CHAPTER
After one more cautious glance at Jamison’s bedroom door, she hobbled over and leaned against the bedpost.
“Luke!” she whisper-yelled.
He moaned and uttered incomprehensible words.
“Luke!” She grabbed his ankle.
He twisted away from her and his moaning turned to shouts of panic.
“Luke!” She matched his volume and shook his shoulder.
He bolted up, staring at her with wide, vacant eyes.
She noticed, with relief, that he wore boxers.
“What are you?” he demanded.
“Good question,” she said before sitting down beside him. “Are you awake now?”
“What are you doing in here?” he asked as he raked his fingers through his hair.
Not exactly the response a woman trying to seduce a man in his bedroom would want to hear, but she wasn’t a woman trying to seduce a man. She edged away from him, even though a part of her wanted to hold him to stop his trembling. “You were having a nightmare.”
He audibly swallowed and nodded his head.
“Are you okay?”
He hung his head and hunched his shoulders. “No, but I will be.”
“Does this happen often?”
He grunted an indecipherable negative or assent—she didn’t know which.
“Do you want me to stay?”
Again, a noise she couldn’t understand.
“Do you want me to get you anything?”
His trembling abated slightly. “Like what? A therapist?”
She laughed quietly. “I have one of those. Her name is Lauren. You’d like her. Although she doesn’t make midnight calls.”
He glanced out the window. “It’s almost dawn.”
“How can you tell?”
“These dreams…they always happen in the early morning.”
“So they do happen a lot.” She paused. “Do you want to talk about it?”
He shook his head. “I’m supposed to be taking care of you, not the other way around.”
“But I’m fine, other than the twisted ankle, and you’re—”
“Twisted in other ways.”
