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“Yes, but you will not win if you still have your tell.”
“I do not have a tell, if I did you would have told me what it is.”
“You’ve never beaten me in poker. Isn’t that enough proof?”
“No, that only proves you had a lucky streak,” she said with a grin. “From time to time I play with Tom, and he is very good.” Then she leaned forward and grabbed the pack of card from the small walnut table. With delicate flicks of her wrist and nimble fingers she shuffled, mesmerizing him with how skillfully she made the cards dance and disappear.
“Are you sure you’re up for the challenge?” Laughter lurked in her tone and her eyes glowed with wicked heat.
Had her skin always looked so soft and flushed. So inviting? “The stakes?”
“Dinner,” she said simply some elusive emotion shimmering in her eyes. “If I win, have dinner with us in the main dining room at least twice a week.”
A peculiar ache settled deep inside him. “Done.”
A radiant smile split her lips, and it was damn stupid of him, but in this moment, he was damn glad she had dragged him off his mountain top.
A few hours later Elijah surged awake his heart a war drum in his chest. His eyes scanned the darkened chambers, and shadows twisted and slinked towards him. Reality wavered and blood seeped onto everything. His hands, his bed, the wall. The wails rose in his ear, and Elijah forced himself to breathe steadily. He closed his eyes as music leapt into the calm of the night. It wrapped around him, the soft haunting notes soothing the jagged edge of his nightmare. The room snapped back into focus, and the screams ebbed. Sheridan played. He had always loved when she played the pianoforte. In the brief time she had been his, she had regaled him nightly before falling into his arms. Her fingers would dance over the piano keys, almost teasingly, and he could imagine that those supple elegant tips were now skimming over his body. His cock hardened with the promise of pleasure, and he grunted, annoyed with himself.
He rolled from the bed and cracked open the windows. The breeze wafted in, cooling his skin. He felt sticky from sweating and his heart still clamored inside. He had been without nightmares for weeks. He was not surprised they had surfaced from just being close to Sheridan. His dreams had always been the same, his son crying for him with blood pouring from his eyes and throat, standing in a dark deserted wasteland. Only tonight it had been slightly different. Instead of standing, his son had been seated in Sheridan’s lap and she had been torn and blooded. Hell.
He rubbed the tightness from his neck, looking out into the night. He narrowed his eyes as he saw a flare on the distant ridge. Someone watched the ranch. His lips curled in anger. Sullivan really would not give up. Elijah needed to unscrew his head from his ass and have a serious chat with Sheridan in the morning. They needed a viable plan, because the quicker he was back in his mountain cabin, the better off they would both be.
***
Sheridan had been playing for an hour hoping Elijah might have descended the stairs, lean against the balustrade of the second floor, and watched her as he’d done in the past. After they had played six rounds of poker, he had retired for the night, and she had felt the need to immerse in soul in music. She had indulged in the desire, comforted by the knowledge Beth and Grayson would slumber undisturbed at their side of the house. The night was quiet and the grandfather clock struck its midnight signal. Standing, Sheridan allowed her fingers to play a final note on the pianoforte, before moving away. Her hands slid against the beautiful oak design of the staircase banister as she climbed the steps. To her delight, Elijah had taken the room opposite hers. That at least meant the awful barriers he had up were probably thawing. Reaching her room, she made to open it, and a faint cry reached her ears.
She faltered and a few seconds later the sound once again lingered on the air. Without a doubt, it came from Elijah’s room. Moving to his door Sheridan wondered if she should knock, or simply enter. She gently tested the handle and was surprised to feel it twist open beneath her hands. Had he left it open for her? Her heart lurched.
She closed her eyes tightly. She doubted it. But it was something he had done before. After their first night together, he’d left his door open and she had always slipped in when the house had settled.
“Ah God, Emma, wait for me!”
The torment in Elijah’s cry froze Sheridan. She lifted her hand to knock and his next guttural words sent a sliver of fear inside of her.
“I have no hope…Emma!”
She pushed the door open and slipped into the room. The interior of the room was dark and cool. She saw him clearly in the center of the bed from the beam of moonlight that spilled through the windows. Sheridan closed the door gently and before she could rush over to him, he sprang from the bed in a controlled manner. She blinked. If she had not known better, she would have thought she’d imagined the wild trapped sounds that had echoed from his room and spilled into the hall.
“Get out,” his snarl was filled with contained rage.
“You were thrashing in your sleep, and the groans that were coming from you were—”
“Do not let me tell you again, Sheridan…please,” he said gruffly.
She fought to ignore the fact that he was gloriously naked. His arms were corded with thick muscles, as was his broad chest and back, muscles that rippled and danced with each movement. Narrow hips led to strong, tapered thighs. His whole body spoke of strength and power. He had scars on his lower torso and back. Too many scars.
“You sounded like you fought the coils of a nightmare. It doesn’t sound like you were winning. Are you well, Elijah?”
He drew on his denims and slowly dressed, saying nothing at her blatant observation. The rasp of his pants as he slid them up had her jerking her eyes to his. She thought about the nights she had been with him, how he had always lifted her and carried her to her own bed. “Is this why you have never allowed me to spend the night with you? To sleep in your arms?”
At his silence she took a tentative step further into his room. His eyes flared when she closed the door’s latch and leaned against the door. “What do you dream of, Elijah?” She held her breath, hoping that he would confide in her.
“I dream of a woman.”
“I know,” she said softly, “Who is Emma?”
“The woman I dreamt about.”
