “Even when I already said my name? Because I don't need a formal introduction to the owner of this residence anymore.” Colin's focus shifted to the house. He could barely wrap his brain around the spinning of new information, and ultimately brought his gaze back to the man so close Colin could smell and feel his heat. “How the hell did you get from Bleeker Street in Henderson all the way to Fiji, Marek?”

  More: Why the fuck are you living in my dreams?

  Chapter Three

  Marek Donovan. No way; it couldn't be. Yet those pure blue eyes and sharp cheekbones stood out clear as day in Colin's mind, and he knew that it was. One year behind Marek in school, Colin had shared a few mutual neighborhood acquaintances with the teen, but they never talked much themselves. A handful of time in four years, at most. Very tough, Marek never said much, but one always felt his presence when he was nearby.

  Pretty much exactly like the faceless man in my dreams.

  Still… Marek? No way did the dude like cock.

  Confused as hell, Colin tore his stare off Marek's pretty eyes and looked around. As always, his attention caught on the residence and its door. “Maybe you're just a coincidence,” he said softly, almost to himself. “Maybe it's more about the house, and you just snuck in through osmosis.”

  “What?” Marek's voice rose. Well, at least as high as one with such gritty depth as his could. “Never mind. I don't care.” He raced across the porch and pulled the door shut. Leaning against it, he added, “Just get off my property.”

  Victory number one. Colin lifted his gaze to meet Marek's. “Well, at least now you're admitting you own it.”

  The thick stubble on Marek's cheeks and jaw flexed, and Colin thought he probably gnashed his teeth. “You're right; I do own the land and the house. It's mine. So leave. Now.”

  In deliberate defiance, Colin did a quarter turn and walked with careful steps down one-half length of the porch, always mindful of the body behind him. Marek. He has a name now. Start using it. Colin occasionally ran his hand over the porch railing, the windowsill, and front of the house, dirtying his fingers with the residue of neglect. On the outside, Colin maintained decorum; inside, though, a thousand questions and comments wiggled around fighting to spill from his lips. About Marek, about his presence in Colin's dreams, and did Colin somehow have the same role in Marek's. But equally important, Colin wanted to know about this beautiful, sad house, and why Marek had let it fall apart.

  He came to a pause right in front of Marek, nearly close enough for their crotches to touch. The man—Marek—didn't so much as flinch. Interesting.

  “You're not at all curious about why I'm here?” Colin asked. “About how I ended up on your porch, in fucking Fiji?”

  Marek stared back, without blinking. “No, I'm not.”

  Colin felt slapped, but he didn't let the sting show. “Do you even admit you once knew me?”

  “I do. You were”—Marek's focus lowered to Colin's chest and then finished going down, assessing thoroughly—“skinnier back then.”

  Shit. He is gay. Do
n't get too excited. Don't get hard. Swallowing past a sudden tightness in his throat, Colin answered, “A man can change a lot in a dozen years.”

  A small but visible jolt shook Marek right then, gaining Colin's complete attention. Colin flashed back to the first vivid dream and the pain laced in the “Help me's” that still rung loudly in his head. What the hell happened to you, Marek? Colin reached up and brushed his knuckles across the man's hard, warm cheek.

  Marek reared and then shoved Colin away, his eyes lighting with fire. “Don't touch me.” He circled Colin and flew down the steps, as if Colin possessed some communicable disease.

  Colin lifted his hands. “I apologize.” Marek's focus kept shifting to the dense trees at the side of the house, and his body strained, as if his will barely held him in place. If he ran, maybe beyond the trees to the mountain that consumed most of the small island, Colin might never get his questions answered. “Look,” he said, gentling his tone. “I know it sounds insane, but I'd like to see your house. I feel like I need to go inside.”

  His lips thinning to pale, Marek uttered, “Take a grand fucking tour if you want. Door's open. There isn't anything in there worth seeing or stealing.” He looked at the house with as much intolerance as he did Colin. “Don't bother to lock it on your way out.” Without looking back, Marek disappeared around the house in the same direction from which he had come.

