Sweet Dreams (Colorado Mountain #2)(51)

“Put it on, Ace.”

“But –”

He put a hand to my belly, shoved me fully into the bathroom, flipped on the light switch and demanded, “Put it on.” Then he closed the door.

Without any fight left in me (at all) I put it on then I shuffled out wearing his huge, navy blue t-shirt. I collapsed on the covers on the bed and I did this on a diagonal.

Tate was right, the bed was huge. I was diagonal, he was in the bed and we weren’t close to touching.

That was until his hands came to my armpits and he hauled me across the bed until my head was on his belly.

I started to lift up. “Tate –”

He pushed me back down. “Relax, watch TV.”

“But Tate, this is –”

He cut me off. “I’m usin’ all the pillows.”

I twisted my head to look at him. “Tate!”

His fingers slid in my hair and sifted through. “Jesus, you’re wound up tight. Just f**kin’ relax.”

I couldn’t not relax with his fingers sifting through my hair like that.

I sighed deeply, trying to sound annoyed. Then I twisted my head back and rested it on his stomach.

Tate kept sifting his fingers through my hair.

I rested my hand on his stomach just below my face, part of it tucked under my cheek.

I looked down the long length of his legs, passed his bare feet crossed at the ankles and Tate and I watched TV.

Tate kept sifting his fingers through my hair.

I fell asleep.

* * * * *

But f**k Laurie, it’s good to be home.

The words hit my brain, my eyes opened and I saw the room was dark.

There was a warm body pressed in behind me, its arm around me and it wasn’t Wood’s.

I was in a hotel room in Indianapolis with Tate.

I shut my eyes tight.

So much for the big bed. We were only using about a quarter of it.

I knew with the way I was awake that I wasn’t going to get back to sleep. So, as carefully as I could, I slipped out from under Tate’s arm and out of the bed. I went to my bag, picked it up as silently as I could and took it to the bathroom. I didn’t turn on the light until the door was closed. Then I opened my bag, rummaged through it, found my stuff and belatedly washed the makeup off my face, moisturized then brushed my teeth. Then I shoved my bag under the sink, turned out the light and carefully made my way to the chair by the window.

If I curled up and eventually fell asleep there, I’d be okay and I wouldn’t wake Tate.

So I curled up and looked out at the lights from our window thankful Tate didn’t close the curtains and I tried to clear my mind and find tired.

“Ace?” Tate called.

Darn.

“I’m so sorry, did I wake you?” I whispered.

“Come back to bed,” he ordered.

“No, Captain, I can’t sleep. I’m okay, this happens a lot. Just ignore me.”

“Come back to bed,” he repeated.

“Really, I’m…” I trailed off because I saw the covers get thrown back, then I saw his na**d chest in the city lights coming in from the window and the sight put me into a deeper mesmerization than the TV had. So deep, I didn’t know what he was doing until I was in his arms and he was walking back to the bed. He dumped me there somewhat unceremoniously (as in he dropped me and I bounced) and then he effectively shoved me deeper into the bed because I scooted away from his knee as he got in with me.

He was settling the covers over us when he repeated, “Like I said, come to bed.”

“You don’t want me here,” I advised.

He ignored my comment and asked, “What woke you up?”

“Sorry?”

“Why do you wake up?”

“Stuff drifts through my brain, wakes me up.”

“What?”

“Lots of stuff.”

“What was it tonight?”

Good God, I couldn’t tell him that.

“Just… I want Dad to be okay. I was pretty incommunicado while I was roaming, sorting through my head, needing to be alone and find what I was looking for. I knew Mom and him and Caroline were worried. Really worried. I’d reconnected lately but the last time I talked to Dad was via e-mail,” I lied. “I want to hear his voice.” This was not a lie

He honed into exactly what most concerned me.

“You aren’t responsible for your father’s heart attack, babe.”

“And you aren’t responsible for Tonia’s death, babe.”

That shut him up.

We were face to face but his face was shadowed, only his shoulder and arm that was on top of the covers were visible in the lights coming from windows.

“Go back to sleep, Tate, I’ll be okay,” I whispered.

He ignored me again. “What keeps you up?”

“What keeps me up?”

“Yeah, if shit sifts through your brain waking you up, what keeps you up?”

“It keeps sifting through my brain.”

“You can’t shut it down?”

“No.”

He fell silent.

“Tate,” I said, “I’ve tried everything. Sleep aids. Counting sheep. Relaxation techniques. Nothing works but I’m used to it.”