I can’t breathe! I gasp and try to rip at his arm, but I’m frozen inside my body. I can’t scream, can’t fight, and succumb . . .
“Oh God!” I gulp air and shoot straight up in bed. My body is tangled in the sheets. Sweat dampens my tee, and I smooth back the hair stuck to my face. What the hell . . . another nightmare. They’re so vivid it’s like living through it all over again, but with more clarity.
I reach over to find Blake, to curl up in his arms and let his strength chase away the terror, but my hand hits the pillow. The sheets are cold and I check the clock.
“Four a.m.” He hasn’t been to bed yet?
Last night after I left him and Braeden to their boy talk, I watched TV in bed and talked to Axelle. By the time she went to bed, I could hear the faint guitar sounds coming from Blake’s music room. I wasn’t sure if he was in there with his brother or by himself, but either way I didn’t want to interrupt.
Has he been in there all night?
I push up and slide from the bed, making sure my tee is pulled low just in case Brae is still here. The door to the music room is closed, but not locked. I push it open and hit a wall of dark. Maybe he’s not in here? I flick on the light switch and a soft smile pulls at my lips.
Blake’s asleep on the couch, his arm behind his head, the other resting at his chest, one long powerful leg cocked and leaning against the back of the couch while the other hangs off the side. The sofa looks tiny in comparison to his huge body.
With timid steps so that I don’t wake him, I move to the edge of the couch and squat down close to watch him sleep. He seems so innocent now. No cocky grin or sexy dirty talk sliding from those lips. No, now they carry innocence. Full, kissable, and parted slightly as he breathes deeply. His eyes, usually full of mischief and insinuation are now closed, long dark eyelashes splayed across his olive-skinned cheeks. He’s so handsome it almost hurts.
I take a second to consider what parts of him our baby will get. Boy or girl, it doesn’t matter. He or she will be beautiful carrying his genes. A slow sigh falls from my lips, and I bite my lip to avoid any other noise that might wake him. He remains still, his breathing steady.
Unable to keep from touching him, I trace his full lower lip with my fingertips and moan as the simple act unfurls a flurry of desire to feel his lips on me. So soft—he shifts slightly and I hear the sound of crinkling paper. Leaning in, I see the corner of an email peeking up from between his body and the back cushion of the couch.
I pull on it, eyes squinting since I’m not wearing my glasses, and read the subject. “Anonymous inquiry into birth records.”
His hand shoots out, grabs my wrist, and yanks hard.
“Ow!” I let go of the paper.
His eyes fly open. “Shit!” Stunned, he drops my arm and throws both hands into the air. “Fuck, Mouse, are you okay?” He moves to touch me, but something he sees in my expression makes him recoil.
“I’m okay. I am.” I force a nervous laugh. “Just scared me, but I’m fine.” That fucking dream!
“No, it’s not okay. You look scared out of your damn mind. What did I do?” He blinks through sleep-fogged eyes, but I can hear the self-hatred in his voice.
I lean in and grab his face, forcing his eyes to mine. “You didn’t do anything. I had a bad dream. I was already shaky, and then I snuck up on you.”
“I hurt you.”
“No, you just spooked me.” I lean in and drop a soft kiss on his lips. “I shouldn’t have messed with you in your sleep.”
Shame washes over his expression, and I hate myself for making him feel bad. “Damn, I was out of it.”
“You needed your sleep.” My eyes dart to the paper that’s wedged between Blake and the couch. “What is that?”
His body tenses. “Hm?”
“That paper?” I motion to it with a nod.
“Oh, um . . .” He reaches over, pulls it out, and rather than showing it to me, he folds it up and shoves it into his pocket. “It’s nothing, just some leftover ends to tie up with my adopting Axelle.”
I stare at him, waiting for him to meet my eyes, but he doesn’t. I have no reason to doubt him, but something doesn’t feel right. I slide a strand of my hair between two fingers and twirl. “What kind of leftover ends? I thought it was all pretty cut and dry.” He doesn’t answer, and panic speeds my breathing. “Blake?”
He exhales hard and drops his head. “Dammit . . . fuck.”
My nerves, already shot from my nightmare and jumpy from waking Blake, vibrate with panic at the defeat I hear in his voice. “What?”
He rubs his eyes with one hand. “I was hoping . . . shit.”
I crawl up onto the couch, and he shifts to sit up next to me. “What the hell is going on, Blake?” My stomach somersaults.
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the paper then sets his worried eyes on mine. “I was hoping to keep this from you until I figured out what it means.”
My eyes widen. “Blake, you can’t keep anything from me, especially if it’s about Axelle!”