  Shit. Fuck. Damn.

  Looking up, alone once again, Colin locked his hands behind his neck. “Well, that's not exactly how I expected this first meeting to play out.” He didn't know if he talked to God or the house. Either way, the fact that he had taken to talking out loud with nobody around to listen couldn't be a positive sign of his mental health.

  Colin took a stabilizing breath anyway, opened the front door, and stepped inside. “All right, house, if you have the answers, show them to me.”

  Standing statue-still, air trapped in his lungs, Colin waited for a sign: a whisper of cool air to tickle his skin, a creak or groan from the second level that would tell him where to go, or even a twinkle of light to guide his way.

  Silence reigned.

  Colin snorted and shook himself out of his stupor. “Yeah, because apparently you all of a sudden think you're a ghost hunter.” He shut the door behind him, blinked to adjust to the shadows, and truly assessed his surroundings for the first time.

  Directly in front of him a staircase led to the second floor. No side tables, chairs, or furniture of any kind existed in this area. The medium-shade wood on the floor and the balustrade didn't exactly gleam, but nor was it riddled with a layer of grime. The walls looked dust free too, and although the ceilings were high, Colin couldn't see any cobwebs littering the corners.

  So you at least like the inside of your home clean. Squared-off openings led to rooms on either side of the foyer, the layout exactly as in Colin's dreams. He moved to the left one first, pausing at the entrance. A big-screen TV, brick-colored couch, black recliner, and coffee table took up a third of the space, with the rest empty to the point that it would probably echo if he walked around in it wearing hard-soled shoes. Three long columns of white curtains hung from ceiling to floor on the front wall, breaking up the line of the large, open window. Unmoving now, with no breeze, the ends lay in gauzy puddles on the hardwood floor.

  Without entering, Colin turned and crossed to the opposite side of the foyer. The second room was a duplicate of the first in shape and size. With matching front window and curtains, this space held less furniture than the previous one did. Only a desk, chair, and computer occupied the area, looking rather pathetic in one corner of the room. Probably close to an electrical outlet, much like the room across the hall.

  Two more decent-sized rooms took up most of the rest of the downstairs. On quick inspection, they were completely empty. There was a bathroom tucked in one corner, and a kitchen ran across the back length of the house. Colin entered, and through the window over the sink, he found a surprisingly manicured backyard with a glass-enclosed structure; Colin could only assume a greenhouse. I wonder if Marek uses it, or if it is gutted inside, like much of this house. Colin's gaze drifted beyond the yard to a spectacular view of the green-covered mountain centered on the island. Hell, it looked so close Colin almost felt like, if he opened the window, he could reach out and touch it.

  I could live here. I could make it my home forever.

  Knowing that he was getting ahead of himself, Colin tore himself away from the window and kitchen. He took the stairs two at a time, forcing himself to look around the second level with detachment. Like downstairs, the hallways were free of furniture, and three of the four bedrooms were empty, dark caves with closed doors and shuttered windows.

  Then, Colin found Marek's bedroom. A rich, solid cherry wood bed, dresser, nightstands, and bookshelf made up the room, with curtains and a view to match the front rooms downstairs. Colin could see a bathroom through an open door inside, but not even his rampant need to know everything about Marek and this house would make him step into such a place of privacy. Didn't matter that Marek said he didn't care; people had to hide their secrets somewhere, and with the emptiness of every other piece of this house, Colin had to imagine Marek kept his tucked away somewhere in here.

  Bracing his hand on the door frame, Colin stared at the large, high bed, and his cock stiffened, pushing against his jeans. Drifting before his eyes, he saw an image of Marek nude on top of the pristine white comforter, his tan, hard body a feast of visual delight from which Colin could not pull his eyes away. With his legs spread, Marek pulled on his prick with one hand and played with his balls with the other. He had his head thrown back in a plush pile of pillows, and his ass dug into the coverlet with every twist and turn of his aroused body. Colin watched, mesmerized by the sight, and his own body grew warm with tingles all up and down his arms and legs. He curled his fingers around the wood under his hand, digging in, and a slam of raw emotion and need whooshed through his body like an explosion. At the same time, the phantom Marek turned his head and looked right into Colin's eyes.

