Page 53 of Fight for Me

Blane leaned his head against the door and closed his eyes. He’d slept in worse places and in harsher conditions.

The scream woke him a short while later.

Chapter Nine

Anne sat up abruptly in bed, cold sweat drenching her body. Tears leaked from her eyes. It had been happening again in her nightmare: those men holding her while she was naked in front of them, in pain and terrified. Only this time, he hadn’t stopped at just touching her breast.

Blane was suddenly beside her, taking her hands in his.

“It’s okay,” he said quietly. “You’re safe.”

Anne gasped, trying to get her breath. Her hands shook and she gulped down sobs. To her dismay, she couldn’t stop herself from pressing against him. His arms went around her, squeezing tightly. He pressed his lips against her hair and made soft shushing noises.

After a few minutes, she was able to pull herself together. The blankets hadn’t slipped, thank God, so she still had some dignity. She extricated herself from his arms, her face hot from embarrassment.

“I-I’m so sorry,” she managed. “I don’t usually have such vivid nightmares.” She glanced at the open door. “How did you get to me so fast?”

“I’ve had a lot of experience with PTSD,” he said. “I thought you might have problems sleeping so I was sitting in the hallway, just in case.”

Anne frowned. “You were sitting in the hallway? Just in case?”

He shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal that he’d been sitting on the hard wood floor outside her door for—she glanced at the clock—two hours.

Her heart cracked a little.

Wait. She was angry at him. He’d humiliated her, then rejected her.

And then he’d sat outside her door in case she had a nightmare.

“I can’t do this right now,” she said. “I can’t…” She gestured helplessly from her to him and back. “This. Too much has happened tonight. I need to process.” Which was an understatement.

“Of course.”

He stood. He still wore only jeans but stood with all the poise as if he had on one of his tailored suits. Anne fought to keep her eyes on his when they wanted to wander.

“Try to get some sleep.”

Blane left, closing the door softly behind him. Anne was tempted to leave the bedside light on but she steeled herself and flicked it off. She wasn’t going to be afraid of the dark, damn it.

It took a long time to go to sleep, and it wasn’t because she was thinking of nightmares.

# # #

Morning light poured through the window and Anne pried her eyes open, squinting at the brightness. She could tell before even glancing at the clock that she had overslept.

“Shit.”

She scrambled out of bed and immediately realized she’d moved too fast. Everything hurt. She held in a groan as she moved much slower toward a small pile of clothes sitting on the chair by the door. Everything from matching panties and bra to socks, jeans, and a velvety soft cream sweater with a cowl neck. Blane hadn’t been kidding when he said he’d send Daniel for clothes. Pulling everything on, she wasn’t surprised to see everything fit perfectly, even the bra. She tried not to think of what that meant. It wasn’t like most men knew how to size up a woman for bra fitting.

In addition to the clothes, there were toiletries, including a hairbrush which she desperately needed. Her tossing and turning had created snarls that made her wince as she worked through them. The circles underneath her eyes betrayed the restless night and a fabulously black and purple bruise darkened her cheek and jaw.

She gingerly brushed her teeth, grimacing at the tenderness, and splashed water on her face, thinking. She needed to get her door fixed today and call in to work, then find Madeleine. The woman was obviously in danger.

Her cell was on the table by the bed and she called work first, explaining she’d be out for a few days. She could hardly counsel battered women when she looked like one herself.

Then she called Maria.

“It’s about time,” she answered, sounding disgruntled. “I’ve left you two messages. You’re on Page Six and you don’t even tell me what’s going on!”

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