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And I was about to admit it to him. I was dreaming of touching him. Dreaming of being close to him. Dreaming of his mouth.
I redden even more at the idea of admitting such an inappropriate truth to Arthur Worthing.
“It’s all scattered. It was a dream. I don’t know why I took it so seriously and came to wake you up. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to be sorry. You can wake me up anytime.”
We stare at each other, both of us breathing heavily.
“Okay. Thanks. I’m... I’m...” I’m about to say I’m sorry again, but I’ve already said it more than once and he’s dismissed it. “I think my mental processes are probably kind of screwed up by everything.”
“They’re not screwed up. You just can’t remember everything. Give it some more time.”
I nod, comforted by his calm assurance. Hopefully he’s right.
I’m suddenly aware of his shirtlessness. His warm body only a few inches away. His hair is in wild disarray still. I want to run my fingers through it.
Desperately.
I shift from foot to foot. “Well.”
“Well.” He takes another step back. “You should go back to bed.”
“I’m not tired.”
“You should go anyway.” His voice is gruffer than ever, but it’s not angry. It’s urgent in a different way.
I wish I could see his expression more clearly, but he’s moved farther into the shadows.
Whatever the reason, he wants me to leave. I woke him up in the middle of the night for no real purpose.
“Okay. Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“We can talk then. Good night, Scarlett.”
“Good night.”
I close the door as I step into the hallway. He swings the bedroom door closed before I can think of anything else to say.
Well.
That’s that.
Maybe I’ll remember something real eventually. Maybe I’ll understand what’s always simmering beneath the surface of Arthur’s composure.
Maybe one day I’ll rediscover everything I’ve lost.
I want it now more than ever.
***
SEVERAL DAYS LATER, I walk out of a commercial office building in Alexandria and look around until I spot the dark blue SUV. Arthur dropped me off at the front an hour ago, and he must have been waiting in view of the entrance because he’s already driving over to pick me up.
I smile when I see his scarred, attractive face—so full of lines and rough edges and character—and his rumpled hair. His sober, watchful brown eyes.
I’m not sure why, but I really like the sight of him right now.
He smiles back, warm but slightly surprised. He leans over to push open the passenger door before I can reach the handle. “How did it go?” he asks as I climb in.
