She reached inside and tugged the microphone for the CB. Thank God it still worked. She put out a call for help, then rubbed her mouth and glanced over at Mac again. He hadn’t moved out of the muddy ditch, though he was on his feet now. The rain had lessened considerably and the hail had stopped, but he still looked like he was being shelled by the storm. A haunted gleam had hollowed his eyes. Deep lines of pensiveness grooved his face. He was standing only a few feet away, but he was not here.
A chasing crew pulled up and she refocused on getting the car freed. Within minutes, their Jeep had winched the SUV out of the mud. As they drove into town, soaked, muddy, and shaken, no one spoke.
In the six years of chasing, that was the closest encounter she’d had with a tornado. With the unpredictability of weather, she’d had close calls before, but nothing like this. She glanced into the backseat. Mac was staring out the window, just as distant as before. He hadn’t spoken a word since he’d asked why she was bleeding.
She had a sinking feeling that coming on this chase was not going to help him. She feared it was just going to make everything worse.
A low moan made Gayle’s eyes snap open and she sat up in bed. Mac was thrashing on the other bed, his sheets tangled around his legs. She shoved aside her covers and rushed to his side.
“Mac,” she whispered.
His body immediately calmed, and she breathed a sigh of relief. A quick glance at the clock showed it was a quarter after three. It had taken time for his unconscious mind to gather up the energy to torment him. They’d been in bed for hours.
After grabbing a pizza and getting the motel rooms, she’d just looked at Mac and said, “You’re staying in my room tonight.” There’d been no argument. He’d picked at his slice for a while, then excused himself and took a shower. Afterward, he’d gotten into bed. At a loss as to what to say or how to help, she’d taken a shower herself and done the same. Lights had been out by nine.
As she turned to crawl back into her bed, another soft moan sounded, followed quickly by another sorrow-filled No. His head turned on the pillow. Soon he would be calling out his wife’s name, and Gayle wasn’t sure she could listen to the agony in his voice again.
Climbing up on the mattress, she perched on her knees beside him. Tenderly brushing back his hair, she shushed soothingly. His brows furrowed as a groan filled the room. “No,” he murmured.
She leaned in closer. Keeping her voice calm, comforting. “Mac. Shhh. It’s okay.”
“Gayle!” that tortured voice whispered. “Please. No.”
Lungs locked, she sat up ramrod straight, staring down at him. She hadn’t heard him right. She couldn’t have heard him right.
“Gayle. Please.” And just as before, the plea was filled with such agonized beseeching it filled her own chest with pain.
But this time he was dreaming of her. No. It must only be because he’d heard her talking to him in his sleep.
“No!” Then he jackknifed up, chest heaving. Sweat coated his forehead as he stared straight ahead. She froze.
He slowly turned his head toward her. They came nose-to-nose, and she had the hardest time breathing.
“Thank God,” whispered past his lips. Then his hand snatched her around the neck, and his mouth crushed onto hers. Shocked, she gasped, bracing herself on his exposed biceps.
One second he was holding her head captive as he delved deep into her mouth, the next, her back was bouncing on the mattress where he’d tossed her down, his body covering hers. One masculine leg shoved between her knees as he kissed her aggressively. There was desperation in the way he moved, gripped her, thrust his tongue between her lips—as though making a determined effort to banish the demons from his mind.
It didn’t matter that his actions were spurred on by whatever horror he’d witnessed in his dreams, her body reacted the same. Her nipples tightened. and her clit throbbed to life. He worked his hand between their bodies and hooked his fingers in her panties, dragging them down her legs, his mouth moving furiously on hers.
She wanted him with a severity she couldn’t understand—but not like this. After the emotions wore off, he’d regret this, possibly be furious it happened. Ripping her mouth from his, she turned her head away and shoved at his chest. “Mac. We can’t. You’re not thinking clearly.”
“Shut up, Gayle. I’m clear.” As if to prove his point, he grabbed his wallet off the nightstand, opened it, pulled something out, then flipped it in front of her face to see.
A condom.
“Do you see how clear I am now?”
Okay, then. She nodded.
“Good.”
He yanked her panties off the rest of the way and moved fully between her legs. Lifting up, he stared down at her, and she saw how clear he actually was. The distant, haunted gleam from before was gone. Pensiveness gone. Those had been replaced with a feverish lust completely directed at her.
“I just had the most God-awful nightmare. And I need to be inside you. Hear your gasps. Hear your moans. Hear you coming.” He touched a finger to her. “And you’re already wet and ready. I need to feel your life, Gayle.”