Summer's Desire (22 page)

"It had been nearly four years
since your last nightmare," he repeats huskily. But his eyes slide away,
and so I know he's hiding something.

I point out, "They were four years
during which we never once slept apart. Because we
both thought that we
knew what would happen if we did sleep apart, and
you
in particular didn't
want to take the risk. So why then did you suddenly believe, after we were no
longer together, that my nightmares were gone for good?"

"Sunny,
don't
!" he grits
out.

"Why, Seth?"

"Because I wanted to believe
it!" he erupts in a fierce explosion of misery and remorse. "Because
after you left I spent weeks and months waking up every night in a cold sweat,
with your screams ringing in my ears like the first time I heard you having a
nightmare. I'd wake up reaching for you—to hold you and tell you that you were
safe, you were with me—but I'd only find emptiness." His eyes regard me
wildly, and his arms are like steel bands around my middle. "I was going insane
thinking that you had to live through that torment alone, when I was too far
away and too damn powerless to help you. Powerless to hold you."

But he's holding me now. And almost as
if trying to make sure that I am, in fact, real and here with him, his big hands
rise from my waist, touching me possessively, traveling up my back, reaching my
shoulder blades—and there they stop, palms spread, holding me caged to him. The
path his hands have forged on my body, even through my T-shirt, is like a
burning trail of sensation, and I barely choke back a moan.

But I can't help the croaky sound of my
voice when I tell him, "I'm sorry, Seth," and I can't stop the slight
tremble of my hand as I raise it to curl around his neck in a soothing caress.
"I'm so sorry you worried so much."

His beautiful blue eyes burn brighter
still with anguish. "Don't comfort me, Sunny. I don't deserve it."

"Seth—"

"Do you know why I could convince
myself that you weren't having nightmares anymore?" His voice is gruff
with... shame? "Not only because I
wanted
it to be true or else go
insane with worry. But because, far as I knew, you never tried to contact me. And
I thought that, if you'd still been having nightmares, you would've looked for
me no matter what."

"Wh—?" 

"Because you would've needed me to sleep,
if for no other reason." His voice vibrates with sorrow and self-loathing.

I'm frozen with dismay.

But he looks so forlorn, so ashamed of himself,
that I can't be angry with him. Our forced separation messed with both of our
minds, made both of us doubt each other's true feelings.

My body, so rigid a moment earlier,
relaxes again in his arms. "Seth, I always needed you for many, many
reasons. And my being able to sleep because of you was never one of them."
His brow furrows in uncertainty, but the new, hopeful light in his eyes betrays
how very much he wants to believe me. I let him see my utter sincerity. "Peaceful
sleep couldn't be a
reason
for my needing you, Seth—it was always an
effect
of my feelings for you.

"The first time you ever spoke to
me, you told me, 'You're safe here'—I'll never forget that—and what I heard was,
'You're safe here, with me.' And I felt those words to my very soul, and I
trusted them. I trusted
you
, and ever since, I've felt this bond between
us that's always given me a sense of complete security. So I've always known
that it's our bond protecting me from nightmares when I'm with you.

"But Seth, this bond could only exist
because I
chose
you first." I look up at him, blushing and self-conscious
at my revealing confession. "Believe me?"

His lips twist into a rueful smile, and
he nods. "Yes, please."

I exhale in relief. "I'm just
grateful that you chose me as well. And so with you, there's no room left for
nightmares. Last night..." A note of reverence suffuses my tone. "There
really are no words to explain what it meant to me, being able to go to sleep
in your arms again, feeling safe and protected and... at home. I haven't had a
home in five years." And darn it all to heck and back, now I'm crying
again!

His eyes mirror my pain, and abruptly, he
lowers his face to mine and kisses my cheeks below my eyes, kisses my tears
away. I'm so startled, I immediately stop crying. I feel his sweet breath on me,
and his soft lips quivering against my skin.

"I was so damn worried after you
left," he murmurs, "then it was even worse when I didn't get any word
from you. I kept thinking about you, my head torn with a million questions. Were
you sleeping well? Were you fine, away from me? Did you really not need me
anymore?"

He raises his head again, and his deep
blue eyes consume me. They're completely focused on me, as if it was me alone
who mattered in his world. I fight to push back my lusting thoughts, but this
is definitely getting harder to do each time.

So I reopen the worst possible
subject—one that's guaranteed to break the spell. "You asked me why I
moved around so much in foster care. Well, the nightmares... sometimes they made
me scream in my sleep. You know, as I used to..." And by his grimly
darkening face, it's clear that he really does remember far too well. And yet
he actually only heard my nightmare-induced cries twice: when I first moved
into his house, before I started to sleep in his bed.

The anxious face of the seven-year-old
Seth from my memories merges with the just as anxious face of the mature Seth
that's before me now, and I look at him, overwhelmed with tenderness.

Then I clear my throat and admit, "My
screaming incidents are behind most of the lost placements. After a couple of times
of me terrifying my fosters awake in the dead of the night, they can't wait to
get me out of their houses. They think I'm crazy," I confess, full of
shame.

"Then they're small-minded and
stupid!" he defends, furious on my behalf. "You're perfectly sane!"

"But there
is
something
wrong with me, Seth! Normal people don't have the kind of issues with which I
have to deal! And I want to be normal too, but I don't know how to fix myself. Even
the psychiatrists I saw figured that I was a lost cause. Nothing can help me."

"
I
can!" he contradicts
fiercely. "I'll always be with you now, and you can be perfect just as you
are."

I can be perfect just as I am?
Really, only
Seth could tell me something this soul-shattering and sweet!

"You'll be my cure-for-all?" I
tease with a forced smile.

