Road Rage (11 page)

How wrong she’d been. Whatever she thought they’d shared last night, this morning he’d been scared of her, and tonight he had barred her from reaching him. At first, she hoped it was unintentional, but when she heard his footsteps pad from the bathroom to the living room and saw the light extinguished and heard nothing more, she knew he was avoiding her.

The rejection cut so deep, the pain brought her to her knees. Forehead pressed to the door, she knelt on the cool hardwood. Tears tried to come, but she refused them. She had no one to blame but herself. She’d been too bold. Perhaps with the affection she’d pushed on him while he’d been vulnerable. Definitely with her pathetic attempt at morning-after conversation. Embarrassment made her rock her head against the door. Anger at her miscalculation made her fists clench. She should have been more cautious.

Now he was sleeping somewhere on the other side of this door, where she would be powerless to help him if his nightmares returned.

“Spare him those horrible dreams tonight,” she begged whatever power had brought them together.

But her plea went unanswered. Before long, she heard him begin to whimper. The sound of leather creaking told her he was on his couch and likely thrashing, like she’d seen him do in bed with the nightmare at its worst. Her stomach turned at the thought of him scared or hurting.

“Derek,” she called through the door, desperate to wake him. But he probably wouldn’t have been able to hear her even if he were awake. “Please, wake up! Oh, please,” she added under her breath as she gripped the doorknob and yanked with all her strength. “Please,” she implored again, putting a foot on the doorframe and pulling until her muscles protested and her joints throbbed with pain.

His whimpers changed. One moment they reflected physical pain, the next they were heart wrenching pleas. “Daddy!” he cried. “No! You have to wake up!” Then he sobbed, raw and loud.

She couldn’t stand it. She should be comforting him, telling him it wasn’t real, making sure he didn’t have to face his nightmares alone. The door wouldn’t budge, but if she was a ghost, maybe she could go through it…or under it. It was worth a try.

She shoved her fingers under the door, and willed her body to transform to mist or whatever and slide underneath, following the path of her fingers. But she only bruised her knuckles.

Derek’s suffering tortured her ears. He was only a few yards away, but completely out of reach.

She had an idea.

This morning, she’d turned off his alarm and clicked on the lamp without thinking about it. Those things weren’t on the bed. They were beside the bed. She shouldn’t have been able to affect them. She’d been able to because she’d been on the bed. Maybe if she got on the bed, she stood a chance of waking Derek from his nightmare.

She leaped up on the mattress, and started yelling for him to wake up, pushing her vocal cords to their limit. “It’s only a dream, Derek! It’s not real! Wake up! Wake up!”

When his sobbing continued, she grabbed the heavy brass lamp, yanked the cord from the wall and threw it at the door. The wood shuddered with the direct hit, and the lamp clattered to the floor.

“Wake up!” she yelled one more time, and her voice echoed off the walls.

His crying stopped.

* * * *

Sweat coated Derek from head to toe. His heart thundered in his chest, each beat ripe with the agony of loss. He’d been having the nightmare again, only this time, it had been even more brutal than before–no sweetly-whispered words or gentle caresses to ground him and remind him none of it was real. He’d been at the part where the man he called daddy lay limp on the ground while remorse and rain pummeled him, when something jarred him from the dream. A loud bang.

He reached for the bat he kept by the bed, but his hand didn’t connect with it. He sat up, disoriented.

That’s right, he’d gone to sleep on the couch, too chickenshit to set foot in his room in case there was a ghost inside. A beautiful, sexy, compassionate ghost who had a comforting touch, vulnerable blue eyes, and the softest, sweetest lips imaginable.

What a fool.

He untangled himself from the blanket, peeled off his sweat-soaked t-shirt, and stood with difficulty. The aftereffects of adrenaline made his legs quake. Forcing one foot in front of the other, he reached his bedroom door and threw it open. Something heavy scraped across the floor as the door brushed it aside. Judging by its heft, it must have been his lamp. He swiped a hand over the switch on the wall to turn on the overhead light.

Blinking against the brightness, he focused on the bed. There she was, kneeling on top of his mussed sheets, pressing a bruised hand over her mouth. His dream girl.

His breath rushed out in relief.

She had porcelain pale skin with freckles at the tops of her shoulders. Auburn hair framed her fresh, twenty-something face and fell in waves behind her back. Her dark blue, sleeveless shirt matched the color of her eyes, and the color of his new bedroom curtains. The cuff of her white shorts hugged her ivory thighs a hand’s span from her knees. Her cheeks were pink and shiny with tears. Her eyes swam with concern.

Her hand fell away from her mouth, revealing full, perfect lips. “That was louder than I thought it would be. I’m sorry. I was trying to wake you up. Are you okay?” She bit her lip, insecure. Her gaze wandered down his bare chest, and her eyes grew even wider before snapping back up to meet his.

The shy heat in her eyes chased away the lingering terror of the nightmare. It also made him instantly hard.

He was an idiot for being afraid of this gentle creature. And he’d be a double idiot if he didn’t have her in his arms in the next heartbeat. In two strides, he reached the bed, pulled her to his chest and kissed her.

Sensual fire ignited in his stomach as he mashed his lips against hers.

Her arms went around him, her fingers clinging to the bare skin of his back, and he almost lost his mind.

Lust and a primal urge to possess pushed him to deepen the kiss. With one hand, he cupped her head, holding her in place while he delved into her mouth and took the comfort he’d denied himself by shutting her inside his room.

