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Flannel? My eyes shot open. I wasn’t dreaming now. I was in bed, spooned around Indy, my hand up her T-shirt and fully cupping her breast, which was even more perfect than in my dream. My other hand was underneath her, pressed between her thighs, inches away from . . .

I held my breath, praying that Indy hadn’t felt the wood I was sporting and that was poking her in the ass. She was still asleep. If I could just extract my arm . . .

“Don’t stop,” she murmured, and dammit, if for a second, I considered it. But she was sleeping and probably thought this was an erotic dream. Reluctantly, I eased my hand off her breast, but when my fingertips grazed her nipple, she gasped and stiffened and I knew that she was awake.

I pushed away and bounded from the bed, turning my back to her so she wouldn’t see the enormous tent in my pants. “Shit, shit.”

After some jumping around searching for a T-shirt, I pulled it over my head and went to stand defensively behind the chaise longue. Indy sat up in bed, her own T-shirt still twisted around her waist and her hair wild, her eyes large.

“I’m sorry, Diana. I was dreaming and I didn’t mean to . . . Christ!” I yanked on my sweater.

“It’s fine, Levi,” she said in a daze. “Don’t worry about it. I . . . I was dreaming too.”

She stared at me like she was afraid I’d vaporize into thin air. And, honestly, that’s what I wished I could do right now. Well, that, or climb back into bed with her and rip that T-shirt off her. She was so deliciously rumpled, her cheeks flushed and full lips parted as if willing me to do just that. She’d looked at me like that before and I’d already been tempted, and now twice I’d crossed a line. If I listened to my dick instead of my conscience, I’d ruin the fragile bond we’d created over the past week.

“I’m gonna go for a run,” I said, slipping my sneakers on.

“Will you come back?” I hated the uncertainty in Indy’s voice. It only reminded me of how I’d run out of her life like a coward the last time—however good my intentions.

“Yeah, I’ll be back.”

For now, though, I had to put some distance between me and that dream and the very real image of Diana in that bed.

***

I ran and ran until the early morning mist that had shrouded the grounds had burned off and the sky was clear and blue. But no matter how far I ran I could still feel the imprint of her in the palm of my hand, still feel the silk of her hair and the velvety softness of her skin.

The fall splendor of trees across the lake reminded me of Indy’s hair. Last night, while she fell asleep in my arms, I’d spent god knows how long studying it, classifying all the colors, and listening to her breathe. I must have dozed off too. That was the only way I could account for having slept with her in that bed.

I was still so angry at myself for once again crossing a boundary without her consent. First that shitty kiss and now groping her in my sleep. When had I become such a creep? I was not doing a very good job of protecting her, that’s for sure, not when I posed the biggest threat to her.

As the villa came back into view, my heart sped up like it did every time I was going to see her—this time though with embarrassment. When I got back to our room, Indy was there with her back to me, bent over, shoulders shaking. Fuck, she was she crying? I’d forced myself on her again when all I wanted to do was comfort her, protect her.

“Are you okay?” I asked, coming up behind her.

She spun around and I let out a relieved breath. She was laughing. “Yeah, I was looking over today’s program, and well, check this out.”

She passed me a piece of cream stationery with elaborate calligraphy. Today’s program included charades and a treasure hunt?

“A treasure hunt? I take it back, this is not Eyes Wide Shut. We’ve stumbled into a kid’s birthday party.”

“See? You were so convinced that something underhanded was going down. They’re just quirky millionaires with bizarre hobbies.”

“Huh.” I still wasn’t convinced. “Maybe the treasure is Signore Visconti in diapers, and if you find him, you’ll have to play the nanny.”

“The sad thing is, at this point I’d probably do it.” She sighed and tucked her hair behind her ear. I ached with the need to touch her and started to slip my arm around her before I caught myself.

Once I showered and dressed we went down to the dining room. The buffet was overflowing with cold cuts, cheese, veggies, and all sorts of bread, some sort of French quiche and those pastries I loved that were fifty percent croissant and fifty percent cream.

Indy had always had a birdlike appetite, sometimes forgetting to eat entirely when she was on one of her quests, so I piled a plate up for her sans the cold cuts. When I set it down in front of her, she looked up from the newspaper she’d been reading and flashed me a radiant smile. Then she looked at the plate. “All this for me?”

“I may have gone a little overboard,” I admitted. The plate was bigger than her head. “I took your share of pickles.”

She smiled and tapped her spoon against the shell of a soft-boiled egg and very methodically sliced off its cap, dipping her toasted bread into it. “Mmm,” she moaned, and I swear I felt it in my cock. “So good. I never eat breakfast. This is such a treat.”

“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day,” I admonished her while digging in to my spinach frittata. I devoured it in two seconds flat and caught Indy staring at me.

“Nothing. I’ve just always liked watching you eat.” She smiled, chin in her hand.