While She Was Sleeping Page 12

  Now? the voice asked more insistently, and it unsettled her. In the middle of this nightmare she was involved in—drugs, amnesia, murder—now, she still wanted him?

  Yes. An unequivocal yes. She wanted him.

  But...how much more confusing could everything be, how much more confusing could she make it?

  Nick told himself to slow down, but Carly seemed to be in a major hurry, which made it damn difficult. She was ready for him, he knew it—die slick welcoming moisture between her thighs beckoned him, as it had the night before. The silken-smooth skin of her breasts and arms and belly also called to him. She felt familiar, but she also felt new.

  Because this was new, tonight was new. Carly had been drugged last night, at least partly under the influence. Last night she’d been Amanda—he’d taken a stranger to bed. It had been fun, athletic, satisfying.

  Today, tonight, she wasn’t Amanda, she was Carly, sensible, reliable Carly—or so she’d described herself. He hadn’t seen much of either quality himself.

  Carly, not Amanda, wanted him. Pretty desperately, from all the signs. And Nick wanted her, no doubt about it. He’d been wanting her intermittently since they’d returned to his place. Every primitive nerve ending pulsed with need, telling him to push ahead, take her, possess her.

  But something didn’t feel right, although what it was he didn’t know. It was a vague sense of—what? Wrongness. A gut thing, cautioning him not to take this any further. So, while his body thundered for more, his brain put the brakes on. When his brain and gut agreed, he always listened. However, if he was going to stop, it had better be now, because he was real close to not being able to.

  With a superhuman effort, Nick tore his mouth from Carly’s, withdrew his hand from its sensual exploration and rolled onto his back. Breathing rapidly, he swung his legs over the side of the lounge and sat up. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. Damn.

  “Sorry,” he said. “This doesn’t feel right.”

  For a moment he thought she hadn’t heard him, but he didn’t turn around to look at her. He was still trying to recover his breath.

  “No, it doesn’t,” Carly agreed in a small, shaky voice behind him.

  Disappointment flooded him. He’d probably wanted her to protest, to disagree, to say he was off base, that what they’d been doing with each other felt totally, one hundred percent right. Irritated with himself, Nick got up, went to the balcony railing and looked out. His brain needed air, his head was foggy and grumpy; it was as if he was being forced to awaken from a dream.

  And he was still rock-hard, still wanted her with every fiber of his being.

  Then why had he pulled away? The answer swirled somewhere in his head, but he couldn’t quite grasp it. He leaned on the railing and inhaled deep gulps of the night. A fog had come in over the coastline, covering the moon with a dark gray mist. Scattered lights from boats and street lamps floated like ghostly stars.

  “Nick?” Her voice came from behind him.

  “Yeah?”

  “Thank you for stopping. I’m...not sure I could have.”

  She made it sound as though he’d done something noble, but he wasn’t noble, not in the least. What he’d done—this much he knew for sure—had been self-protective, to keep both of them from becoming further involved.

  Why in hell’s name had he brought her back to his condo tonight? Why hadn’t he either lent her the money for her ticket, or just left her at the airport to fend for herself? He’d thought it was because his cop’s mind required answers to the mystery of her, but that was bull. He’d brought her home with him because of the genuine fear he’d seen in her eyes. She’d needed to be taken care of. And he’d elected himself to do it. Again.

  Self-disgust filled him. He was probably making a total ass of himself, being with this woman, with all her stories and her secrets....

  Secrets, he repeated silently.

  And then, like that, he knew why he’d put the brakes on. Sex with Carly tonight had turned into more than an itch that needed to be scratched. That feeling of being new he’d felt, it had been a sign. Earlier tonight he’d used the word vulnerable. Well, just now, he’d been on the verge of losing his heart to her. But not Carly. She still kept her secrets.

  She was willing to talk about her past, cook for him, even spread her legs for him, but she didn’t trust him enough with what was going on in the present. And if she couldn’t trust him, he didn’t want to lose his heart, not to her, not to any woman. And that was why he’d put the brakes on.

  Your woman, Dom had said.

