Page 86 of The Secret of Emerald Cottage

Chapter Forty-Six

“No—stop, please!”

Still half asleep on his way to the bathroom at 3:00 a.m., Brec’s body went to stone at the panicked sound of Molly’s voice, his blood turning to ice. All drowsiness—and all breathing, for that matter—crashed to a dead halt as he stood frozen in the middle of the dark hallway.

“I’m begging you, please—STOP!”

Air kicking back in, he lunged toward Molly’s door, which she always kept ajar so she could hear Aunt Lilly, and flung it wide, a violent surge of relief stopping him dead in his tracks when he found her alone in her room.

Thrashing in bed again.

Over another nightmare.

Pulse pounding in his ears, he carefully closed her door to prevent disturbing his aunt and quietly moved toward the bed, heart squeezing at the terror on her face. “Molly,” he whispered, gently shaking her shoulder. “Wake up—you’re having a dream.”

“No, please—STOP!”

Deciding against his usual means of awakening her—with a kiss—he sat on the edge of the bed and shook her again, his voice as soft as his touch. “Molly, honey—wake up.”

A gasp escaped as her eyelids shot up, the whites of her eyes saucer round when she launched into his arms with a weak cry. “Oh, Brec!”

His mouth curved into a gentle smile while he held her tightly, head tucked intimately against hers. “You know, lass, we really need to stop meeting like this.”

“Oh, Brec!” She jerked away, clutching his arms. “It was awful!”

His breathing was as eratic as hers over the intimacy of the moment. God help him, he was holding the woman he loved in her own bed. In the dark of night while moonlight cast a silvery glow over translucent skin in satin baby-doll pajamas.

God, have mercy!

“Two m-men were f-fighting, and there was b-blood everywhere,” she rasped, near breathless as she clutched both of his arms. “I tried to get them to stop, but they wouldn’t!”

“Who were they?” Brec asked, determined to focus on her beautiful face rather than the tempting cleavage peeking out from her lacey p.j.s, which heaved with every breath she took.

Talk about breathless!

“That’s just it, I couldn’t see at first because it was s-so dark, and the fight was so violent”—a pucker appeared at the bridge of her nose—“but somehow I had the sense that one of them was Greg Schulte.”

“Greg Schulte?” Brec brushed silky strands of her hair back before discreetly sliding up the satin strap that had slipped off her bare shoulder, her silky skin all but setting his fingers on fire.

“Oh!” That seemed to get her attention as she jolted back against the headboard, eyes wide while she jerked the covers to her neck.

Much to Brec’s relief.

She gulped. “Goodness, all my night T-shirts are in the wash, so I’m forced to go skimpy when that happens.”

One edge of his mouth crooked up. “No complaints here.”

Even in the moonlight, he could see her blush. She nodded toward her closet. “If you wouldn’t mind, my robe is hanging on a hook inside the door?”

Oh, he minded all right, but better safe than sorry, he supposed as he retrieved it, a pink satin thing that was just the ticket to help tame any wayward thoughts. Especially with a woman he wanted to convince he was a new man. “So, how did you know it was Greg Schulte?” he asked, turning around while she put on her robe.

“I’m not sure, I just did. You know how it is with dreams—someone you recognize might not look like themselves, but you still think it’s them? You can turn around now.”

He did, slowly, grinning at the robe buttoned all the way to her neck. “Good job,” he said with a lop-sided smile, prompting another beautiful blush in her cheeks. He nudged her over and sat down. “Was he wearing the Miami Vice jacket again?”

Her head tipped, as if giving it thought. “No, he was dressed all in black, but his hair was blond like Greg’s, so maybe that’s why I thought it was him.”

“And you didn’t recognize the other one?”