Dreaming in Color by Cameron Dane (autobiographies to read .TXT) 📕

fingers into his overlong hair. The earnestness in Colin's eyes held Marek in its hold, though, compelling him to respond. “Shit. I don't even fall asleep for long enough to have dreams most nights, if you want the truth.”

“Okay, then maybe it really is about your house.” Colin shuffled through the sand and stood at the foot of the path, his arms crossed against his chest. He looked up at Marek's home, studying it like a specimen…or a person. “Maybe it's haunted. Are you aware of its history?”

“I've never seen any ghosts or heard any noises I can't explain. Other than that, I don't know anything about it except that I moved into it two years ago.”

Colin nodded. “Right when I started having the dreams.” Shifting, he put his attention on Marek. “See? That's the part that keeps making me think you must have something to do with them.” Colin smiled like a guilty kid caught doing something forbidden. “That and all the sex with the man who owns it, of course.”

Noting every hard, sinewy line that made up Colin's body, Marek nearly groaned just thinking about the man's dreams. “I think I'd remember having sex with you.”

The tips of Colin's ears burned with red, and he turned away, back to the house. “Thank you,” he murmured. “I think. Anyway, I did some research yesterday—”

Marek swung Colin to face him as a very different kind of fire burned a line straight through him. “You investigated me?” A band squeezed at his chest, reigniting suspicion. Maybe he really is here for money. “You had no goddamned right.”

Colin reared and grabbed his stomach, making Marek feel as if he had kicked the man. “I didn't do a background check on you, Marek; I investigated the history of this house. I would never violate your privacy by researching you. Although, just so you don't think I'm deliberately misleading you—because you seem hell-bent on not trusting me—I am a partner in a private investigation firm. If I wanted to find out about you, it wouldn't be that hard to do it.” Righteous indignation fueled his gaze. “I won't though. It's not my style.”

“Why should I trust you?” Defensiveness laced Marek's voice. “I haven't had any contact with you since I was a teenager, and it's not like we were tight back then anyway. I don't know you anymore.”

Stepping in, Colin opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He pursed his lips, swore under his breath, and eventually looked at Marek with a softer gaze. “You're right; you don't. I apologize. I get that you have reason to be suspicious of my sudden appearance and strange claims.” Colin linked his hands behind his neck and started to pace, pausing to glance at Marek each time he passed in front of him. “I know this is weird for you. It's weird for me too. I feel like I know you, and so I talk to you and treat you in a manner that probably feels too familiar for your comfort. All I can say is that I'm not doing it to keep you off balance.” He finally stopped and offered a small smile. “I do it because I feel safe and comfortable with you, whether it's actually smart of me or not.”

“Do we talk in your dreams?” Marek asked, curiosity winning out over his hundred misgivings. “Like have sit-down, all-out conversations, to where you think you know personal stuff about me?”

“Not exactly. Look, can we go relax on the beach and have this conversation in a way that feels less…I don't know…like we're adversaries?” Colin's gaze drifted to the water and held there with a stare Marek could only describe as longing. “I don't want to be that with you.”

Watching Colin stirred something long gone rusty in Marek, something simple and pure, something that made him want to see another man smile. Colin smile. Because of Marek.

“Sure,” Marek finally answered and prayed he wasn't helping this man lead him right into a trap. “Let's go sit down. I'd like to hear what you have to say.”

“Great,” Colin said. His entire face lit up, sucker punching Marek with pure, gut attraction. Colin started walking toward the dock and their towels; Marek kept up the fast pace beside him. “I'm hoping you'll have some insight or even just a theory or two. I walk around with this awareness of you and this house living inside me every day, but I've only told one person—my best friend Jordan—and I didn't even tell her the depth of them. I'm not an idiot.” Colin kneeled down, grabbed his towel, and walked backward toward the beach, slowing his pace while Marek hustled a dozen more feet down the planks to grab his. “I know how crazy I sound,” he said, as soon as Marek caught back up, “and I knew people would tell me the same if they knew.”

Sympathy tugged at Marek, even though he still wasn't sure he believed Colin. “Afraid they would lock you away?”

Colin shook his head and looked down, busying himself with laying his towel flat in the sand. “Not so much that. I just didn't want anyone to convince me I wasn't really experiencing them the way I knew I was,” he murmured. “I was afraid if I did the dreams would stop. I didn't want them to stop.” Colin lifted his stare off the ground, and the vulnerability visible on his face, in his eyes, stole Marek's breath away. “I didn't want you, or this place, to go away.”

Oh Jesus. Marek's limbs trembled, making him grateful to sit down. Maybe Colin is certifiable, but every word he's speaking is the truth. I can see it. I can feel it. Oh fuck.

“Tell me.” Marek's voice held a rough whisper it its grip. “Tell me what I say. Tell me why you care.”

“It's not what you say.” Colin sat down, facing Marek, and drew his knees up to his chest. “You don't talk much, but neither do I,