  Hell no. She wasn’t his woman, wouldn’t be his woman, if for no other reason than she came with too damn much emotional baggage.

  Nick gazed out, far out, trying to distinguish the horizon line. As his body unclenched, he became more aware of his surroundings. Someone laughed on a nearby balcony; from somewhere down on the marina came the sound of a jazz piano.

  “Nick?”

  He hadn’t heard from Carly for a while, but there she was. He turned around to face her. She was curled in a corner of the lounge, her knees bent to her chest, her arms around them, looking at him. “Are you okay?” she asked him.

  A sudden cool breeze swept in from the ocean, making the candle flicker. “It’s getting chilly,” Nick said gruffly, without responding to her question. “Why don’t you go on inside? I’m going to take a walk.”

  “Alone?”

  “Yeah.”

  Now he was anxious to get away from her. He went through the kitchen to the living room, got his windbreaker from the hall closet. By the time he’d zipped it up, Carly was standing close by, looking small and confused, as though not sure what had just happened between them.

  “Why don’t you go to bed?” he said.

  She pointed to the kitchen. “I...I thought I’d do the dishes first.”

  “I told you I’d do them.”

  “But that isn’t right. You’ve been so good to me, and you paid for the food, and I just think I ought to—”

  “You think I want gratitude? Payment for providing accommodations?” He had to get out of here, now, before he blew up at her again. “Cut it out, Carly. Go to bed, I’ll be back soon.”

  “I have a gun.... I have a gun on you and I will use it....”

  “Where the hell is he? He’s always on board....”

  “Hand me the bleach. Not the shampoo, you idiot, the bleach!”

  The dream was all darkness, with no picture, just sounds. Wind blowing, bickering voices, the clinking of glass. A black, dizzying void in her head, as though she wore a blindfold and was falling through space.

  “Now be a good girl. Sit still.... ” A man’s voice, irritated, petulant, accusing. Condescending.

  “You’re hopeless. Why is everyone so stupid?”

  “Now be a good girl....”

  “I have a gun... I have a gun... I have a—”

  Carly burst out of sleep in a thrashing frenzy, sweat pouring down her back. For a moment, she had no idea where she was. It was night, but a lamp was on. A rectangle of light shone from another room. The kitchen. Nick’s kitchen. She was still at Nick’s place.

  She’d washed the dishes, even though he’d told her not to, then, exhausted, she’d sat down on the inviting armchair in the living room, just for a minute, to rest her feet. She must have fallen asleep. And had some sort of dream or flashback. But what had it been?

  The voice in her dream came back to her. “I have a gun. ”

  It had been a man’s voice, but whose? She struggled to identify it, but couldn’t. The timbre had been unpleasant, harsh and raspy. The voice had sounded irritable, like a grown child. A creepy-sounding grown child.

  Too vague, she thought. What else? She concentrated, hard. What had the voice said? The words were there, but just out of her reach. She sought to hold on to the memory but, like a body drowning, it slipped away from her and left her feeling cheated.

  She spent the next moments taking in deep, cleansin
g breaths, getting herself calmed down again. She wished more would come back to her. Maybe she should go to that doctor Nick had mentioned. The idea of hypnosis didn’t thrill her, but it might be the best thing to do.

  The front doorknob rattled, making her tense up. Before she had time to move, the door opened and Nick came in, pulling his key out of the lock. Cool air followed him into the room.

  Earlier, they’d kissed, and more. He’d been the one to put the brakes on. Her reaction had been equal parts gratitude and frustrated disappointment. When he’d stormed out, he’d been strung tight as a string bass.

  She eyed him as he closed the door behind him. He seemed thoughtful now, much less testy; in turn, Carly felt some inner tightness dissolve now that he was home. Even the waking-up fear from the dream lessened. Briefly, she wondered why his presence made her feel safe, when it should have made her feel unsafe. It was an enigma, but she had too much else on her plate at the moment to dwell on it.

  “Hi,” she said hesitantly, not sure what to expect from him. “I must have fallen asleep. How long have you been gone?”

