Radical (Clandestine Magic #2)

In the beginning, the linked dreams were impossible to distinguish from reality. Now, Beatrix needed only a few seconds to tell the difference. The colors were brighter. No dust, no dirt, presumably because their subconscious minds saw no reason to fill those details in.

And she was lying on Peter’s bed, hair unpinned. That sort of thing was a dead giveaway.

“Beatrix,” he said, leaning over her, voice serious, brow creased, his queue of magic-silvered hair glinting in the low light. “Are you—”

He faltered as she began unbuttoning her dress. He said nothing more as she slowly stripped. He reached out a hand for her but snatched it back and shifted his gaze to a point several feet above her head.