by Jayne Rylon
“We’ll see.” She didn’t plan to drag him through her muck.
“Holy crap, you’re stubborn.” He laughed softly. “What does it say about me that I like that?”
“Someone once told me that being normal means being messed up.” She grinned.
“Very true. Wise man.” He groaned. “Sorry, Brielle. I have to go. My admin is shooting me a death-ray glare for being late to this meeting.”
“Of course. And it’s not like you can pretend to be oblivious with all that glass.” His crystal cavern probably bustled with activity today. She should have realized how busy he was. Taking up his time in the middle of the day… Well, he’d called her, hadn’t he? “Have a good day. Thanks again for the flowers.”
“My pleasure. Truly.” He sighed. “Saturday is a long time from now, isn’t it?”
“An eternity.”
“Call me?” Papers shuffled in the background.
“Maybe.” She couldn’t help but smile at his exasperated growl.
“Complex woman,” he moaned. “Later.”
“Get back to work, Luke. You’re late, remember?” She hung up to the sound of his laughter.
And every time she looked at his flowers, she smiled right back.
Chapter Six
Brielle wondered how long it would be before one of her neighbors complained about her screaming in the middle of the night. She clutched her chest, willing the pounding of her heart to steady some. “I’m okay. I’m safe here. I’m okay.”
Her eyes fluttered closed as she repeated the mantra. It seemed that each night she recovered faster from the terrifying visions that haunted her dreams. A mental picture of Luke, holding her hand and promising to keep her safe, didn’t hurt.
Talking to him earlier had only made her craving for him stronger. The taste hadn’t staved off her hunger. Before she could second-guess herself, she jammed her hand beneath her pillow and retrieved his card—a bit worse for wear since she’d slept on it a few times.
After lunging for her phone, she typed in the digits she’d pretty much memorized anyway. He answered on the first ring, and barely into that, spurring her to assume maybe it was an automated message service instead of his personal line. Damn.
“Shit. Are you pissed? I didn’t think you’d be able to see me.”
“Luke?” She canted her head, trying to make sense of his rambling with the dregs of panic still settling around her.
“Yeah. It’s me, sweetheart,” he crooned. “Are you all right?”
“I think so. Just the usual after-midnight bullshit. I wanted to hear your voice again. To chase away the gloom.” Haziness began to dissipate. “What were you talking about?”
“Look out your window.” He sounded funny. A little nervous.
She crawled from bed and tugged on the edge of the purple botanical sheers she’d made from bargain-bin fabric. They’d come out pretty damn nice, if she said so herself.
After scanning the area below her third-story window, she said, “I don’t see anything.”
“By the oak tree.” A small glimmer caught her attention.
“Is that you?” She gasped. “And is that a lighter?”
“Yep and no, I don’t smoke. It’s a simulation app on my smartphone. I downloaded it the time Kurt and I saw Carrie Underwood in concert.”
“Are you joking?” It was probably best he couldn’t see her expression.
“Nope.” He chuckled. “What? She’s hot and there were tons of pretty girls there. Besides, I like lots of different kinds of music.”
“Me too.” Brielle frowned. “But the only concert I’ve been to so far was the free show the university orchestra gave on the lawn of city hall for Memorial Day.”
“Hey, I was there too. I enjoyed Brahms’ “Symphony No. 1” the most.”
“Me too again. Although the Star Wars theme was a close second.” She giggled.
“I knew you had good taste.” He grunted. “I wish I’d met you that night.”
“I wasn’t ready, Luke.” A grimace reminded her that this hadn’t begun as a social call. “Hell, I might not be now. I’m definitely not a good bet. So…why are you staked out?”
A long pause ensued, spawning some reservations on her part. If she’d only met him at VegVana she’d probably be freaking out to find him lingering this time of night. But now she worried she might have become the doctor’s pity case. Worse, what if he had been thinking of a way to tell her they really lived in separate worlds after the whole award-ceremony rejection?
