Page 53 of Nicole's Shelter

She rubbed her eyes, wondering if those really were shadows in front of her or just wishful thinking. “Nicole. Nicole Livingston,” she said, reaching for the blanket.

“What’s my name?”

That was easy. She recognized his voice, his scent, and the feel of his hands on her. “Rick Dreyer.”

“What day is it?”

This was the concussion protocol. “Rick, I’m fine.” She reached out toward the dip he made in the mattress. Intending to wave him away, she smacked his side instead. “Whoops. Sorry. I don’t think I’d know what day it was even if I hadn’t tried to fell a tree with my head.”

“Fair enough.” He kissed her forehead. “Go back to sleep.”

“No, I’m good.” She pushed her hair back from her face, wincing when she hit the bruise. “Is there an ice pack around?”

“I’ll find one if you’re determined to stay awake.”

“Please.” Blinking to be sure her eyes were open, she tried to follow his movements when the bed shifted as he got up. The room seemed shrouded in a thick, dark fog, but she was pretty sure she was actually seeing something.

She brought her hand up to her face and spread her fingers wide, determined to see all five digits. They were there, sort of. Being a visual person with a vivid imagination, she quelled her enthusiasm. It was entirely possible this was just another trick of her brain.

She tucked her hand by her side as Rick entered the room.

“Here you go.” The mattress sagged as he settled beside her. “Lean on me,” he said, scooting behind her a little more.

He shifted her until her back rested against his bare chest and her legs were caged by his. The contrasting sensation of his cotton scrubs against her skin was surprisingly sexy. He lifted her hair and gently eased her head down onto the ice pack.

“Isn’t that cold for you?”

“I won’t get frostbite that easy.”

She smiled at his humor and his tenderness. His arms came around her and she linked her hands with his at her waist. This kind of intimacy had eluded her, or rather she’d actively avoided it. She should be avoiding it now. No matter what they’d survived so far, the biker attack confirmed her struggle was far from over. “Is there a light on?”

“There can be.” He reached away from her and she heard the click of a lamp switch.

“Wow.”

“You can see?” His arms gave her a squeeze.

“Sort of. Instead of a dark fog, it’s sort of a thick gray haze with the light on.” He went very still behind her and doubt washed over her. “Unless I’m making it all up.”

His hands trailed up and down her arms. “No. Whatever you’re seeing is real. It’s after midnight.”

Thinking of the concussion protocol, she worried about him. “If you’ve been up every few hours, you’re probably exhausted.”

He chuckled, the low rumble giving her a delicious little thrill. “I learned how to make my hours in a bed count.”

“I’ll say.” She clapped a hand to her mouth. There was no graceful way around that sort of faux pas. “I mean—”

“Shh. Let me take it as a compliment.”

“Please do. It was great sex.” She didn’t have a wealth of experience with the post-coital tenderness thing as she was usually busy leaving in order to avoid attachments that gave way to slip ups that led to questions.

“Who’s Kara Reynolds?”

Questions like that. It was difficult to push an answer past the lump in her throat. “Where’d you hear that name?” There were only two options. Either she’d said something stupid in her sleep, or Eva had uncovered the truth. It was the first time in her life she prayed for ‘stupid’.

“When I woke you earlier, you gave me that name.”

“Couldn’t you just assume I had brain damage?”

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