Atlantis Rising by Alyssa Day Page B

cheeks.
    “And he wasn’t the only one. Those men tonight—if he hadn’t been there . . .”
    Conlan.
    Just thinking his name conjured his face in her mind. Elegant, aristocratic cheekbones. A strong jaw. Lips that must have been sculpted by the most artistic of angels.
    A frisson of heat curled through her abdomen. That kiss. That was . . . something.
    Oh, get over yourself, Riley. Angels , sheesh. It’s not like you haven’t seen beautiful men before.
    “Nobody like him,” she whispered to the darkness of her bedroom. “Never any like him. Never anybody who could step inside my mind.”
    Except Quinn. She and her sister had always been able to share an almost telepathic form of communication. They’d never thought much of it; everybody knew about twin speak. Ten months apart was close enough to be almost twins.
    But never with anybody else. Never a stranger. Never an incredibly gorgeous man who had saved her life—or at the very least, saved her from a hideous assault.
    Conlan.
    Then a voice, gentle but insistent, inside of her mind.
    Yes, I am here.
    Then came his concern, sharp and ferocious. Do you need me? Are you in danger?
    She held a hand up, almost as if she could touch the colorful emotions swirling inside of her. Not her emotions.
    His .
    “Since it’s a dream, I may as well answer you. Because this has to be a dream, doesn’t it? Just a little PTSD to round off my day.” Riley scrubbed tears off her face.
    Yeah. That had to be it. None of it had really happened. Nobody could cause the ocean to act like that. Not even vamps.
    What is PTSD? And why are you lying to yourself? You know I’m real, aknasha. You hear me in your mind. You feel my emotions, although I have no idea how that is even possible.
    Riley laughed. She couldn’t help it. His voice was like cool ocean waves caressing her nerve endings and soothing jagged edges.
    And spiking her calm to excitement in ten seconds flat.
    How was that even possible?
    “Okay, Mr. Figment of My Imagination. What the hell. I’ll go with it. PTSD means post-traumatic stress disorder. Which is what I’ve got going on after Morris nearly shot me to death.”
    She laughed again. “One hell of a case, from the looks of it. I mean, no pink elephants for me. I have to conjure up a drop-dead gorgeous man who can share his thoughts and emotions with me.”
    She stood up and headed for the bathroom. “I’ve gotta have some drugs somewhere. Maybe just a small Valium?”
    Then the fire again, as his emotions darkened. Someone shot at you?
    Low, dangerous. A different kind of shiver caressed her at the stark male command in his voice.
    Not that she was the type to go all tingly over some hunky alpha male. “I’m fine. He’s dead, so get over your ‘I’m the law’ thing.”
    But his voice came again, freezing her in her tracks, something smug and purely masculine in the words.
    You think I’m gorgeous, hmm?
    Riley rolled her eyes. Evidently, even in Hallucination Land men had enormous egos. She wondered idly what else about him was enormous, then caught herself when her face got hot. Don’t go there, Riley.
    Perhaps I am simply a figment of your imagination, he said, shades of reasonableness and amusement tinging his words in her mind. Perhaps you should not look out your window .
    “What?” She ran to the window and yanked her blinds up, staring wildly down at her tiny garden. Four, no five, men stood below, standing in a loose ring around Conlan. She noticed that they were all the size of Conlan, and all dressed in black, before she wrenched her attention to the figure standing alone in the midst of them.
    Looking up at her.
    “Oh, holy crap, it’s you,” she whispered, placing her palms on the window, trapped in his gaze.
    Yes, it is definitely me. If I’m only a figment of your imagination, can the figment say that I’d really appreciate it if you’d . . . rethink . . . your clothing before you show up in front of my men?
    His voice in her mind