Complete confusion overwhelmed me and I wondered if I had dreamt the entire night; but the ache in my hips and the pressure in my bladder told me otherwise. Still, I had to ask.
“Was... did...” I couldn’t articulate and I met Damian’s gaze. “Did we...”
He grinned and the blush heightened in his cheeks and then his smile faded, worry replacing it. “You thought that was part of your nightmare?”
My mouth opened to speak and then I closed it, wondering exactly what I was going to say.
“I... I’m sorry,” he whispered, coming to the wrong conclusion.
“Don’t apologize, you were...beyond fantastic, it’s just, you’ve never been like that before,” I started and saw the flare of hurt pass over his face. He shifted the covers and dropped his gaze.
“I dreamt Lucifer had somehow possessed you,” I said and his eyes snapped to mine. I offered a shrug in my defense. “And you were so... so different than you usually are that I thought...”
“Jesus,” he muttered and ran his hands through his hair, the horror of it all reflecting in his face.
“Yeah, it was bizarre,” I said and slipped out of bed, heading for the bathroom to relieve myself. I grabbed a nightgown on my way by the dresser to dilute the discomfort of being exposed. When I came back out, Damian had straightened the covers and sat with his arms crossed and that brooding expression that I immediately recognized.
He was getting more irritated by the second and he met my gaze when I slipped into the bed.
“How can you even think that?” he snapped, taking me by surprised.
“Look, in the dream I saw something out the window that caught my attention. It was Lucifer and he was outside the fence smoking a cigarette like they do in the old movies, you know, after fucking around. And you, you sat up with that same shit-eating grin and asked me how I liked dancing with the devil.”
Damian blinked and his eyebrows rose.
“Then I woke up screaming.”
Damian’s gaze moved past me to the window and back and the tightness in his jaw softened. “I can assure you, that was all me.” He blushed.
“But Lucifer was the one who brought out the beast in you,” I said.
His gaze dropped to his hands and he took a deep breath as he analyzed my comment and his head started shaking back and forth. “No. Lucifer had nothing to do with my behavior tonight.” He turned his glance toward me. “You had everything to do with it. I’ll concede that my anger may have made me a bit more callous than usual, or a bit less inhibited, but you’re the one who drives me insane.” A dimple appeared. “In the best way possible,” he added.
Chapter 7 - Naomi
The morning sun drenched the bedroom and I blinked, rolling away from the open curtains. Damian’s side of the bed was empty and I pushed myself up into a sitting position. My stomach decided that wasn’t the brightest thing to do and I clamped my hand over my mouth, running to the bathroom as the bile crawled up my throat.
I did not like this side effect of pregnancy. Dealing with an unsettled stomach close to twenty-four hours a day sucked. Exhaustion I could deal with, but this, this was a royal pain. I spit in the toilet and climbed to my feet, flushing before washing the nasty taste from my mouth. I wrapped a warm bathrobe around my body and headed into the living room.
Damian looked up from his position on the couch, his computer propped on his lap and a pencil sticking out of both sides of his mouth. Papers and a yellow pad lay across the couch and I smiled. He pulled the pencil from between his teeth.
“Hey, how are you feeling?”
“Eh. What are you doing?” I waved toward the mess.
“I figured I’d try to get most of the time I promised to Kevin.” He glanced at his watch and stretched.
“How long have you been at it?”
“A little over three hours and I only have another forty-five minutes before the auto-transport company is due to arrive.”
I glanced at the clock. “You got up at five?”
“I couldn’t get back to sleep,” he said, folding the computer and putting it on the table. He started to arrange the paperwork into a neat pile and then set it on top of his computer before he finally met my stare.
When he didn’t offer an explanation, I shrugged and asked, “Why not?”
He stood and retreated to the kitchen and I followed. After he popped a couple of pieces of bread in the toaster, he turned, leaning on the counter behind him.
“The more I thought about it, the angrier I got,” he said.
My mouth went dry and I wasn’t sure I wanted to know, but I asked anyway. “Thought about what?”
“Everything.” He didn’t continue right away, instead he focused on buttering the toast and bringing it to the table, setting it in front of the chair I stood behind. “I’m pissed that we’re pawns in their fucking game,” he said and sat down.