“I seem to be experiencing some insomnia of my own and thought I’d go for a ride. I guess I just sort of ended up here.”
“I’m not sure if that’s sweet or kind of stalkerish.” She ran her fingers over the perfect seam of her curtains. Gooey insides proclaimed it adorable, despite her false protest. What if she could help his mind rest too?
“Maybe a little of both,” he acknowledged.
“Probably so.” She couldn’t believe how quickly he’d distracted her from the gnawing terror she’d broken free from minutes ago. Usually it was an hour before she stopped shaking so hard her teeth clicked together.
“Are you going to invite me up? Give me a tour?” He sounded so hopeful she couldn’t bear to disappoint him.
“That should take about two-point-three-seven seconds. This isn’t exactly an Italian villa, you know?” She tore around the apartment, ensuring her underwear had all been stuffed completely in the hamper, tossing her half-full glass of water into the sink and fluffing her tangled sheets until they didn’t look as though she’d been wrestling demons in her sleep.
“I’m not a snob, Brielle,” he reminded her. “I don’t give a shit how fancy your apartment is or isn’t. As long as you’re there, that’s what counts.”
“Good thing.” She couldn’t believe she was about to do this. “It’s on the third floor, no elevator. Unit 317.”
“Don’t you have to buzz me in or something?” he wondered.
“Nope. None of that high tech stuff here.” When she reached the door, she slid the chain off the rickety lock. “Not much reason anyway. Most of the residents do all right, but they’re not dripping diamonds.”
“I wish you had a dog, at least. A big one. With a mean bark.” Air puffed between his phrases. He must have taken the stairs two at a time because he reached her far more quickly than she could have made the journey.
Smart on his part, since she’d already begun to reconsider.
Shaky in the aftermath of one of her episodes, she’d have no defenses against his charm. No way to prevent him from running rampant through her private retreat or tending the sprouts of her affection, which grew for him. Suddenly she wished she had a deadbolt for her heart.
“Brielle?” He rapped softly on the door, nudging it open. Broad shoulders encased in a trendy gray coat filled the frame. Her gaze wandered to his chest, where a faded T-shirt with Elembreth University printed in a navy arch hugged his pecs.
“Welcome.” She spread her arms, gesturing to her home. “Make yourself comfortable.”
“Don’t mind if I do.” The sneaky bastard took the opening to insinuate himself into her embrace. He bent down and enfolded her in his arms.
Their hug went on and on, each of them basking in the heat and comfort provided by the other. Luke’s protective grasp squeezed more of the awfulness of her nightmares from her mind, replacing it with something that still ached, but in a much better way.
Roving hands massaged her back, dissolving the knots there.
“You’re trembling, Brielle,” he whispered in her ear, kissing her temple as he retreated. “Are you cold?”
“In here?” She shook her head. Ceiling fans and open windows made it almost bearable. Certainly not chilly.
“Adrenaline will do that.” He appraised the dark circles beneath her eyes. “You sounded so scared when you called. I wish I had come up and knocked when I first got here. Or, hell, I should have asked you to dinner tonight. Maybe
I could have stayed.”
“Presumptuous much?” She raised an eyebrow.
“Uh, now that you mention it, that could have been fun too.” He rubbed against her as if the pressure of not being touched was almost too much to bear. “What I meant is maybe I could have coached you on some methods for shaping the content of your dreams to avoid getting so frightened.”
“Is that really possible?” If she could master a technique like that…everything could be different.
“For some people.” He nodded. “Becca and Kurt uncovered proof during their Dream Machine experiments. They need more data, more testing and more studies to pass academic muster. Still, it seems that certain dreams are expressions of subconscious desires. They stay pure and candid, almost like REM sleep acts as a truth serum. Kurt used Becca as his primary subject to support that body of work.”
“I think I’m still with you.” Brielle adored how animated he became when discussing his job. She wished she had something to be that passionate about.
