Page 54 of Strangers in Love

I heard her before I saw her because she was yelling for me.

Freedom.

No. No. She couldn’t be here. She was safe. She hadn’t been with me when I’d been taken. She was safe.

Except they were dragging her in front of me. Naked. Screaming. Bloody. They were going to torture her and kill her, and I couldn’t do anything, and I was going to have to endure every moment of her agony, and it was all my fault all my fault all my–

“Aline.”

My name cut through the panic and the screams.

“Aline.”

I knew that voice.

“Aline. Wake up.”

Safe.

That single word pulled me out of that dark, awful place. My mind spun, trying to adjust to the jolt of moving from nightmare to reality. A reality that was dark and unfamiliar. One that would’ve been terrifying if I hadn’t locked on to a pair of brilliant green eyes that reminded me that I was safe.

I didn’t think. I simply threw myself at him, wrapping my arms around his neck and pressing myself as close to him as I possibly could. His arms enfolded me, and I curled into a ball on his lap, my face pressed against his chest. His skin was warm through the soft cotton t-shirt he wore, his body hard. He smelled like a combination of sandalwood and cedar, flooding my mind with memories of home.

My mother had an antique hope chest that had been in her family for years. As a child, I used to love opening it and simply breathing in the scent. At some point, Mom had told me that the chest had been made out of cedar and sandalwood, but I’d always associated it with home and safety.

Perhaps that was why I relaxed in Eoin’s arms so quickly. Perhaps it was due more to the fact that he had rescued me. Either way, I stayed where I was, my body trembling as the nightmare continued to cling to me. I should have been embarrassed at letting this stranger see me this way. I should have been trying to prove how strong and independent I was, how I could handle whatever came my way. But I just couldn’t do it right now.

I just let him hold me and let myself be safe.

Thirty-Eight

Aline

We satin silence for a minute or two before Eoin spoke.

“Sometimes, it helps to talk about it.”

I almost asked how he would know, but then I remembered his scars and realized that it was very likely that he had some experience with nightmares brought about by traumatic events.

“I’ll listen if you need me to.” His voice was low and calm. Soothing.

I pulled back enough for me to look at him while I said the only thing I could say right now.

“I don’t want to talk. I want to forget.”

And then I kissed him.

Or, rather, I pressed my lips against his in the hopes he’d take over.

Instead, he went completely still, his arms stiff around me, his mouth unyielding. He didn’t push me away or rebuke me, but he didn’t do anything else either. He just sat there like he hoped I’d figure out he wasn’t interested without him having to say anything that’d embarrass both of us.

Oh.

Even though I heard his message loud and clear, embarrassment wasn’t quite strong enough for what I felt as I pulled away. Mortification was a better word. Humiliated applied as well.

“I’m sorry.” I tried to move, and for a brief moment, his arms tightened, as if he didn’t want to let me go. But the moment passed, and he dropped his arms.

I scrambled off his lap, moving until my back was against the headboard, and I couldn’t go any farther. My face was hot, my pulse racing, and none of it in a good way.

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