In Safe Hands (Search and Rescue #4)(81)

“It felt indecent,” she grumbled, although his laugh forced her to smile. “And I’m a terrible hostess. Did you want to sleep in Dad’s room? The sheets are clean.”

“The couch is fine.” He sat by her hip, and she could feel the heat of him, even through the covers. “It’s comfortable.”

“Okay.” Her eyes couldn’t stay open anymore. “I’ll get you some blankets.”

He snorted. “You’re not going anywhere except la-la-land. I’ll get my own blankets.”

“Mm-kay.” Any plan that didn’t involve her getting out of her warming nest of a bed was fine with her. “Linen closet’s by the bathroom.”

“Got it.” Something brushed her forehead, but her eyelids refused to lift so she could see what it was. “Good night, Dais.”

“’Night, Chris.”





Chapter 17


Someone was in the house. It was too dark to see, but Daisy could feel the staring eyes, hear the raspy breathing. Her shaking hand reached for the bedroom lamp, and she turned the switch, but nothing happened. The room stayed draped in blackness. Sliding out of bed, the floor cold against her bare feet, she crept toward the door. The shadows moved, shifting into menacing shapes. She had to get downstairs, but the doorway kept sliding farther away, as if the house was taunting her, trapping her. When she tried to run, it felt like she was moving in slow motion. He was going to catch her, hurt her. She needed to get away, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t stay, couldn’t leave, couldn’t run, couldn’t scream—

“Daisy!”

Her eyes popped open, and she sat up abruptly. Chris jerked out of the way, barely avoiding a clash of foreheads. It took a moment to adjust to reality, but then the familiar shapes of her bedroom stood out in the gray dawn light. Her first breath hurt her throat, before her breathing slowed, as did her heart rate.

“Chris? What are you doing in here?” He was sitting on her bed again, almost exactly where he’d been when she fell asleep. If not for his crazy bed head and the fact that he was wearing fewer clothes than he had been earlier, she would’ve thought he’d been sitting there the whole time.

“I heard you.” He pushed some stray strands of hair out of her face. “I figured you were having a nightmare. Your mom?”

“No.” She blinked. “No. It wasn’t my mom. Wow. This is the first nightmare I’ve had in years that wasn’t about her.”

“What was it about?” His hand brushed her hair again, but she didn’t think he was dealing with unruly strands anymore. Instead, it was almost like he was stroking her.

“Someone was in the house.” When he lifted his eyebrows, she shook her head, starting to smile. “Not you. Someone…scary. I wasn’t screaming, was I?”

“No. It was more like whimpering.”

When she eyed his face and saw no signs of teasing, she groaned in embarrassment. Falling back so her head hit the pillows, she pulled the covers over her face. Despite the muffling effects of the blankets, she heard him laugh as he tugged them from her grip.

“Shove over,” he ordered. “It’s only been an hour since everyone left. That’s not enough rest to keep from going insane from sleep deprivation.”

Too startled to protest, she scooted to the side as he slid into bed with her. Even with a few inches between them, she felt his warmth, and it was tempting to curl into his side and use him as an oversized heating pad.

“What are you doing?” she finally organized her half-awake and scattered thoughts enough to ask.

“Trying to sleep,” he grumped. “If I’m here, maybe you won’t wake me up with your sad little noises.”

“Sad little…” She poked him in the side, hard. “Soon you’ll be the one whimpering.” She jabbed him again. Laughing, he caught her hand.

“I don’t whimper,” he said, making her even more determined to reduce him to tears. He reversed the assault, though, finding all her ticklish spots and showing no mercy, even as she shrieked with laughter. He rolled her beneath him, holding her down with his body weight as his fingers dug into the sensitive places on her sides.

“Okay,” she panted, an occasional hitch of leftover giggles interrupting her words. “You win. No more. I give up.” Obviously, she wasn’t going to win in a tickle fight with Chris. She vowed to find his weakness eventually, though, and fully exploit it.

Although she’d expected triumphant crowing from Chris, he’d gone serious. His breath was coming fast—she could see his chest move—and his expression was intent. The look in his eyes made her heartbeat speed up from something other than exertion, even before his gaze dropped to her lips.

He lowered his head slowly, checking her expression every few seconds, as if expecting her to protest. All she could manage to do was lie still and wait for his mouth to descend to hers. For a second, she wondered if her dream had just shifted topics, since she’d never truly believed her relationship with Chris would reach this point.

When his lips touched hers, however, she knew she was awake. It was too intense, too incredible, too real for something created by her imagination. Even though he kept the contact light, the sensations radiating from her mouth made her dizzy. She slid her fingers into his hair. That way, she could play with the silky strands while also making sure his lips didn’t leave hers.