She slipped back under the covers as silently as she could and closed her eyes. It would be best to look like she was asleep when he came out. She couldn’t hear any more noises, but the silence only egged on her imagination.
Was he really masturbating in the shower? She remembered the hard bulge of his erection pressing against her. Yep, he was definitely relieving some pressure. The idea of him naked under the spray of water made her clench the sheets in her hands. What did he look like? Was he tan or pale? Which hand was he using? Both? Did he stroke quickly or slowly? Roughly or gently?
Was he thinking about her? She felt a coil of heat between her legs, reminding her of being pressed against the wall by Cadan’s hard body.
She began to glide her hand down her stomach to the sensitive flesh between her thighs. Her skin was soft under her fingertips, and in just a few short minutes the dreadful pressure and want would be gone. She’d become quite proficient over the years.
The sound of the shower turning off had her cursing softly and withdrawing her hand. He would be out any minute, and there was no time for her to take the edge off like he had. Maybe it had been a bad idea to stop him earlier.
She’d only lain there a moment when the bathroom door creaked open. Too curious to resist, she lifted one eyelash infinitesimally. Cadan walked out of the darkened bathroom, rubbing a towel against his hair.
She swallowed hard. He was dressed only in tight, black boxer briefs. The snug cotton concealed nothing, and his semi-erect shaft still pushed against the fabric. She dragged her gaze away from the enticing sight, taking in the rigid muscles of his abdomen and the broad planes of his pectoral muscles. He had those muscles along the sides of his stomach, the ones that led down his pelvis like an arrow. This way, they said.
The arm holding the towel flexed, showing off a bicep that could surely lift her off the ground. She pursed her lips. She wouldn’t make a peep.
But it was close. Her eyes were drawn back down, and after one wistful glance at his tight briefs, she took in strong, bulging thighs and sculpted calves. He looked like a damn Calvin Klein underwear model, but with a man’s muscles from work rather than built in the gym.
She’d clearly lost her mind. Of all the thoughts she should be occupying her brain with right now, that wasn’t one of them.
Moonlight filtering in through lace curtains highlighted the muscles of his back, which were sculpted like those of a Greek statue. She’d never been particularly interested in Greek art or history before, but perhaps she’d better look into it a little more.
She couldn’t look away as he pulled on a pair of jeans and dragged the chair over to the window. After sinking into it, he gazed out into the night, his eyes intense. But when weren’t his eyes intense?
God, she would be so embarrassed if someone could read her mind. She’d never dedicated this much synapse activity to a mere man before. It was beyond embarrassing.
But he wasn’t just any man, and it would be so easy to roll over and crook her finger at him.
***
A sharp cry broke through the early dawn stillness. Cadan sat bolt upright in the chair by the window and was at Diana’s side in seconds. She tossed weakly in her sleep, her face twisted with fear. A terrible trapped-animal noise came from her throat.
“Let go,” she cried.
Her fist made contact with the side of his head when he tried to keep her from thrashing. Definitely a nightmare.
Cadan gently gripped her shoulders and shook her lightly. “Diana, wake up.”
She thrashed, trying to lash out again. His hand trembled as he stroked her head. What was she dreaming of that terrified her so much?
“Please, lassie, wake up.” When she did nothing, he shook her again, slightly harder this time.
Diana gasped, and her eyes flew open in confusion. “What happened? Where am I?”
“Shhh, shhh.” He gathered her into his arms. “It’s all right. You just had a nightmare.”
She trembled in his arms. She seemed smaller than she ever had, and protectiveness welled within him, which turned to panic when she started to cry.
“Come on now, lassie, what is it? Doona cry.”
She began to gasp through her sobs.
Oh, shite. He didn’t know how to make this better, so he cradled her and stroked her hair. He’d do anything to keep her safe. But how was he supposed to protect her from dreams?
He sat up and gathered her closer to him, tucking her head underneath his chin. It felt so right to hold her. “It was a dream about your past.” There was no question in his mind.
“Yes,” she said, hiccupping, exhaustion tingeing her voice.
“Tell me about it.” He hoped dread didn’t color his. He couldn’t stifle the fear of what she might have dreamed. “Why were you upset?”
“I was her again, but I wasn’t dying this time. I’ve always been dying in the dream. I’ve felt everything—the pain, the horror—and I thought that was the worst feeling in the world. But I was wrong.”