No, she shook her head, it just wasn’t possible. There had to be another explanation. There was no way the picture of her house and that picture of her they found on the guy at the hospital were drawn over three hundred years ago. It was some sort of hoax, it had to be.
With a deep breath, she stood and tucked all the pictures back into the journal, placing them carefully in the box she placed it back on the shelf. There was only one way to get answers—go back to the hospital and ask the guy himself.
Once she made up her mind, it took a surprisingly short amount of time before Olivia was standing in the stranger’s hospital room, staring down at the guy who’d collapsed in front of her car.
She’d worked up quite a head of steam on the drive from her house, but now that she was there, studying his relaxed face while he slept, the anger and frustration drained out of her.
He was beautiful.
Everything had happened so fast the other night she hadn’t really gotten a good look at him, but now, as she stood at his bedside, her fingers twitched with the desire to reach out and trace the lines of his jaw.
His hair was just long enough to curl slightly on the ends and so dark it was almost black. Despite the slight bruising, his skin had a warm tone, not quite golden but maybe lightly tanned, like he spent time out in the sun. Moving closer, she wished she could see what color his eyes were.
He was mostly covered by a sheet and hospital blanket but she could see his bandaged forearm and the IV attached to the back of his hand. Other than that, he didn’t look too worse for wear.
She edged closer to him, and her heartbeat picked up. His lips parted as he took deep, even breaths, and for a moment, she envied him. He looked so peaceful. Even though she didn’t want to, she was starting to feel bad for the guy. No matter how pissed she was at Walcott for blindsiding her with that sketch, she had no right to barge in here and accuse this guy of—well, whatever she was accusing him of. She wasn’t even sure she knew anymore.
She didn’t know what the hell she was doing. Maybe she just needed to get a good night’s sleep and look at the situation tomorrow with fresh eyes. She turned away and took a step back toward the door.
A soft, gravelly voice stopped her. “Wait.”
The voice was low and sleepy, yet it coiled around her gut, causing delicious sensations deep in her belly. Turning toward that appealing voice, she found the guy propped on one arm, awake and staring at her. His eyes were dark, the color of deep, bittersweet chocolate that seemed endless.
She drew in a breath, his gaze giving her butterflies in her belly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”
She moved closer and sat down in the chair next to the bed, bringing her to his eye level. He didn’t feel threatening at all, despite the fact he didn’t speak and just continued to study her face.
“I’m dreaming again,” he finally spoke, giving a resigned sigh.
“Why do you say that?” she asked.
“I see you in my dreams all the time,” he murmured, slowly reaching out his hand toward her face. “But every time I touch you, I wake and I’m alone.”
His voice wrapped around her, and drew her in, making her feel as if she was being woven into a web spun of gold and warmth and need. Before she could register what she was doing, she leaned into his touch. His voice was foreign yet familiar, and something deep down inside her began to stir in recognition.
His fingertips grazed her cheek, and he jolted in surprise. He drew in a sharp breath, his palm gliding along her soft skin to cup the side of her face. “You’re real?” he breathed in wonder.
She pulled back sharply. “I um... I’m sorry I hit you with my car. I mean, I didn’t actually hit you with my car,” Olivia corrected herself. “You were on the road outside my house, and you just collapsed. You really shouldn’t be out in the middle of the road in the middle of the night without adequate lighting, you know. You really could’ve been killed. You were really lucky I managed to stop in time.”
Vaguely aware she’d used “really” three times in the space of about four seconds, Olivia could hear herself rambling like a crazy person. But to her acute embarrassment, she couldn’t stop the flood of random words pouring out of her mouth. He didn’t seem to mind, though. He just watched her, one corner of his mouth curving into an amused smile. He looked at her as if she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“I thought you said you knew me?”
“I do know you,” he replied softly. “I just don’t know your name.”
“Olivia,” she replied after a moment’s hesitation. “My name’s Olivia.”
“Olivia,” he repeated.
“Um, sorry.” She shook her head. “How do you know me?”
“I’ve seen you in my dreams.”
“Okaay.” Her eyes narrowed. “Slightly creepy response.”
“I’m afraid that I am probably not explaining myself very well.”
