His chuckle was throaty. “The nightmares, Sasha. Do they happen often?”
Oh. I closed my eyes as I gave a little shake of my head. “Not often.”
“Why do I have a feeling you’re not being exactly honest?” His breath coasted over my forehead.
“I don’t know why.” I should lift my hands away, but they felt like they were weighted against his skin with lead.
“There’s something you’re forgetting.” He shifted suddenly, and I gasped as I slid toward him. My legs spread wider, and now my belly was pressed against his much harder stomach. “I know you. I’m not a stranger.”
“You don’t . . .”
“I don’t what?” His voice dropped to a whisper.
Maybe it was the darkness. Maybe it was the nightmare and the almost-surreal nature of him holding me like this. I don’t know but I answered his question. “You don’t know me anymore.”
The muscles under my hands tensed. “I still know you, Sasha.”
Shaking my head, I let my hands drop to his chest. “You don’t. Ten years have passed, Cole. You don’t know me anymore.”
“The Sasha I know is still in there. I’ve seen glimpses of her tonight while we had dinner. You are still her,” he insisted, his voice rough and firm. “And I still know you.”
“You—”
“I know you’re not telling me the truth about the nightmares,” he continued. “You have them often, don’t you? Not every night, but enough that you don’t sleep well.”
My breath caught. He was dead on.
“I’m right, aren’t I?”
Cole was right, but he didn’t need to know that. He didn’t need to know anything else that would make him feel even sorrier for me. I struggled to keep my voice even. “It was just a nightmare. Not a big deal.” I started to climb off, but he held me in place. “I’m fine now. You can let go.”
“I’m not fine.”
Tilting my head to the side, I looked at him, wishing I could see his expression. “Why are you not fine? Did you have a nightmare?”
“No. But hearing you scream like that was like having a nightmare.” His tone was dead serious. “It woke me out of a dead sleep. I thought . . .”
I stiffened in his arms. I didn’t want to know what he thought, because I had a pretty good idea already. “I’m okay. You should go back to sleep. Actually, you should leave. I’m—”
“Why are you shutting me out?”
His question caused me to jerk. “I’m not—”
“Yes, you are.”
Not wanting to have this argument in the middle of the night, in my dark bedroom with me in his lap, on my bed while I was wearing next to nothing, I pushed against his chest.
Cole didn’t budge.
“Let me go,” I said.
“I will.” Cole didn’t. “But I have something to say first.”
I pushed again, ignoring how . . . wonderfully smooth and hard his skin felt under my palms, like silk stretched over steel. “You can say what you need to say while not holding me.”
“Nope.”
“Cole,” I snapped.
The hand at the nape of my neck slid up and his fingers splayed across the base of my skull. A shiver followed, spreading out over my shoulders and down my front, and it was the good kind of shiver. I felt my nipples harden, and was at once grateful that it was dark.
“You’ve got walls up. I get it. Can even understand why you would, and I bet that’s why you haven’t had a single damn serious relationship in the last ten years. And I can get that too. I understand.” He guided my head toward him, stopping when I felt his breath against my lips. “But I’m not some random guy you just met. I’m not someone who doesn’t know that what’s at the core of you is worth working at, breaking through those walls for.”
Oh my God.
“People don’t get second chances often, Sasha, but we got one, and I’m not going to let that pass us by.”
“A second chance?” I repeated dumbly. “For us?”
“That’s what I’m thinking.”
Stunned, I was quiet for a moment. “What if I don’t want a second chance?”
He laughed. “Oh, you want a second chance.”
My mouth dropped open. “And what makes you think that, Mr. All Knowing?”
Those lips of his coasted over my cheek, causing me to gasp. “Yeah, that right there tells me you want a second chance, and I’ve seen the way you looked at me today, but you know what else?” He paused. “Those hard little nipples pressed against my chest tell me you want a second chance.”
Oh my God.
“And there are no walls I can’t break through. Teflon? Barbed wire? It’s not going to stop me from getting through.”
All I could do was stare at him in the dark, and I wasn’t even sure I was breathing at that point.
“I meant what I said earlier, Sasha.” Cole’s lips brushed the curve of my cheek, causing me to shiver. “I’m not leaving you. Not again.”
Chapter 11
“Okay. That’s hot.”
I narrowed my eyes at Miranda. We were sitting in the kitchen the following afternoon. She was on her lunch break and had about ten minutes before she had to get back to the school, which was within walking distance. She looked glorious, as usual, wearing a deep purple sweater dress that was a perfect match for her dark skin. If I wore something like that I’d look like a purple people eater. Now she was scarfing down a salad that smelled like it had overdosed on Italian dressing. “He wouldn’t leave,” I reminded her.
She pointed her leafy-green-speared fork at me. “He wanted to make sure you were safe.”
“From what?”
Leaning forward, Miranda whispered, “From crazy people who would leave roadkill in your mother’s truck.”
I glared at her and then sighed, dropping my chin. “You have a point there.” I’d told Miranda everything. Well, I didn’t tell her about the hard nipples, because seriously, I doubted she wanted to hear about that. Needless to say, she was freaked out about the deer thing. Who wouldn’t be? When it came to everything else, she was of the mind that everything Cole did and said was utterly hot.
“What did you tell your mother?” she asked as she glanced at the open kitchen door.
“I told her I drank too much wine last night and Cole drove me home.” I fiddled with the cap on my Diet Coke bottle. “She didn’t question it. She was just happy to assume I had a great time, and I’m pretty sure she’s already thinking of grandbaby names.”
Miranda laughed—she threw her head back and cackled like a hyena.
“It’s not funny.”
“Oh yes, yes it is,” she replied with a grin. “None of the other stuff is funny, but that is. I can see your mom doing it too. She’s probably already knitting a genderless onesie.”
I groaned, because I could totally picture my mom doing that.