“There, she’s gone.” Sasha smiled at him. “I knew she’d leave if you were here. You worry her.”

“Do I?” he queried.

“I can feel some of what she feels. Not all. I don’t want to feel all.” Hugging herself, she rubbed her arms. “She left it cold. It’s fire she wants here, but she left the cold behind.”

“Come, back to bed with you, where it’s warm.”

To settle it, he moved to her, picked her up, carried her over.

“You smell of the forest I painted.”

“Well now, I’ve spent considerable time there.” He tucked the covers around her. “Warmer now, are you?”

“She’ll come back.”

“Not tonight.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am. You can sleep now.”

“All right.” And with a trust that baffled him, she closed her eyes.

Studying her, Bran considered his options. He could go back to his room, assume she’d come for him if she needed to. He could spend a very uncomfortable night on the floor. Or . . .

He stretched out beside her, watched night press against the window. She smelled of orange blossoms, he realized. And breathing her in, slept.

CHAPTER THREE

Warm, blissfully content, Sasha rose out of sleep slowly, like drifting up to the surface of a quiet pool to float. Wanting to cling to that sensation of feeling safe, happy, she kept her eyes closed, gave herself permission to snuggle in for just five minutes more.

On a sigh, she glided her hand up the sheet.

And froze.

Not the sheet, but skin. Warm, firm skin. With a heart beating under her palm.

Her eyes popped open. The first shock was seeing Bran, sleeping still, his face inches from hers. The next was realizing her head was nestled on his shoulder as if it belonged there. They were curled up together like contented lovers, his arm cradled under her, her hand resting on his heart.

And it wasn’t a dream.

On a strangled gasp, she scrambled back, rolled, nearly tumbled off the bed before she gained her feet.

He sat up with a jerk, all tousled hair, stubble-shadowed cheeks, and hard, naked chest. “What?” he demanded, as those dark eyes cleared of sleep instantly. “What?”

“What?” she tossed back, pointing at him. “What?” And jabbed her finger in the air. “What!”

“Christ.” He scrubbed both hands over his face. “Bad enough, isn’t it, to wake when it’s barely past the middle of the bloody night, but then to have a woman shrieking on top of it.”

“I’m not shrieking.” Those crystal-blue eyes fired like flames. “You want to hear shrieking? You will if you don’t tell me what the hell you’re doing in my bed.”

“Relax, fáidh, for it was nothing but sleeping on both parts.” A pity, he thought, as she was fairly glorious when wound up.

“Don’t tell me to relax. Why are you in my room, in my bed, instead of in your own?”

“Well, I’ll tell you if you stop shouting. By all the gods, is there no tea or coffee in the world at this moment?”

“I’m two seconds away from calling hotel security.” After a frantic glance around, she grabbed one of her sandals, brandished it like a weapon. “Explain.”

He angled his head, apparently unconcerned, lifted that scarred eyebrow. “If you throw that at me, darling, I’ll be very annoyed, I can promise you.” He shoved out of bed, spotted her minibar, strode to it.

He plucked out a Coke and, rolling his shoulders, had the lightning-bolt tattoo on his left shoulder blade rippling. “Ah well, you take what there is and be grateful.” Opening the bottle, he guzzled it down. “That’s something anyway.”

“Get out.”

He turned around again, tall, leanly muscled, in nothing but the jeans he’d hastily pulled on and hadn’t bothered to button. Through her fury, lust clanged like iron bells.

“Are you wanting me to get out or to explain?”

“I want you to explain, then get out. How did you get in here?”

“I walked in, with you.”

She cocked the shoe back another inch as if prepared to pitch. “You absolutely did not.”

“I may dance around the truth here and there, but I don’t make a habit of stomping on it. You were dream-walking. You came knocking on my door.”

“I—I don’t walk in my sleep.” But she heard the doubt in her own voice.

“It’s not altogether sleep, is it?” He sat on the side of the bed, drank more of the Coke, then held it out. “Want a bit?”

“No. Yes. I’ll get my own.” Halfway to the minibar, she realized she wore nothing but her chemise and detoured quickly to grab the hotel robe.

“A bit late for that now, don’t you think, as I’ve already taken in the view. And it’s a fine and appealing one.” At her sharp look, he laughed. “And if I were going to do something about that, I had plenty of opportunity in the night.” He held up his free hand, palm out. “Hands off, I swear to you.”

She shoved her arms in the robe. “I don’t remember.”

“I can see that, and in your place I’d hate it as much as you. It was an hour or so after we’d parted ways for the night, you came knocking on my door. Not quite awake, not quite asleep—you understand what I mean. You said she was at the window.”

“Who?”

“I asked the same. She wanted to be let in, and you knew better. She promised you your heart’s desire, and you knew better. You came for me.”

Fear crawled on sharp hands and knees up her spine. “Did you . . . Did you see anything?”

“A shadow, nothing more than a shadow, and what sounded like the rustle of wings. I don’t doubt there was something.” He gave her a long, direct look. “I don’t doubt you.”

His last words brought tears to her eyes, so she turned away quickly, went to the minibar. Fighting the tears back, she found a small bottle of orange juice.

“You stayed with me.”

“You were worried she’d come back, and you were cold. She’d left you cold. So I tucked you up as I might a . . . sister, and as I didn’t fancy sleeping on the floor, I shared the bed. And here we are now.”

“I’m sorry. I should’ve known. I would have known if I hadn’t jumped so fast.”

“You jumped to logical enough conclusions.”

“Maybe.” Now she sat on the side of the bed. He took the bottle from her, opened it, handed it back. But she only stared down at it. “Thank you for staying with me.”

“You’re welcome.” But he took the shoe she still held, set it on the floor. Just in case.

And wished those sizzling sparks of outrage hadn’t died away into weariness.

“It’s just the beginning, isn’t it? Shadows at the window. They’re only the beginning.”

“It began long ago. This is another step along the way. You’ll do fine.”

“You think so?”

“I do, as I’m the one who nearly got bashed in the head with a shoe. You’re not alone in this.” He gave her a friendly pat on the leg before he pushed to his feet. “What do you say we meet down for breakfast in an hour?”

“All right. An hour.”

He reached down, tipped her face up. “Remember. You didn’t let her in.”

When she nodded, he walked to the door and out.

And nearly into Riley.

Her eyebrows rose, her lips curved as she tugged earbuds out of her ears. “Quick work, Irish.”

“Not of the matter you’re thinking. You’re up and about early.”

“Got a workout in.”

“If you can slap yourself together in a half hour, I’ll go down to breakfast with you, tell you what happened with Sasha. She’ll be an hour, and that would save her from having to go over it all again.”

“Now you’ve got me curious. Make it twenty minutes.” Riley jogged to her door, stopped to look back. “She okay?”

“She is. Tougher than I thought, and certainly than she thinks of herself. Twenty minutes,” he repeated. “If you’re not ready I’ll meet you downstairs, as if I don’t have coffee by then I may murder someone.”