  “About an hour.”

  The walk had cleared Nick’s head. He was better now, calmer, more in control of the situation. His knee hadn’t bothered him once—it never did when he was just walking. It was when he broke into a run that it acted up.

  He’d made some decisions about Carly, or some nondecisions. Basically, he would let her go tomorrow morning, even lend her the money, if need be. Whatever the hell had her terrorized was her business and not his. He needed to take care of himself, not get himself involved with her. The cop in him wanted answers, but, as far as he knew, she hadn’t broken any laws, and didn’t seem to want his expertise. She was free to leave him.

  And he would let her.

  She was curled in his chair, her arms wrapped around herself as though she was cold. Her face was soft, her eyelids heavy. She seemed relieved to see him, and he ignored the small rush of pleasure he felt at that fact.

  He hung up his windbreaker, then went into the bedroom and got a blanket from the foot of the bed. Returning to the living room, he tossed it to her. “Here. You’re shivering.”

  She wrapped herself in the blanket and snuggled more deeply into the chair. “Thanks. I woke up suddenly, you know, not sure where I was. There was this voice in my dream....”

  “Oh?” Not that he cared, but he asked anyway. “Did you remember something else?”

  “Voices, that’s all.” She frowned. “But I can’t remember what they were saying. I had it right after I woke up, but now it’s gone—you know how that happens? But, for some reason, I think I need to call Richard one more time.”

  Nick felt his jaw clench, so he walked toward the kitchen. “Why bother? He’s probably home right now, listening to all your messages and not calling back.”

  “You may be right. He was always real good at avoiding unpleasantness.”

  He stopped, shook his head, then turned in the doorway and looked at her. “Why the hell did you marry him?”

  She seemed momentarily thrown by his question, but thought about it for a moment. Then she surprised him by chuckling ruefully. “Because I thought he was a safe choice. Can you believe it? Talk about being naive.”

  Nick propped a hand on the door frame. “Why was he safe?”

  Carly had to give that one some thought. It had been a long time ago, she’d been just out of business college and totally alone. “He was nice to me,” she told Nick. “He had a steady job—his father owned two dry-cleaning stores and he managed one. His life-style seemed modest, he had a home. And, I guess, I was pretty young and needy.”

  Nick stared at her thoughtfully for a moment, then he nodded and went into the kitchen. “You did the dishes,” he called out.

  “Washed them,” she replied, wondering if she was about to receive a reprimand for not following orders. “You get to dry.”

  She got up from the chair and followed Nick into the kitchen. He had a dish towel in his hand and was wiping a plate. He didn’t seem in a reprimand-giving mood. “Were you in love with him?” he said, not looking at her.

  His question was not what she expected; indeed, it seemed to come out of nowhere. But Carly figured she owed him the truth. “I don’t think I knew what that meant.”

  She’d been alone at fourteen, when her parents had been killed in a car crash. Nina had taken off, even before the funeral, and Carly had gone to live with her father’s older sister. Aunt Fan and she had stayed out of each other’s way until Carly left at eighteen for college. She’d met Richard there.

  “When I first met Richard,” she told Nick, resting a hip against the counter near the sink, “he seemed so solid, so reliable. He was to be my under-the-dining-room-table, my refuge.” He’d wanted the same things she’d wanted, or so he’d said—a quiet life, no angry chaos and yelling. What a fool she’d been.

  “Did you know about the gambling?”

  “No. He managed to keep it a secret from me for years.”

  He looked up at her, one eyebrow raised. “What was he into—numbers?”

  “Numbers, horses, even cockfights. I didn’t even know they had them in New England. I feel so stupid—how did he fool me all that time?”

  Absently, Nick wiped off the iron skillet, then set it down on the counter. “Hey, Lenore was robbing me blind the whole time we were together, and I didn’t know a thing about it till it was too late.” He shrugged and picked up another plate. “We know, but we don’t want to know.”

  He understood. The thought brought a warm glow with it. “Yes.”

  “So, how did it end?”

