Page 54 of Stone
He snapped his hand around my wrist, yanking my hand from his face. His eyes were completely unfocused at first when they opened. He issued an intense snarl, yanking half my body over his.
“Stone. It’s me. It’s Dani.” He was scaring me, not because I believed he’d hurt me, but because his nightmare was so vivid.
His chest rose and fell and his entire face was pinched. With his wild eyes, I couldn’t tell if he had any indication of where he was. He wouldn’t stop shaking and his fingers were cutting off the circulation in my arm.
“Stone,” I whispered, but he still wasn’t responding.
I knew enough about PTSD to realize he was locked in a frenzied state of mind, a dream sparked by a real-life moment that had nearly crushed his psyche. While I was no expert, my instinct told me I had to try to draw him out of the fog as quickly as possible.
So I kissed him. I crushed my lips against his and stroked his arm with my other hand, delicately brushing my fingers across his skin. He didn’t respond at first, his entire body remaining rigid, locked in whatever night terror he was going through. I could feel his wildly beating heart and that frightened me even more. What if he was experiencing a heart attack?
I pressed his lips open with mine, realizing his teeth were tightly clenched together. With every muscle so rigid, his body was jerking as if being electrocuted.
My hand was numb from his hold, my arm aching, but I continued kissing him as I stroked his chest. The fear remained high and I had a terrible feeling he wasn’t coming out of the hallucination. Slowly, his breathing became less labored, his jaws unclenching so I managed to slide my tongue inside. His fingers released, relieving the pressure, and the heavy tension faded.
Without forewarning, he pulled me off the floor until I was nestled against his warm body. As his breathing continued to slow, he rolled one hand down my back.
The man had become an indomitable force to be reckoned with, men refusing to get in his way. I’d considered him larger than life, which was why seeing him crippled by whatever demon he’d brought back from his time serving his country was heartbreaking.
Our moment of intimacy wasn’t destined to last; when he became entirely conscious, his body stiffened.
He gripped my arms, gently but firmly pushing me back. His eyes had always been piercing, but in the hazy light of early morning, they were defining and disturbing.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Trying to awaken you. You were having a nightmare.”
His chest continued to rise and fall, but he was slowly drifting more into consciousness. “I’m fine. You didn’t need to worry.”
“You were talking about someone dying. A child?”
“I said…” He raised his voice then instantly gritted his teeth, even turning his head away from me. “I’m fine. Really. Just a nightmare. I get them from time to time.” With another gentle yet forceful push, he eased me off his body and the couch, instantly sitting up.
I backed away, rising to my feet, but still standing over him. “How long have you had them?”
With his elbows on his knees, he slowly dropped his head into his hands. “Long enough to know I’m fine.”
“You didn’t seem fine, Stone. You were completely out of it. What were you dreaming about?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“I think it does. You’re clammy, still shaking. Is this about something you experienced in the Navy?”
He was still taking ragged yet deep breaths. “Just leave it alone.”
“Have you talked to someone about them? A professional? There are experts who deal with PTSD and can help you. But I think at least if you talk about what you remember, maybe that will help,”
“Dani!” he snapped and jerked to his feet. “I’m fine. Just let it go.” He blew past me, heading into the kitchen.
Maybe I should leave him alone, but I knew when someone was suffering and his memories were attacking his mind. I’d seen the darkness on his face when he’d opened fire on the bastards who’d kidnapped me. I’d sensed the rage had almost gotten out of control. A part of him was a ticking timebomb.
I followed him, remaining in the doorway, yet determined to get him to talk. He was busy with the Keurig machine, smashing his finger on the button and waiting as the unit began to heat.
His hands were pressed on the counter, his arms remaining rigid.
When he tipped his head over his shoulder, I sensed he knew I wasn’t going to allow him to go through this by himself. He laughed, although the sound was hollow. “Why can’t you just leave it alone?”
“Because you’re hurting and that hurts me.”
