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

letting the memory of being here absorb into his pores. The water cresting and retreating at his back invaded his ears, mixing with the screeches and squawks of birds he could not see. The heady fragrance of brightly colored flowers littering the outer edge of jungle greenery mingled in his nasal passages with the pungent strands of giant, leafy trees. Colin looked up, and although the house did not reflect much of the picture in his hundreds of dreams, the draw to touch its walls, to step over its threshold, still guided him to his feet.

I am home.

Crazy. Colin knew this was goddamned fucking crazy, yet he moved across the beach to the sandy walkway, living a world of déjà vu. He made it up the stairs, and sure enough, the porch floor creaked with the weight of his shoe settling down on it. Wishing he could wander around barefoot and truly feel the house under his feet, Colin's first view of the unfinished planks made him glad he'd worn sneakers with his jeans and T-shirt, no matter that he knew the temperature would rise quickly and make him regret not wearing shorts.

Colin reached the unpainted—naked—door and put his hands to it, searching for the warmth. A wave of forlorn despair washed over him at first touch, repelling him physically backward, as if the house threw him off it.

“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