Page 9 of Javier

His big fingers sifted through my hair and gently explored the back of my skull. “No blood,” he reported.

His careful touch felt good, but what were the chances this man was my friend?

Next to nil, and yet, he’d patched me up. Now, all I could do was focus on his oddly familiar face and hang on to his clear gaze. It was as if my ability to survive the day depended on the connection between us.

I couldn’t understand the emotions that enveloped us in a protective bubble where only he and I existed. Braced against his hard body, caught in his arms, I felt… safe?

Yes, I must’ve hit my head really hard when that now-dead piece of crap pushed me. That had to be the problem. A concussion may explain why I was reacting to the newcomer so oddly, but he was also right. Despite my best efforts not to, I’d fainted.

You nitwit. You passed out again.

How pathetic was that?

My face ignited. I looked away in shame. As a kid, I’d fainted so often that my sisters had taken me to the doctors. They diagnosed me with stress-related Vasovagal Syncope, otherwise known as fainting spells. In my case, they were triggered by violence and emotional distress, usually brought about by my father’s fury, a result of all of his shouting and yelling.

Since I’d taken refuge with the sisters, I hadn’t suffered many fainting spells. I really hoped this episode didn’t mark the beginning of more. I could barely hide my embarrassment. A random thought hit me out of left field. Could I be dreaming again? Was this guy even real?

I lifted a tentative hand and brushed my fingers overthe stern ridges of his jaw. He stiffened beneath my touch. My fingertips rustled over the bristled textured of his beard’s shadow. My body hummed, as if recognizing the rugged feel of his skin. Goosebumps prickled all over me. Why did I feel as if my hands were well-acquainted with the planes of his face?

Oh, my freaking God. Ihadseen this man before! Every night for the last few weeks, as I lay asleep on my cot. I’d seen him… in my dreams. Even weirder, I’d seenusdoing naughty things… to each other.

“Are you with me?” He took my hand and gently massaged my icy fingers.

“I… um…” I croaked, a dry gulp. “Yes.”

“Well, then, hello Angel.” His voice echoed again in the back of my mind, intimate and foreboding, seductive and alluring. “I can’t believe I found you.”

A rabble of butterflies took flight in my lower stomach. He’d called me Angel in my dreams as well. He’d greeted me with the same exact words last night, and ever since I began dreaming about him. I’d woken up every time, sweaty and needy, blaming my wild dreams on the clash between my self-imposed celibacy and my sinful disposition.

Now he was here, holding me, as if he’d manifested from my mind’s darkest desires, recreating the beginnings of an X-rated scene that would’ve required penance well beyond ten Hail Marys. Or a thousand.

“You need a drink.” He propped me higher on his chest, sat me up, and after yanking his hydration pack’s hose, pressed the mouthpiece to my lips. “Since I’ve got none of the good stuff on me, water will have to do.”

I didn’t have to suck on the mouthpiece. With a flick of his fingers, the water trickled out at just the right pace for sipping. It flowed through me, flooding my desiccated throat. Slowly, my toes and fingers regained feeling. The heat and humidity ofthe jungle returned to swarm me. His scent surrounded me—sunbaked jungle, ozone right before the storm, and crisp rain approaching.

I loved a good storm. Watching them was one of the few pleasures I permitted myself these days. A sudden spark of irritation struck me out of nowhere. He had no right to jump from my dreams to real life without my permission. And why on earth did this stranger have to smell like my favorite weather event?

“Small sips,” he murmured, and I obeyed as if I had no will of my own. “That’s it. A little more will do you good.”

His hands glided over my body in a soothing caress. Far from causing me pain, the slide of his fingers thrilled my most neglected parts. Hands as big and harsh as his should not be able to deliver such tender care, and yet here I was, relishing the waterandhis touch.

He pushed a strand of hair away from my face and studied my eyes. “Good news. No pupil dilation. Take these.” Keeping one arm around me, he pulled a small pack of over-the-counter pain meds from one of his pockets, ripped it open with his teeth, and slid the pills between my lips. “You should be good to go in a few.”

Following his instructions, I swallowed the tablets along with another sip of water, but the accidental meeting of his fingertips and my lips unleashed vivid memories. I remembered the feel of his mouth over mine, his tongue urging me to open for him, and his naked body, chiseled and heavy, bearing down on my hips as I widened my legs and bared my soaked—

Holy Mary Mother of God. Am I going nuts? Am I dreaming again?

Flames licked my face, but I had to know.

A glance showed me the nuns at work with their backs to us. So, I did the only thing I could think of. I lifted my face to himand planted a small tentative kiss on his lips, desperate to make sense of a world gone mad.

He startled, but he didn’t recoil or retreat. On the contrary, after a few seconds, his lips pressed against mine. I probed a little more, deepening the contact. His lips relaxed, allowing me to explore him just as I’d done in my dreams. His mouth was strong but soft, patient but responsive. He kissed me back, a soft kneading of lips that sent prickles of awareness through my body. He closed his eyes, and I melted into his arms like sugar rendering into caramel.

This felt good. He felt right.

I dared a small swipe of my tongue over the seam of his lips. He answered by opening right away and seizing my mouth. When he briefly plunged his tongue in my well, I hesitantly dipped my tongue in his. I gasped as I recognized the flavors that brightened my senses. He tasted earthy, like salt and wheat. As the kiss grew in intensity, his breaths fractured and so did mine. His fiery wafts blew over me, scented with the same ardent notes of passion I remembered from my dreams.

This couldn’t be happening. He couldn’t be the man of my dreams. It was impossible!

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