"Yes." The way he tells it,
strong and confident, it sounds like a vow.

"And you'll always be with me?"
I whisper, even though I know that's impossible.

"Yes, Sunny, I will." This,
too, sounds like a vow.

Chapter 16

For the second morning in a row, I wake
up nestled against Seth's warm body. My head is pillowed on his hard, naked
chest, and his arms are wrapped around me. His right hand has slipped below my
T-shirt at the small of my back and is playing softly on my skin.

His touch burns me like sweet fire, and I
become aware of his morning arousal pressing against my thigh. Flames burst to
life low in my belly, and all of a sudden I want more: more of his touch, more
of this sensual burn, more of Seth! God, this boy is driving me crazy, making me
wild in ways I never imagined!

I cuddle closer into him, stretching
like a cat, and he knows I'm awake now and chuckles. Smoothly, he rolls us in
bed and rises above me, and my legs part instinctively to make room for him. I
feel his arousal coming to rest between my thighs and can't stop an involuntary
quiver. My eyes fly open and connect with his heated gaze.

He gives me a sizzling smile. "You're
happy this morning?"

An answering grin lights up my face. "I
truly am." It's heaven waking up next to him, cosseted in his embrace. And
the side-effect of waking up
rested
, after a full night's sleep, is a more
precious gift than I could ever describe.

Last night, when he told me that he
would always be with me, vibrant joy surged through me and the last shadows of the
past fell away. Just yesterday morning, I had been thinking dejectedly that, no
matter what Seth did, he could never unbreak his promises, or undo the past, or
erase my grief.

But then last night he gave me a
miracle.

He fulfilled his promise to me that we
would find our way back to each other. He undid my wrong perception of the
past, freeing me from the burden I had carried all this time thinking that he'd
betrayed me. Finally, he healed my grief by gifting me with pure joy instead.

Soon after, my exhaustion got the better
of me, so he carried me to bed and then lay down beside me. I fell asleep entangled
with him, my last thought being that, after five years of living all alone in
the world, I was finally back where I belonged. I was back
home
.

And here we are now, molded to each
other, staring into each other's eyes, lost in each other. In my chest, my
heart beats whole and strong once again.

He brings his right hand slowly to my
face. His gentle fingers caress my forehead, trace my left eyebrow, then glide softly
down my cheek toward my lips. My skin flares in the wake of his sensual touch. His
eyes, so blue and fathomless, radiate heat. An inferno of passion glows in them,
and suddenly... I know.

He wants me too.

The realization hits me with the
strength of a lightning bolt. Maybe his erection I'm cradling below my belly is
for me, after all—not just an inherent morning reaction. I feel giddy.

No! Not giddy, that's bad.
Bad!
I
give myself a mental shake, then add a hefty slap for good measure.

We absolutely
cannot
go there!
He's a player and I'm not. From all the school gossip I've heard these past two
weeks it's obvious that sex doesn't hold the meaning for him that it would for
me, and so it would ruin our relationship. No way in hell will I allow that to
happen! I need him in my life, and I will
not
risk losing him on account
of a carnal affair... Even if having all his lethal hotness focused on me right
now has pushed my body into whimpering meltdown.

Feigning nonchalance (very badly, I
fear), I demand with a grin, "Get off of me, captain. I need to go to the
bathroom."

He raises an eyebrow, looking at me oddly;
he must have heard something in my voice. Gosh darn it, I really can't lie to
him worth a damn!

Still, after a moment he lifts himself
from me—but only slightly, only just enough that I can barely squirm from under
him. In which process I unavoidably end up rubbing myself against him
all
over
. Oh, sweet mercy, this boy is wicked! By the time I've managed to
wriggle from under him, I'm so hot I think water would evaporate instantly on
contact with my skin.

As swiftly as I can (and without
glancing back), I escape from the room.

* * *

After I use the bathroom facilities and
brush my teeth, I head for the kitchen area where he's already making
breakfast.

His back is turned to me, and on hearing
me he tells me over his shoulder, "I hope toast and bacon are all right. I
haven't gone shopping recently, so there's really not much else in the
apartment." He doesn't wait for my reply before turning back to the frying
bacon, and that's really fortunate given that my vocal cords seem to be incapable
of producing any intelligible sounds just now.

He's put on a pair of blue sweatpants, and
they're hanging low from his hips and molding his perfect butt in a way that
makes me weak in the legs. But that's all he's put on—his torso is naked, and I
have a full, first-row view of his fantastic bare back.

His broad, powerful shoulders taper to a
leanly sculpted waist and narrow hips. His skin is bronze and sleek, stretching
tautly over delicious, well-defined muscles. Dear heavens, he looks gorgeous,
and so eminently lickable that it's a good thing I'm too woozy to move, or I'd
probably jump him and devour him like chocolate!

Which would be a very natural reaction,
I assure myself. After all, how could I (or any living and breathing woman,
really?) in all fairness be expected to show restraint when confronted with
Seth's glorious bareness for the first time?

I mean, I know that I've already spent
two nights in his arms, and he only wore boxer shorts to bed, so I've already
felt and touched his naked torso (as much as I reasonably
could
, which didn't
come even close to how much I unreasonably
wanted
). But this is the
first time that I've had a chance to properly
see
the aforementioned
torso.

In bed, Seth was plastered to me the
entire time, restricting my visual field, and both times when I got out of bed
I was on fire for him, so I didn't look back. I just raced out of the room as
if the hounds of hell were on my heels. Which they were, figuratively speaking.
If I were to give in to my blazing attraction to Seth, that journey could only
ever end in hell—for that is what losing him would mean to me: hell on earth.