  “His father found out first, and it broke the poor man’s heart. Literally, he died of a heart attack. Richard inherited and went on a major spree. I found out and threatened to leave, but he cried and begged me to stick with him and I did, four, five times. He kept promising and I kept giving him one more chance. Can you believe it?”

  “Sure. I used to see stuff like that every day on the job—women and men remaining in dead-end situations. But there comes a time when one of them has had enough.”

  Carly boosted herself onto the counter, her legs dangling over the side. Something about the domesticity of being in Nick’s kitchen with him, something about waking up from the dream had released a need to talk and talk—a kind of exorcism, she supposed. “It was when I discovered he’d taken out another mortgage on his business, with our house as collateral, and the bank was foreclosing on both. I wasn’t even surprised by then. I told him to get help, go to Gamblers Anonymous again, but that I was through. I got out and filed for divorce that night.” She shook her head. “Talk about a wake-up call. It was the best thing I’d ever done for myself, quitting that marriage.”

  “Amen.” Nick closed the silverware drawer sharply.

  But it hadn’t all been Richard’s fault, Carly knew it. She’d kept herself ignorant, even allowed it, because she was so terrified of life. She’d buried her head like an ostrich, and she’d had to pay for it. Which was why the past year she’d gone in for a complete overhaul—her encounter group, self-defense classes, writing in a journal every night. It had been a year of revelation.

  “I’ve really had a lot of growing up to do,” she told Nick. “And I’m not there yet, but it’s not for lack of trying. I’m still quiet, of course—” her hand flew to her mouth “—except for now. Good Lord, here I am, going on and on again. Honestly, it’s not like me.”

  He smiled, but she got the sense he didn’t want to. “I’m enjoying it.”

  “Yes, well, enough about me.” Her glance darted around the room, then her eye fell on the leftover cake sitting on a nearby counter. “Want some cake?”

  He shook his head, loading two clean plates into the cabinet.

  She hopped off the counter, tore off a hunk of cake, placed it carefully on a napkin and hoisted herself back onto the clean countertop. Not only had she washed the dishes, she’d scrubbed all the tile till it shone
. Back home, tile-scrubbing was a surefire relaxation technique.

  She broke off a corner of the cake, put it in her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. “Not bad, really. We don’t have this brand back East.”

  Nick was watching her now, his hip propped against the counter right near her, but he didn’t reply. As a matter of fact, she realized suddenly, he’d been pretty terse, noncommittal, keeping his distance from her, since he’d returned from his walk. And she’d been so full of herself—her reflections on the past, the voice in her dream—she’d not really noticed.

  Carefully, she wiped her fingers on the edge of the napkin and set the cake down on the counter next to her. “Did you have a nice walk?”

  “Yeah.” She had crumbs around her mouth, damn her. Three or four small white bits of cake that just ached to be licked off. By his tongue. Nick stared at that full, pouty mouth of hers and he couldn’t seem to tear his gaze away.

  She noticed, of course, how could she not? A flush came to her cheeks. Wide-eyed, she seemed to be waiting for him to say or do something.

  His groin area tightened up again and he cursed it silently. Decisions and follow-through had never been a problem for him before. Until now. He kept firmly making up his mind to have nothing to do with Carly, and his traitorous body kept laughing at him. With supreme effort, he turned away from her and slammed a cupboard door.

  “Well,” Carly said, seeming to sense his mood, “maybe it’s time to turn in. I mean, for me to turn in. I mean, you know....”

  He whipped around and faced her. “I’m not going to jump you.”

  “Oh, you’re not?” She seemed both relieved and upset by his declaration, then her hand flew to her mouth again. “I can’t believe I just said that. But...well, tell me. Why did you stop before? Oh, God, I sound like I’m, you know, coming on to you or something.”

  He tried to bite back the smile, but he couldn’t. She was so damn sweet when she was flustered. The coiled tension left him as quickly as it had come up.

  It was all that unfamiliar tenderness she aroused in him, he figured. It had a way of softening his hard edges. Resting his hand on the counter next to her, he leaned in slightly. “So then, let me get this straight. I’m not to think you’re coming on to me.”