Race the Darkness (Fatal Dreams, #1)(29)

“What?” The word exploded out of his mouth, loud as a cherry bomb in the dead of night. He ripped his other hand from her head, severing the sensation that felt so wondrous.

She nodded against his chest and wrapped both her arms around his waist. “I’m so tired. I could fall asleep…just…like…this.”

He pried her off his chest to look her in the eyes. Her lids were at half-mast, her eyeballs floating upward, not quite focused. “Wait, wait, wait. You think I’m your uncle?”

“We’re family. Gran and your dad are married.”

The simplicity—the stupidity—of her assumption shocked him. His mind rewound to their conversation in the hospital. Fucking damn. It was right after she found out about Gale and his dad that she pulled away from him and started acting weird. No wonder. She’d thought he was her uncle. Thank Christ that could be straightened out. He’d been on the verge of going into full-on creepy-stalker mode, sneaking around just to check on her.

“I’m not Gale’s son. My mom died after I was born. Dad and Gale got together sometime before I turned a year old. I think your mom was eleven or twelve when they got together. That was why all of a sudden you didn’t want to have anything to do with me?”

She yawned. “I think I need to lie down.” Her lids fell, and she melted against him.

“Why are you so sleepy?” Even as he asked, he understood. It was the same as in the hospital. There was a pattern to this. A pattern only his father—the world’s most renowned dream researcher—would be able to explain.

*

Isleen floated in that sweet spot between reality and waking. The only thing penetrating her sleepy haze was the scent of warm graham crackers and autumn leaves. It was a scent she was familiar with, one she loved. It was the scent of all her favorite memories. It was the scent of Xander.

A predawn haze of gray lit the room, touching everything with its soft color. Her head was pillowed on his shoulder, her face pressed against his neck, her body encased in the security of his arms, and he had one of his legs tossed over her thighs. Not since she was a little girl—too naive to know pain existed in the world—had she felt this absolutely safe.

Something strange seemed to happen whenever she was near him. The sheer power of his presence salved the wounds of her past and shaped her into the strong and capable woman she was meant to be. The real her. The person she would’ve been if she hadn’t endured so much horror. The person she’d only had a chance to be in her nightly dreams of Xander. And weren’t those dreams doozies?

Memories of him from her dreams flooded her mind, heating her body. Their nightly escapades had always been vivid and oh, so intimate. Her female parts wanted to nestle and squirm in closer to him, to satisfy the longing building from the mere memories of dreams, but she was already as close as she could get with her clothes on. Just what would happen if her clothes were off? Didn’t that bring to mind explicit, tripleX-rated thoughts?

From her dreams, she knew what lay underneath his clothes, knew he was spectacular. Everywhere. And the hard length of him moving inside her, filling her so deliciously… It was a miracle that a body could feel so wanting and wonderful at the same time.

Her awareness of just how they were lying in the bed—groin to groin—gave her another flash of heat. Or was that longing? She could feel him through his pants, resting against her needy bundle of nerves. Her attention narrowed more and more until the only thing she could think about, the only thing she could feel was him right there, right where she wanted him.

She tried to hold still, not to move, not to disturb what was already the best moment of her waking life, but her body had other intentions. Excruciatingly slow, so she didn’t wake him, she rocked her hips forward and back, rubbing against him. Instead of offering any satisfaction, need blazed brighter. If she didn’t stop, she’d end up dry humping him in his sleep.

But then he pressed his hips forward, grinding into her. She gasped, nearly choking on air. What she’d thought had been pleasure went into pure bliss. Her dreams had always seemed so real, but they were old-timey black-and-white while this was vivid Technicolor, 3-D, HD, and surround sound all in one. His hand found its way underneath the back of her shirt, traveling up her side until it was just a whisper away from her breast. Breathing was too much of a distraction, so she didn’t do it, all her attention focused on him and his hand.

He stopped.

“Don’t. Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.” She wasn’t ashamed to be begging. Not for this. Being with Xander was compensation—no it was a reward—for everything she’d endured. He was her rainbow after the destructive tornado that had been her life. Being with him would be a weapon against her past. It would be something she chose. Something she wanted.

“Isleen…” Her name was a languid caress of vowels and consonants, but underneath the sound there was something… Hesitation? Reluctance?

“Why did you stop?” Part of her wanted to pull away from him, to see the look on his face as he answered her question, but she was too much of a coward. If this was all she’d ever have of him, she was going to soak it up and store it in her mind.

“Baby, we just met.”

“I’ve known you for years.” As crazy as it made her sound, she couldn’t not say the thoughts in her mind. “I dreamed about you.” She whispered the words against his neck, still not moving away from him.