“No. It’s just a man in a dark coat. I can’t see his features.”
Natalia didn’t look as though she believed him, but she didn’t argue the point. “Are you a man in your dream or a child?”
He stared at her, impressed by her questions. Perhaps it would help to take the dream apart and examine its pieces. He was willing to try anything to take away its power. “I’m a child,” he realized. “That’s why the man frightens me.”
She smiled, as though he were a not-so-bright student who had just given the right answer. “What happens next?”
“I back away, desperate to escape him. He starts chasing me, and I scramble over the rocks, slipping and sliding, losing my footing again and again.” As he recounted the story, he got an uncomfortable feeling. Was this a nightmare, or was it an actual memory? It felt so real.
“Does he catch you?”
“No, I hid in the smugglers’ cave, down by the beach, and waited for him to tire of searching.” His words surprised him. There wasn’t a smugglers’ cave in the dream. In his nightmares, the chase just went on and on. He ran until his lungs were ready to burst, then woke up in a cold sweat.
“What happens after the cave?” Natalia could be quite relentless.
“That’s all there is to it,” he lied. “See, I told you it was silly.”
She leaned forward and kissed him with infinite tenderness. “Thank you for telling me. I hope it helps.”
“It did. I’m glad you’re here.” Actually, she’d left him unsettled, with more questions than he’d had before, but he didn’t want to hurt her feelings.
“Wasn’t there something else you wanted to do now?” Smiling, she reached between them and stroked his rigid length.
He gasped and pressed himself more fully into her palm, letting the bliss of her touch eclipse everything else. This was right. This was real. Nothing else mattered.
Chapter Twenty-three
Dylan remained awake long after Natalia drifted back to sleep in his arms. Soon, dawn poked tendrils of light through the narrow window. Sighing in frustration, Dylan slipped out of bed, careful not to wake her. He pulled on a robe, then went to the room’s lone window and stared down at the rocky cliffs, at the sliver of restless sea far below. The sight made him uneasy, and he wondered why. As a child, he’d loved to watch the tide come in.
Maybe this bad feeling could be attributed to the lingering effects of that stupid dream. But, more likely, it was because his mother had thrown herself off these very cliffs. He’d told Michael it didn’t bother him that their mother had killed herself here, but somewhere deep down, it did.
Natalia had consumed his thoughts for the past few weeks, so he really hadn’t had time to think about his mother’s death. Now he forced himself to think about those dark days.
And for the first time, he wondered why she’d brought him with her that summer, if she’d known she was going to take her own life. Had something happened, something she hadn’t foreseen when she left London? Something so terrible she couldn’t face the consequences?
In his memory, his mother was beautiful, happy, and always laughing. What could have happened to make her feel life wasn’t worth living?
How could she have left him alone, with a father who hated him?
He didn’t remember much about that last summer. They’d only been here a few weeks before his mother’s death. He couldn’t even recall how he’d found out she was gone or who had told him.
Perhaps Patrick would know, although Dylan really wasn’t sure he wanted to remember. What was the point in dredging up the past?
Fiona Cameron Blake was gone. Nothing would bring her back.
* * *
The next morning, Natalia made her way down to the kitchen, feeling irritable and out of sorts. It was late, nearly noon, she guessed, though there had been no clock in her room, so she wasn’t sure.
She’d expected to wake up in Dylan’s arms, but he was gone, his pillow cold. Her disappointment had been as intense as her embarrassment about what had passed between them during the night.
Surely, no decent woman would behave so wantonly. But wanton or not, all she could think about was his exquisite body in the firelight. The tenderness of his touch. The beauty of their intimacy.
Just love me a little bit.
How she longed to say those words back to him. If she somehow managed to find the courage, would he repay her in kind?
Voices echoed from the direction of the kitchen. Pausing for a moment in the passageway, she tried to school her features into a semblance of calm. How would she ever face him after the things she’d done last night? Should she greet him as though he were a passing acquaintance, as though he’d never joined his body with hers in the dark?
