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She quit fighting the inevitable and went limp as he sat her on the side of her bed, then pulled back the covers. Before she knew it, he was kneeling at her feet, removing her shoes, then tucking her into bed, clothes and all.
“Don’t go,” she whispered.
“You couldn’t make me,” Sean said, then kicked off his boots and lay down on top of the covers, curled up around her and pulled her close.
For Amalie, it was like being engulfed within a cocoon. She’d never felt this safe. Or this loved. She closed her eyes.
Sean held her, feeling the tension in her body slowly relaxing, and the even rise and fall of her breath. And then he heard her whisper.
“Sorry I’m so screwed up.”
He started to respond and then realized she was talking in her sleep.
“No more than the next guy, you’re not,” he muttered, and scooted closer.
Amalie was dreaming.
The car in front of her spun out, slid into the median andthen back into the lane of traffic, and broadsided her. Now she was spinning and screaming, knowing when it stopped, she would either be hurt or dead.
She woke up with a gasp and rolled over, right into the front of Sean Pope’s chest. He raised up on one elbow and smoothed the hair away from her face.
“You’re okay, baby. You were dreaming.”
Her heart thumped. They were in bed together…more or less. She didn’t know whether to panic or strip.
She grimaced. “I live for the day when this memory fades.”
“Constant reminders don’t help, and your experience is still new. Just a little over two years, right? Give yourself a break.” He leaned over and brushed a kiss across her lips. “I’ve got you wrapped up like a burrito. Did you finally get warm?”
She nodded. “I never did get that coffee made.”
“Do you want some?” he asked.
“Not any longer. A cold shower, maybe.”
He grimaced. “Our timing is a joke, isn’t it? Graveyard. Snowstorm. Too full of chili. Car wreck. They all tend to ruin the moment.” Then he rolled out of bed and helped her up. “It’s getting late. I have chores to do up on the mountain, and your open house is on Friday.”
“Yes, to both. I’ll open the office Monday morning. After that, I’m at work all week and Saturday until noon.”
He took her in his arms. “I’ll be at your office this Friday at 10:00 a.m. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
She slid her arms around his neck. “I’m anxious but excited, and so grateful you’ll be there.”
“A promise is a promise,” he whispered, and then pointed to her bed. “The next time I’m here, we’re gonna wind up in there.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” she said. “Be safe, and my best to Shirley.”
One last kiss, and he was gone.
It was nearly sundown.
Time to put this day to rest.
Chapter 11
The next few days passed in a flurry of anxiety and busy work, but on Friday morning, Amalie was at the office by 9:00 a.m. to receive the deliveries of floral and baked goods. She had a small table set up against the wall for refreshments. The floors were shining. The pillows on her sofa were perfectly plumped. And she had an OPEN HOUSE banner outside, hanging below her name.
The flowers came first. Two bouquets. One on the reception desk, and a smaller green ivy on the coffee table in front of the sofa. But to her surprise, other florists began arriving with congratulatory arrangements. One from the bank next door where she’d opened her account, and another from PCG Inc., the company that owned this building.