  Colin flew backward, stumbling away from the intensity in that stare. He fell into the balcony railing, jamming his hip and kidneys. Ice-pick-sharp pain pierced Colin's bone, taking him to his knees. Fucking beat-down. Ignoring the old injury, Colin scrambled across the floor back to the doorway, but the picture of Marek masturbating was gone.

  Heaving on the ground, Colin had hardly any power left in his body. His heart and limbs felt sapped of strength, and his hands shook too. Glaring at nothing in particular, he groaned as he shifted off his hands and knees. “That might have been a bit more intense a sign than I needed, thank you very much.” He settled his spine against the doorjamb of Marek's bedroom, resting his arms on his raised knees while he waited for his legs to come back to him enough to move.

  Should he confess his dreams to Marek or keep them a secret?

  Colin didn't know what in the hell he was supposed to do next.

  * * * * *

  From the cover of trees, Marek watched Colin untie his speedboat from the dock and climb inside. The ocean breeze lifted the man's brown hair, and it would soon dry the perspiration-dampened edges. Stopping in front of the wheel without turning over the motor, Colin looked at Marek's house, watching for a prolonged moment, and then slid his gaze along the tree lines on either side of the pathway, studying them as well.

  Marek couldn't see Colin's eyes clearly from his vantage point, but he didn't have to. He remembered Colin Baxter always had an assessing way about him, one that used to leave Marek vastly uncomfortable. Fascinated him. Scared him too. Colin hadn't been like the beer-swilling, drug-using guys Marek remembered from the neighborhood, and he had a way of listening that went deeper than hearing just the words people said.

  Twelve years ago, one afternoon stroll with Colin had changed Marek's life. Colin's too, only Colin didn't know it.

  No. No. Marek closed his eyes and pressed the heels of his hands to his forehead, figh
ting the familiar onslaught of pictures of Payton and his brutalized body. Oh, babe, I wish I could talk to you again. Soon, the images of Marek's lover morphed and became that of a teenage Colin, beaten, sliced open, and left clinging to life behind the restaurant where he worked. Christ, if Colin's boss hadn't come looking for him when he did… Marek shuddered, already knowing the result.

  The whir of the speedboat's engine drew Marek out of himself and put his attention back on Colin as he drove away from the dock. Testosterone, and two and a half years of celibacy, fueled Marek's immediate response to Colin's presence, temporarily overriding his suspicion of the man's sudden appearance in Fiji. Colin had grown and filled out in all the right places since the last time Marek saw him. Always cute and thoughtful, Colin now possessed a lean, strong body and an ingrained sexiness that Marek responded to on a visceral level. I want him. Paranoia crept into Marek's gut almost as quickly as he acknowledged the attraction, killing the erection pushing at his pants.

  What in God's name was Colin doing here, searching for Marek's home?

  Guilt over his many stupid fears and mistakes reared its ugly head, answering Marek's question with brutal honesty. Payback was a bitch. Two men had now paid the price for Marek's macho pride and desperate shame.

  The first had scars, physically for sure, and probably emotionally. That man—Colin—now happened to know where Marek lived.

  The other was back in Pittsburgh, buried six feet in the ground.

  It was time for Marek to pay for his sins.

  Chapter Four

  Colin shot up in bed and ran his hands all around and under the lightweight sheet covering him to the waist, panicking as he searched…for what, he didn't have any idea.

  His heart raced, sweat covered his body, and his mind spun with sheer, unnamed fear. He jumped out of bed and switched on the lamp, bathing the small, tropically decorated room in soft light. He rifled through his bag and shuffled through the clothes hanging in the tiny closet, touching everything he passed, hoping something would trigger an answer and bring about calm.