Buggering hell, he thought again as remnants of the dream—correction:dreams—shuddered through him.
Months. That’s how long it had been since he’d awoken in a pool of sweat, thrashing about as he tried to escape the ghosts of his past.He had hoped that perhaps he might have properlyoutdistanced them. Unfortunately, they appeared to be as keen and inescapable as ever.The rat bastards.
Embarrassment and shame had him running a hand over his face. The growth of his day-old whiskers rasped against the calluses on his palm.
“Hey.” She shook his shoulder as if uncertain he was truly awake. “You were having a nightmare.” Her Chi-Town accent emphasized theAin all herwords, making her sound tough. Which was funny, considering she looked about as dangerous as a baby bunny.
His words were harsher than he meant them to be when he said, “No shit, Sherlock.”
She drew back, taking the smell of her shampoo with her. His heart immediately hurled itself against his rib cage, as if trying to lessen the distance she’d put between them.
She huffed with exasperation,and he knew he should apologize. But the words stuck in his throat. He couldn’t stomach the thought that she’d seen him like that.
So vulnerable.
So exposed.
So…out of control.
“You know”—she didn’t attempt to disguise the venom in her voice—“a normal person would say, ‘Thank you, Emily. Thank you for waking me up before I punched a hole through the bloody wall.’”
She’d donnedan English accent. It was adorable. And total rubbish. She sounded more like a New Zealander than an Englishwoman.
“You’re right,” he admitted. “You’re totally right. I’m sorry. Thank you for waking me.”
His eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and he homed in on the fact that she was wearing a familiar, frayed pullover. Her brown hair was a rumpus of flyaway waves, and her face was scrubbedclean of makeup. Also—and this was ahugealso—she wasn’t wearing a bra. He was quite certain he could make out the subtle jut of her nipples through the thick fabric of her shirt.
Bloody hell.He was staring at her boobs.
Stop staring at her boobs.
Right-oh. Problem was, not staring was a tall order, considering that from the top of Emily’s head to the tips of her unpainted toes,she was beautiful. Not beautiful like all those Hollywood starlets with their fake hair, medically enhanced bodies, and loads of cosmetics, but beautiful in a timeless, effortless way.
Emily’s slim figure was subtly curved. She had a pert nose, big dark eyes, and a lush mouth. If he had to put a label on it, he’d say she possessed an ingenue-esque air. It tended to cause a male stampede anytimeshe walked into a room.
Unfortunately for him, right now she was inhisroom.
Okay. Hold the front page. Given that Emilywasgorgeous and the cause of many a male stampede, you might askwhyhaving her in his room was unfortunate, as opposed to a dream come true.
The answer was simple. Since the day he had met her, she’d made it clear she had no interest in him inthatway. Certainlyshe enjoyed having him on. Taunting him. On a regular basis she took strips from his hide with the sharpness of her tongue. But when it came to nocturnal activities? Well, it was safe to say she was the equivalent of a human stop sign.Do not pass Go. Do not collect two hundred quid.
Masochist that he was, that made him fancy her more. As if to prove the point, his flag had already hoisteditself to half-staff. He wanted to blame his condition on those nipples.Stop staring at her boobs!But walking around with a half-chub was pretty much SOP when Emily was within ten meters of him.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked. Morning’s first tender light chose that moment to filter in through the crack in the curtains. It glowed over her smooth, unblemished skin, highlightedthe beauty mark high on her right cheek, and showed the sympathy in her warm eyes.
“Talk about what?”
“Your nightmare.”
He snorted. “About as much as I’d fancy having my bollocks shaved with a rusty razor blade.”
For a moment she was silent. Then her lips curved at the corners. “Whatever floats your boat.”
A joke. She was trying to tease the tension out of him. Which mighthave worked, had she been anyone else. Had shenothad such a hypnotic smile. He was afraid if he stared at it too long, he’d fall under its spell and be helpless to do anything but its bidding.
Glancing through the slit in the curtains, he eyed the sliver of view beyond. The rising sun cast the beach in a pearlescent glow. Golden rays turned the tops of the waves in the harbor pink and silver.It was a scene from his childhood. Back when his childhood had been…if not brilliant, then at leastbearable. Before it’d become a string of long, lonely days and terrifying nights.
“What time is it?” he asked, trying not to notice how his thigh touched her hip through the fabric of the quilt.
