Good God, he needed to wake her at all costs. If the anguish she was feeling was anywhere close to what was reflected on her face, then she was in agony.
Placing both hands on her shoulders, he shook her more forcefully this time. “Wake up, love. You are home. You are safe.”
She struck out with her fist, catching him square on his jaw with a devilishly strong hook. While he was still recovering, her leg kicked out and almost impacted a very delicate place. Even with all his military training, the unexpected burst of movement took him by surprise. Only by twisting at the last possible moment did he manage to take the kick on his thigh.
The maneuver made him fall to the bed with her, but the need to awaken her overrode any other thought. She grappled now in earnest. Striking, kicking, crying. Her movements were so frantic he feared she would hurt herself. He needed to end this.
Using his superior strength, he enveloped her in his embrace, pinning her arms against her sides, while his legs tangled withhers, preventing more wild kicks. She opened her mouth to cry. She was going to awaken the entire house. For her own reputation, it would not do to get caught in bed together and in such a compromising position. But neither could he leave her in the throes of terror. He did the only thing he could do to silence her.
He kissed her.
His mouth blanketed hers, silencing her cries, tasting her fear and anguish, imparting love and warmth and safety and all the things he could not articulate but wanted to give her. She went still at first, for a second almost melting into the kiss before terror made her fight again. She tore her mouth from his, hitting him on the nose with her forehead.
His eyes watered at the hit. Damn it, but she knew how to fight. “Josephine, wake up, wake up. It’s me, Michael. You are safe. You are safe!”
The words, repeated over and over in her ear, at last penetrated her fog of despair and she stilled. He could tell the exact moment she resurfaced from the grip of the nightmare. Tremors shook her entire body and she expelled a shaky exhale.
“You are safe, love. You are safe. It’s me. I’ll keep you safe. I’ll never let harm come to you,” he kept murmuring in her ear.
“Michael?” Her voice was raspy.
“Yes, love, it’s me.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I heard you cry out in your sleep.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. You were having a nightmare.”
She shuddered.
“You can let go of me now. I’m awake.”
“Of course.” He didn’t want to let go. She felt so right in his arms. But she had asked to be released. Slowly, by measured degrees, he forced his arms to unlock and slide from aroundher. Then he turned and leaped out of bed. The situation had suddenly turned too intimate.
“Would you like some water?” he asked, not looking at her.
“Yes, please.”
There was a pitcher and glass on the bedside table, so he poured her a glass of water. She had sat up in bed, reclining against the pillows, holding the covers to her chest as if they were armor. He handed her the glass, and she drank deeply.
“Thank you. You can go now. I’m fine.”
He studied her. Even in the moonlight it was evident she was pale and shaken.
“You don’t look fine, Josie. Do you want me to light up some lamps?”
She took a few breaths to answer, as if she was considering it. “That would be nice.”
He walked around the room, lighting a couple of lamps, enough to dispel the shadows and chase away the last of her terrors. He should leave now. She seemed uncomfortable, wary. But every fiber of his being longed to stay, to comfort and reassure her.
“Do you have nightmares often?”
She burrowed deeper into the pillows. “I had not had one in months.”
He nodded, hearing what she had not said. That this one had likely been brought on by their… encounter. “I understand. This is all my fault. I’m sorry, Josie—-“
