“Then they weren’t very good at it, I’d already suspected. You jump and moan every time I touch you there,” Colin told her.
Sibyl grunted with ill-humour.
“Or lift your ass to meet my hand,” he continued informatively. “I was already intrigued.”
“Thanks Colin,” she gritted between her teeth. “You can stop talking now. I think I have the picture.”
He grinned at her before his head dropped to nuzzle her neck.
Then he suggested, “Let’s talk about your dream now, shall we?”
Her body went rigid.
She could not, under any circumstances, tell him about her dream.
She could provide an entire list, even in writing (if he were to require) of every sensitive spot on her body (behind her ears, the skin underneath her br**sts, and so on).
But she could not tell him about her dream. She could not tell him she’d seen him in her subconscious before she’d ever even met him. He’d think she’d lost her mind.
This meant she was going to have to lie to him.
And Sibyl hated lying. It wasn’t a very nice thing to do and she wasn’t at all good at it. One could get caught up in lies but Sibyl always got caught up in them. She was too absentminded to remember what she’d said, she always had been.
“It was nothing,” she muttered, trying to blow it off.
“It was enough for you to kick me, rather forcefully, in the shin and drive you from the bed and the across the room.”
Her eyes rounded at this news. “I kicked you?”
Colin nodded.
“Did I hurt you?”
“Surprised me, I was dead asleep when it happened.”
Without her volition, her hand went to rest on his waist.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly and she meant it.
His body became quite still as he watched her face. He seemed captivated by something there, so much so he was lost in whatever it was.
“Colin?” His body jerked at her calling his name and his eyes cleared.
“Tell me about it,” he commanded, his voice now strangely husky.
“What?” she asked.
“The dream,” he persisted, rather annoyingly, Sibyl thought.
“I said it was nothing.”
“Tell me,” he urged.
“I’d rather not. I don’t want to think about it,” she demurred, beginning to get panicky.
And anyway, why, exactly, did he want to know so badly?
“Sibyl, tell me.” The huskiness had vanished and he was lapsing into his smooth, angry voice again and she decided he was not going to let it go.
So she gave in, in a way. “I’ve had it before. It’s just… not nice.”
“Yes?” he prompted.
“In it, I’m sleeping.” Her mind was racing, she was going to have to make something up and decided, in case it came up in the future, or she dreamed it again and kicked him or hurt him in some other way (which she hoped she never did, indeed, she hoped never to have the awful dream again), she would remember what she said. “Peacefully, alone… I mean, by myself, sleeping by myself… all alone…”
“Go on,” he prompted when she’d trailed off, his eyes assessing. “You were alone, by yourself, sleeping.”
Sibyl nodded. “Then someone, or it feels like more than one person, I never see them, they don’t have faces, drags me out of bed and they slit my throat. That’s it.”
“Christ,” he swore immediately after she finished speaking, dropping to his side and taking her with him. Once there, he pulled her deep into his body and repeated, “Christ.”
She tipped her head back to look at him, feeling guilty at her white lie and somewhat surprised (in a funny, happy way) at his reaction. He seemed so concerned, it was almost touching (well, it was actually very touching but she didn’t want to consider that).
He dipped his chin to look at her.
“Last night, you touched and kissed my throat. Why?”
Oh goddess, she’d forgotten she’d done that.
“I don’t know,” she fibbed for she bloody well did know. “Maybe just a spontaneous reaction. I was kind of out of it at the time.”
He was watching her closely, very closely and she was fairly certain he knew she was lying. It wouldn’t be hard to figure out, she was the worst liar.
“That’s all?” he asked, his voice showing his doubt.
She thought it best not to utter another word so she nodded.
He seemed to decide to let it go and tucked her head under his chin as his hands roamed her back. This she found soothing, even though she still felt guilty for lying to him.
“Do you want breakfast?” she asked against his throat, wishing to be on another subject.
“What?” he queried distractedly.
“Breakfast,” she forced her head back and he again dipped his chin to look at her. She noticed he looked lost in thought and she explained teasingly, “You know, the first meal of the day. The most important meal of the day. Breaking your fast. The French call it petit dejeuner. The Spanish call it desayuno.”
He awarded her one of his fabulous grins and, at the sight of it, Sibyl felt her entire body relax and warm.
“I know what breakfast is,” he told her, his voice low and effective.
“Would you like some?”
“I’ve got to take a shower and get to the office.”
For some reason, Colin’s announcement made Sibyl feel a vague sense of disappointment.
Well, if she was honest, not all that vague. It was more like a keen sense of disappointment.
She hid it by pushing her face into his throat again and then she worked with every ounce of strength in her to push the disappointment aside.
This, she had to remember, was a temporary arrangement. He’d paid for this, paid for her.
This was not boyfriend and girlfriend having a morning quickie and an affectionate chat.
This was not that at all.
And with those thoughts firmly (kind of) planted in her brain, she whispered against his skin, “I need to take Mallory for his morning walk.”
Then she shoved away from him and started to leave the bed but he caught her forearm.
Half in, half out of bed, Sibyl looked back at him.
“I’ll be back tonight,” he told her, his grin gone, he was watching her and she felt as if he could see passed everything, straight to her heart.
“Same time?” she asked and the words made her feel wrong. They made her feel like what she was to him, a word she was not allowed to say but she should never allow herself to forget.