“What’s happening to me, Dalton? It’s not like me to walk out naked in the backyard. What’s worse, I can’t remember anything. Can you tell me what I did?”
She asked for the truth. He owed it to her to give it to her. He cupped the cool glass with his palm and looked at her. “I was cleaning weapons on the patio. You came up behind me, so I turned around. You were naked.”
She blinked, then nodded. “Go on.”
“You … uh … pressed yourself up against me. Said you wanted me, needed me. You asked me to touch you. Then you kissed me.”
Her cheeks turned pink. She palmed them. “Oh, God. I don’t remember that. I swear, Dalton, I don’t remember doing that.”
“It’s okay.”
“You stopped it. You pushed me away, didn’t you?” He saw tears glistening in her eyes.
“Yeah.”
She leaned back in the chair, wrapped her arms around herself, and laid her chin on her chest, closing her eyes. He could feel her pain and embarrassment.
Dalton wanted to move, gather her up in his arms, drag her onto his lap and comfort her. But somehow he knew that touching her right now would be the wrong thing to do. For both of them.
“Isabelle. Look at me.”
She did.
“I didn’t want to stop you.”
She inhaled sharply. “What?”
“You’re beautiful, the most desirable woman I’ve ever known. And when you kissed me, touched me … oh, hell no, I didn’t want to stop you.”
“You didn’t?”
“No. If it was you, really you out there, I wouldn’t have stopped you. We wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.”
“We wouldn’t?”
“No. We’d be in bed.”
“Oh.” Her cheeks pinkened even further. And he hardened, thinking about having her in that bed. Naked, under him. Christ. Wrong thing to think about.
“But it wasn’t you out there. We both know that.”
She lifted her chin and nodded. “Yes. You’re right.” She finally seemed to relax. “We have to figure out what’s going on with me.” She seemed to ponder it for a minute or two. “Do you think I’m possessed?”
“I doubt it. It’s you … but not you. It’s not like it’s someone else taking over your body. When you were out there in the yard with me, you were definitely Isabelle. You reminded me of that night we spent on the yacht together.”
Her lashes drifted down. “When we had sex.”
“I meant the look on your face. Intense. Driven. It still seemed like you in many ways, but deep down I knew all of you wasn’t there.”
“Oh.”
“Does that make sense?”
“Yes. And obviously I know I wasn’t all there. And this isn’t the first time it’s happened to me since we left Sicily. I just don’t know what triggers it.”
“Do you remember any other times it’s happened?”
“Besides the nightmares?”
“But that’s pretty common. Most people can’t remember their dreams.”
She leaned forward, cupped her hands around her glass of tea. “These aren’t dreams, Dalton. It’s like I’m really there. Like the demons come for me as soon as I close my eyes and drift off. And it’s so real when I wake up, as if they’re trying to hold on to me and don’t want to let go. But I lose memory of what happened as soon as I’m fully awake. It’s more real than dreaming. I can’t explain it.”
He nodded. “Okay. Any other times?”
“Just the one time … the night before.”
He cocked a brow. “What do you mean?”
“I’m not sure how to explain this. But since we’ve been here … this is really embarrassing, Dalton.”
“Tell me, Isabelle. Don’t be embarrassed.”
She blew out a breath. “Okay. There’s been a couple times I’ve lost it when I find myself staring at you in … that way.”
“What way?”
“God, are you dense? In the way a woman stares at a man. When she wants him.”
“Oh.” He was dense. And flattered as hell. And worried. “Well, thanks. I think.”
She laughed. “You’re welcome. I think.”
He pulled up the chair next to him and placed his foot on it. “So it’s in your dreams. And it’s focused on me. Or at least tapping into your sexual desires.”
“Great. So we’re at least pinpointing something. Now what do we do about it? How do we stop it from happening? Because I’d hate to jump you in the middle of the night when you’re sleeping and defenseless.”
He snorted. “Yeah, that would be awful, wouldn’t it?” Just the thought of it had him quickening, his mind whirling with the possibilities. Really, he needed to get a grip. And the best way to do that was work on getting Isabelle past these nightmares-or daymares-or whatever it was that had ahold of her.
“We’re working on building you up physically. Now we need to focus on your mental and psychic strength. The stronger you are, the more you’ll be able to push past whatever’s causing you to have these nightmares or episodes.”
“Okay. How do you suggest we do that?”
“Intense exercise. Just like we do for your body, we’ll do the same for your mind.”
“Again. How?”
“Well, I’m not sure what I have in mind is a good idea right now.”
She frowned. “Why not?”
“Because of what’s happening to you, and between us.”
“Just spell it out, Dalton.”
He dragged his hand through his hair. “It’s going to require us to get … close.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Mandy stared out the hotel window at the cool blue water and white sand beach, longing to be out there. This was one of those days that she hated her job-they never got vacations, dammit.
She wasn’t going to get one now, either, no matter how appealing that ocean was. She’d love nothing more than to throw on a bikini and hit that beach, slather on a ton of lotion and bake her body, then play in the waves for a day. A week. A month. Maybe with a hot guy by her side.
Michael was definitely a hot guy. However, the word vacation probably wasn’t even in his vocabulary.
She’d checked out of her room and waited for Michael to finish packing up his things. With great reluctance she turned away from the streaming sunlight. “Wouldn’t it be nice if we could take a few days to lie around on the beach, soak up the sun, do a little surfing?”
Michael laughed. “I don’t remember the last time I did anything like that.”
“You need to lighten up, Mike. Life’s short.”
“Don’t I know it. Unfortunately, we need to get moving.”
She scrunched her nose and mentally cursed the man she’d had to follow around like a trained dog for the past few days. Granted, Michael knew his business. As a Keeper, he was damn good at hunting. He wasn’t one to waste time; he knew how to track and kept them moving. And since Mandy loved her job, she always admired those who did it well.
But Michael wasn’t Lou. And she missed Lou so much her heart ached. Ever since Sicily she’d refused to let herself wallow in grief. Instead, she’d worked out, practiced with her weapons, beat the shit out of a couple of punching bags. Basically done everything she could to keep her mind and body occupied so she wouldn’t have to think, or feel, or break down. Because she was afraid if she did, she’d never get up again.
And Lou would have been disappointed in her if she let that happen. So she simply never stopped. Fortunately, Michael was a great slave driver, kept them moving every day and almost every night, stopping only when necessary to eat and fall into a dead sleep. She was reaching exhaustion, mentally, emotionally, and physically, and she knew it. Still, she’d push on. It was her job. It kept her occupied. Occupied meant she wouldn’t have to think, to dwell.