“But the kind of dreams that happen to a person, as if they’re watching themselves star in a movie, they’re a little different. Kurt and Becca hypothesized that humans are hardwired to run a variety of plausible scenarios to determine possible outcomes in difficult situations. Sort of like the best simulator in the world. They also think that if an event is traumatic enough, the process can break and get stuck on one particular event. Maybe because the person can’t find an acceptable solution. Or maybe something to do with the dreamer waking up before the scenario is finished, in the case of something horrifying.”
“You’re saying dreams are a way for someone to decide what to do in real life?” She scratched her chin, imagining the choose-your-own-adventure books she’d loved to check out of the school’s library to distract her from the world beyond her closet.
“In complex situations, yes, I believe they could be. Or when the nightmare event is historic, I think dreams could be a person’s mind trying to see a way to have done it differently. Some kind of visual regret.” He stroked her hair. “So if you’re having the sort of dreams where you’re stuck in a rut, the same things happening night after night, we could concentrate on changing the outcome.”
“Wow. I love it when you get all nerdy.” She patted his cheek. It was that or burst into tears. There could be a way to end this madness?
Unsure of whether it was her relapse or his presence that spurred her wash of frailty, she allowed herself to lean on him for a few rare seconds. When she stiffened her arms and shoved off his chest, breaking their bond, he didn’t try to trap her close. Although he could have, with one hand tied behind his back.
“When you’re ready, just ask,” he whispered, allowing her to put some space between them.
“So. Yeah.” Nibbling her lip seemed to draw his attention. “This is my combo kitchen and living room. Nothing special.”
“Except that you live here. That’s a huge bonus, as far as I’m concerned.” He ambled toward her pile of sheet music—everything from the Beatles to old church songbooks—collected from flea markets she’d scoured this spring and summer. Maybe someday she could add a piano and teach herself to play it. Next he scanned the milk crates she’d stacked into an artful display. Odds and ends littered the shelves in between them.
The last sale she’d gone to, when the university students moved out for the semester off, had yielded a couple of self-help books she’d splurged on but hadn’t worked up the guts to crack open yet. Luke’s fingers traced the bindings, stopping on one in particular. It was called Healing Touches. “Not to brag, but Kurt and I conducted some studies that appear as documentation in this one.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. I’m sure one of our less successful students couldn’t wait to get rid of his required reading. Looks like it’s in mint condition. Never used.” He shook his head, chuckling. “Too bad for him. A bunch of our better students have used this thing to put the moves on their lab partners.”
“I’ve been procrastinating in reading those books myself. I was afraid that if I tried and nothing worked…”
“Having a possible solution on the shelf in case of emergency is better than having a dusty book written by know-it-alls who can’t fix your problem, right?” His wry grin lit her up inside. Someone who understood her, when had she ever found that before? More rare than an affordable instrument at a rummage sale, he was precious to her. Already.
“It’s a little freakish and sort of nice being around you, Becca and Kurt.” She smiled. “It’s like I hardly have to talk at all.”
“You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” He braceleted her wrist with his fingers and tugged lightly, walking backward until they sank onto her couch. “We can snuggle in silence until you’re settled enough to try hitting the hay again. You need to catch up. How long has your sleep been disturbed?”
“Since my dad… Worse since I left Brad’s.”
“I can’t believe that asshole kicked you out.” Luke’s fingers curled into a fist.
She didn’t bother to correct his assumption.
“Though I’m glad he did. Getting away was the best thing you could have done.”
“I know. Believe me. I wasn’t planning to stay after…” Despite his understanding, she couldn’t bring herself to reveal the full circumstances of her exit yet.
“It’s okay.” He petted her hair, trailing his fingers on to her lower back. Every brush of his hand through the thin cotton separating their skin made her pray for courage. The intimacy of the contact jolted her into motion. She wormed closer. And ended up sitting in his lap, her head resting on his shoulder. He smelled nice, like a summer night, tinged with hints of gasoline and oil from his motorcycle. Warmth and strength surrounded her when he held her in his arms. “Save the hard stuff for Becca.”