A horrible thought struck him and he reeled back from the kiss, pulling a moan of protest from her. He snatched up her hands. Both had fresh, red bruises across the knuckles. The joints were swollen and looked painful. He turned her hands over, and her palms were red, too.

“Tell me this isn’t what I think it is.”

“It’s nothing.” She tried to pull her hands from his grasp, but he didn’t let them go.

She’d been banging on the door, trying to get out. Trying to get to him. She’d been so determined she’d injured herself. Because of his cowardice. His throat closed with self-loathing.

“It’s nothing,” she said more forcefully. She twisted her wounded hands out of his and placed them on either side of his jaw. Her hot palms branded his guilt onto his face. “You look exhausted. You didn’t get enough sleep last night, and unless you get back to sleep soon, it’ll be the same tonight. Why don’t you lie down and get some rest? I can watch over you now.”

Her tone wasn’t accusatory, but guilt assaulted him, not just for trapping her in his room tonight, but for last night, too. She’d given him amazing pleasure without asking for anything in return. The sweet, sexy thing had been panting and grinding on top of him, kissing him with hot abandon. That he’d left her like that without returning the sexual favor then treated her the way he had in the morning made him sick to his stomach. And despite it all, she wanted to watch over him so he could get some sleep.

He owed her an apology. And an orgasm. And he wouldn’t waste a single second by going to sleep. If what she’d said this morning was true, he’d only have her until five AM or so. It was almost midnight. That gave him a little more than half the night to make up for what an ass he’d been.

“Don’t worry about me, sweetheart. It’s time for me to give you what you need.” He brushed his knuckles over her smooth cheeks. They were slightly sticky where her tears had dried. Alternating between kisses and swipes of his thumbs, he removed the evidence of her distress.

“I don’t need anything,” she said, and he smiled at the breathy desire in her voice. “Just to know you’re okay.”

“Well, I’m not okay,” he whispered against her lips. Then he kissed her softly. Jesus, he could kiss her all night. Between tender pecks that had their lips clinging with breath-stealing friction, he said, “I have this heavy weight on my conscience, and I’ll never be able to sleep unless I get it off.”

Her eyes drifted closed as her lips joined in the sensual dance. When he gave a little lick to those lush, pillowy lips, her tongue flicked out in answer.

“Get what off?” she asked innocently, her mind clearly wandering from the conversation.

He loved that he could muddle her concentration with a simple kiss. Chuckling, he said, “You’ll see,” and set to righting his many wrongs.

* * * *

Derek’s mouth moved over DG’s, and tingles spread from her center to her fingers and toes. His lips were insistent but mostly closed, his embrace sure but gentle. The kiss was honest and contrite, almost like an apology, and yet the arrogant masculinity that was pure Derek rode underneath. The tenderness of it took her breath away, and the dominance in it ignited her body.

Suddenly, she wasn’t as concerned about his rest as she’d been a few minutes ago. She could think of more productive things for him to do than sleep, such as kissing her some more, and letting her be his dream girl in truth.

He teased her with sensual probes of his tongue, distributing them stingily amidst panty-melting kiss-nips that might be considered chaste, except they made her want to shove him down and ride him hard and fast the rest of the night. The thought made her inner prude blush. She doubted she’d been an aggressive lover in whatever life she’d led before the fog, since her personality seemed to lean toward caution and insecurity. But regardless of who she’d been, as Derek’s tongue teased her, all she could think was,
More! I need more!
And so she took more, or at least tried to.

She parted her lips, inviting him to plunder her mouth. She needed him to help her forget her dread of the fog and her uncertainty in this strange existence. But he pulled away, leaving her high and dry–well, not so dry.

She growled in protest and prepared to force herself on him lest she spontaneously combust, but the look on his face stopped her. It was soft with affection. And pained. What had he been saying before he’d kissed her and destroyed any semblance of intelligent thought? Something about a heavy weight?

“I’m sorry,” he said, lifting her hand to kiss her knuckles.

“Sorry?” she repeated, still dazed from the kiss.

He climbed off the bed and left the room.

“No!” She leaped after him, her body strung tight with panic. She couldn’t bear to become separated from him again.

At her cry, he stopped in the doorway and turned back to the bed.

She bounced off his hard chest. Stumbling back, she caught herself and said, “Sorry. I didn’t mean–”

“Shit. Where’d you go? Are you still here? Please, still be here.” His frantic gaze searched the room. He gripped the doorframe so hard the wood creaked. She was standing right in front of him and he couldn’t see her. Nor had he felt her run into him, apparently.

Somewhat appeased to know he wasn’t running away from her, she hopped back up on the bed.

He instantly pinned her with his gaze. Relief softened his features. “It’s true.” His voice was quiet with wonder. “You really do disappear when you get off the bed.”

“Please don’t leave me.” Seeing evidence of the weirdness might push him too far. “Whatever I did to upset you, I’m sorry.”

He closed the space between them. Gripping her shoulder, he said, “Don’t apologize to me, sweetheart. You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m the asshole. And I’m trying to make it better.” He stepped back from the bed and held out a stop-hand. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back. I promise.” He backed out of the room, imploring her to trust him with sincere brown eyes and a disarming grin.

Seeing him walk away left an empty hole in the pit of her stomach, but she stayed put like he’d asked, finding comfort in the sounds of his footfalls as he moved through the living room and into the kitchen. He was back in less than a minute and had something blue in his hands.

“Ice pack,” he said, climbing on the bed and sitting with his back against the wall, where a headboard would be if he had one. He held out an arm to her, and she wasted no time settling beside him. Her whole body melted with a feeling of peace. Touching him was her heaven. Being separated from him, her hell.