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I settle into my pillow again.
“Stop!” Xavier suddenly cries out. “Don’t open the gate!”
Then he swings out, narrowly missing me as I pull back out of the way of his massive arm. He writhes in bed and in the dim light of the full moon streaming in our window, I can see that his face is a scrunched as if he’s in terrible pain.
“Xavier,” I call his name, alarmed.
He continues thrashing in the bed sheets.
“Xavier,” I try again.
“No!” he shouts, so loud it almost hurts my ears.
I reach forward and grab his shoulders.
Wrong move.
Immediately he’s on top of me, body-slamming me into the bed.
“Xavier!” I cry. “Stop, it’s me!” I claw at his arms holding me down. “It’s Pet!”
His eyes have been open yet distant, like he’s watching some other movie playing out in front of him. But suddenly he blinks and he jumps back from me, looking down at his hands in horror, then at me.
“What—” he starts, then stops. He looks confused and bewildered like he’s a small child who’s woken up somewhere he’s never been before. It’s heartbreaking to see in a man usually so absolutely in control.
I crawl across the bed to his side.
“Shh, you’re okay. You just had a nightmare. You’re okay now.” I draw him into my arms, pressing his head to my chest. He wraps his arms around my waist and clutches me close like I’m the only solid thing in his world.
I lay my cheek on his head, inhaling the scent of his simple, clean-smelling shampoo and enjoying the texture of his springing curly hair. I run my fingers through his hair and for once, he actually lets me. I revel in the feel of him.
“What was the nightmare about?” I ask after several minutes. “Sometimes it helps to talk it through?”
And God, I only realize after I ask how much I want him to tell me, to trust me enough to start sharing his secrets with me.
Instead he pulls away. “It was nothing. Let’s get back to sleep. Just a couple hours before we have to be up.”
He tugs me back to lie down with him.
In control again.
I can’t help my frown.
For a few minutes, I was seeing beneath that damn shield he keeps up around himself at all times.
He’s so big on trust, but he’s never willing to give me anything of himself in return. How is that fair?
And you? What have you been giving him lately?
I scoff back at my stupid internal voice. I’ve given him so much. I eat from his damn hand. I do all the stupid farm chores he asks of me. I don’t complain when he tells me to do this or do that.
But, what about you? Have you really given him you, your real, true self?
Well hell no, I haven’t. That was the whole point. I was always going to keep the core of me to myself. He was never supposed to be able to touch it.
So I guess I shouldn’t balk when he’s not willing to reciprocate or do so in return.
Then why is there this stinging ache in my chest at the space between us that feels more and more like an empty chasm?
I barely sleep a wink and am tired all the next day.
But after seeing Xavier so vulnerable the night before, I can’t help looking at him in a different light.
There are demons in this man’s past, I’m sure of it. And if I just knew what they were, I bet I could understand him, and even what he wants of me, so much more clearly.
Now—how to find them out. That’s the real question.
One that I’m no closer to figuring out by the end of the week.
Any question I ask only gets deflected with more instructions for riding lessons. And I swear he’s intentionally trying to drive me crazy by dressing more provocatively every day.
Like, by midday, he always takes off his denim button up so that he’s left with nothing but his white tank top underneath. Which reveals acres and acres of his bronzed, muscled skin. And really, are all those muscles necessary?
I mean, yes, he’s hauling around fifty-pound bags of feed and giant water buckets, but when he gets sweaty, which is inevitable on the hot summer days, the tank top just gets soaked through and I can see the definition of every single one of his abs.
It’s just not fair on a girl’s libido.
Which God, seems overcharged all the sudden.
I swear, I don’t know what the hell is going on, but all I can seem to think about, 24/7, is jumping him. When he mounts Samson in the mid-afternoon, my thoughts are all—damn, I wish he would just fucking mount me already.
When he’s grooming Tornado at night, I’m like, uh huh, honey, that’s right, why don’t you turn a brush on me and rub me down soooooooo good because I’ve been a dirty girl.
