“Sure. Let me show you where I keep all the packets.” I sent Adam an apologetic glance. “Sorry — this’ll just take a minute —”
“It’s okay,” he broke in. “Like you said, you’ve had a long day. I should just let you relax for a while. We can talk tomorrow.” He bent down and kissed me quickly on the cheek. Then, without looking over at Kirby, he headed out to the hallway. A few seconds later, I heard the front door open and shut.
Kirby quirked a questioning brow at me.
“Every girl needs a back-up plan,” I protested.
At once he raised both his hands. “Hey, man, I don’t judge.”
I couldn’t help grinning. “Let me show you where everything is.”
The next few minutes were spent giving Kirby a rundown on how the coffeemaker worked, and where I kept all the supplies in the pantry. As I handed him some mugs, I had to stifle a yawn.
“You look like you’re the one who needs some coffee.”
I realized then how tired I really was. The wine, although great at the time, might not have been such a good idea after all. “I think I’m going to head upstairs and read in bed for a while. I’m too tired to even deal with watching TV. So you guys can have the family room. I’ll just clear up the plates and glasses and stuff.”
“No need. I’ll do it,” Kirby offered.
“You guys are here as my bodyguards, not my maid service.”
“It’s cool. I can tell you’re wiped out. Just go to bed.”
I shot him a grateful smile. “Thanks, Kirby.”
And so I dragged myself up the stairs, wondering if I’d even be able to keep my eyes open long enough to read a chapter. It wasn’t all that late, but it felt as if a century had passed since we set out in the van that morning. Well, a lot had changed in those intervening hours. But I stopped there. I didn’t want to dwell on what had passed between Adam and me. Maybe I’d have the energy to sort that out in the morning.
For now, I only wanted to put this day behind me.
14
The Space Between
After a gap of weeks, he entered my dreams again that night. It was different this time, though; I lay in my own bed, but he was there next to me, his arms warm around me, my back against his chest. I leaned into him and breathed in the warm scent of his skin and felt his heavy hair brush against my cheek as he held me, even as I ached for him to turn around so he could kiss me.
Or should I kiss him? But I’d just kissed Adam earlier, told him we would be together. Now that I’d made that commitment, my dream man had suddenly decided to return? Was my unconscious trying to tell me that I’d made a huge mistake?
My dream mind was just as muddled as my waking one, apparently. In the darkness the stranger reached up and pushed my hair away from my face.
His voice was a whisper against my skin. “You need to wait for me.”
“I have been,” I told him, trying not to sound accusatory. How much longer could he possibly expect me to wait? Time was running out.
“Soon,” he said, still in that whisper which revealed nothing of what his true speaking voice must sound like. Then he took me by the shoulders and gently turned me to face him. It was still too dark to see anything, but I knew he was there, knew he was scant inches away.
Would a dream-kiss mean the same thing as a real one?
I held my breath, waiting for the touch of mouth to mouth that I’d anticipated for so long. Finally his lips brushed against mine. They weren’t warm, though, but cold, and the eyes staring at me were not deep green, but black, black as jet, glittering and cruel. He forced my mouth open with his tongue, made me taste him, and though I struggled, I couldn’t seem to summon one spell to defend myself, do one thing to keep him from taking me as he’d planned to all along. Then he was pushing me down against the pillows, icy fingers digging into my flesh as I writhed beneath him, desperately trying to free myself.
The room blared with light. “Angela!”
Kirby’s voice. I blinked and saw him standing in the door to my room, with Efraim Willendale and my cousin Rosemary crowding behind him.
“You were screaming,” Kirby said. His tone was matter-of-fact enough, but he was frowning. “Are you all right?”
“Just a nightmare,” I told him. Of course that’s all it was. Not surprising, I supposed, after my run-in with Damon Wilcox earlier that day. Even so, I couldn’t help reaching out and running a hand over the bedclothes next to me. They were relatively flat and unrumpled, my paperback still lying where I’d dropped it when I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer. No one had been there.