“I don’t think so.” The possessiveness in her denial surprised them both. “She’s gotten enough hard stuff from you as far as I’m concerned.”
Luke laughed, his head tilting back to rest on the horrible old-lady floral print of her hand-me-down couch, which the previous tenant hadn’t bothered to lug down the three flights of stairs. The tan column of his neck tempted her to bite him, to mark him in some way. “Okay, not all of the hard stuff. And I was trying to be subtle, you know. Though with you on top of me… Sorry, not a lot of choice there. No room to hide what you do to me.”
“I like it.” She purred, in need of a distraction. It had been forever since she’d wanted a man like this. Not since the early days when she’d regarded Brad as her savior. Was she making the same mistake again or was this special? She had to find out. “C-can I kiss you?”
“That’s supposed to be my question.” He dragged his fingertips along her cheek then her jawbone. “I’m trying not to pressure you.”
“I’ve been thinking about how you taste since Saturday.” She licked her lips, eliciting a groan from him.
“Same goes.” One second he was relaxed and still. The next, he struck. His hands buried in her hair, spearing into the tresses. Luscious waves overflowed the space between his fingers. She’d always liked keeping her hair long. It seemed he appreciated it too. “Does it bother you for me to hold you like this?”
Brielle drew in a deep, steady breath when he guided her face first one way then the other, kissing her cheeks. Unused to a man asking for feedback, she hesitated before responding, “Not really.”
“That sounds too much like a yes for me.” He started to untangle himself from her.
“I meant that I’d much prefer it if you’d hurry up and give me my kiss already.” A boldness she’d never before experienced flourished inside her. Something about Luke encouraged her reckless side to tiptoe out from the deep, dark hole it’d been cowering in for her entire life.
“What the lady wants…” He didn’t bother to finish. Instead, his mouth covered hers, transporting her to a world filled with sensual delights.
The wet heat of his lips brushed against
hers, barely there at first. He increased the intensity little by little. Butterfly kisses became a smoldering attempt to persuade her to open for him. When she complied, his deft tongue sneaked past her teeth, teasing her until soft cries bubbled from her throat. Peppermint chilled and sweetened his advance, tempting her to escalate their exchange from light and lingering to brash and boisterous. Answering groans from Luke encouraged her to peer into his wide, oh-so-blue eyes. From here, she could spot the flecks of silver brightening his irises.
Could she really affect him—a smart, kind, wealthy, funny, sensitive and extra-gorgeous man? She tried it again with similar, if elevated, results.
Finally, the need to breathe overrode her desire and curiosity.
Luke gasped right along with her. They looked like fish out of water. “Brielle.”
It was nearly impossible to answer when he performed an encore, sucking on her bottom lip. A tiny nip capped off the light suction.
After a bit, she managed to pry herself away from him. “Yeah, Luke?”
“You officially have my permission to kiss me whenever the hell you feel like it. As often as you like.” They leaned in simultaneously, meeting in the middle for another round of making out. Had she ever been given a gift as precious as this? She didn’t think so.
Brielle climbed to her knees, straddling Luke, so that every molecule of her body could align more precisely with his. They strained together.
Wonder overwhelmed her.
She indulged in the foreign sensation as long as possible, drawing away only to fill her lungs with air.
He nuzzled their noses together. “You know, one great way to reduce anxiety is by burning it off through physical exertion.”
Hell, it already felt as if she’d run a marathon with no training. Her chest was tight and her breathing ragged. Arms and legs wobbled, shaky and weak. Being vulnerable was not her strong suit. So she fell back on her trusty friend, humor. “You want to try Zumba at this time of night?”
Thick lashes on lowered lids did nothing to disguise the hunger banked in Luke’s stare. After a timeout, he said, “Hmm. You’re right, that’s probably not the best idea. Another good technique is anchoring. An easy way to think about it is that you’re training yourself to associate lying in your bed with good things about to happen instead of bad things. Focus on pleasure, not dread or panic, to break the cycle that you’ve gotten stuck in.”