Key of Light (Key 1)

His skin went white, his eyes black. “Then lose all!”

She screamed as he reached for her, and again when the cold speared through her. Then she was pulled clear, tumbled free, to wake gasping in her own bed.

She heard the banging on the door, the shouting. Terror leaped out of bed with her. She made it to the living room at a stumbling run and spotted Flynn on the other side of her patio doors, about to smash one of her chairs through the glass.

He tossed it aside as she unlocked the door, shoved it open.

“Who’s in here?” He grabbed her shoulders, lifted her right off her feet, and set her out of his way. “Who hurt you?”

“Nobody’s here.”

“You were screaming. I heard you screaming.” He strode into the bedroom, fists ready.

“I had a nightmare. It was just a bad dream. No one’s here but me. I have to sit down.” She braced a hand on the couch, lowered herself.

His own legs felt a little shaky. She’d screamed as if something was tearing her to pieces. He’d had a good taste of terror the night before, but it had been nothing compared to what had pumped into him on the other side of that glass door.

He marched into the kitchen, poured a glass of water. “Here, drink some. Take it slow.”

“I’ll be okay in a minute. I woke up, and you were pounding and shouting. Everything’s still confused.”

“You’re trembling.” He glanced around, spotted a chenille throw. Wrapping it around her shoulders, he sat on the couch beside her. “Tell me about the dream.”

She shook her head. “No. I don’t want to talk about it, or think about it right now. I just want to be alone for a while. I don’t want you here.”

“That’s the second time today you’ve said that to me. But this time you’re not getting your way. In fact, I’m calling Jordan and letting him know I’m staying here tonight.”

“This is my apartment. Nobody stays here unless I invite them.”

“Wrong again. Get undressed, get in bed. I’ll make you some soup or something.”

“I don’t want soup, I don’t want you. And I certainly don’t want to be coddled.”

“Then what the hell do you want?” He lunged to his feet, vibrating with fury and frustration. “One minute you’re all over me, telling me you’re in love with me, you want to spend your life with me. Then the next you want me to hit the road. I’m sick to death of women and their mixed signals and capricious minds and their goddamn expectations of me. Right now, you’re going to do what I want, and that’s getting into bed while I make you something to eat.”

She stared at him. A dozen vile and vicious words leaped into her throat. And she lost them all in a burst of tears.

“Oh, Christ.” Flynn scrubbed his hands over his face. “Nice job. Take a bow, Hennessy.”

He stalked to the window, stared out while she wept wildly behind him. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to do about you. I can’t keep up. You don’t want me here, fine. I’ll call Dana. But I don’t want you to be alone.”

“I don’t know what to do about me either.” She reached in the drawer for a pack of tissues. “If I’ve sent you mixed

signals, it hasn’t been deliberately.” She mopped at her face, but the tears simply wouldn’t stop. “I don’t have a capricious mind—at least I never used to. And I don’t know what my goddamn expectations of you are. I don’t even know what my goddamn expectations are of me anymore. I used to. I’m scared. I’m scared of what’s happening around me and inside me. And I’m scared because I don’t know what’s real. I don’t know if you’re actually standing over there.”

He came back, sat beside her again. “I’m here,” he said as he took her hand firmly in his. “This is real.”

“Flynn.” She steadied herself by staring at their joined hands. “All my life I’ve wanted certain things. I wanted to paint. For as long as I can remember, I wanted to be an artist. A wonderful artist. I studied, and I worked. And I never came close. I don’t have the gift.”

She closed her eyes. “It hurt, more than I can tell you, to accept that.” Steadier, she let out a breath, looked at him. “The best I could do was work with art, to be around it, to find some purpose for this love.” She fisted a hand on her heart. “And that I was good at.”

“Don’t you think there’s something noble about doing what we’re really good at, even if it wasn’t our first choice?”

“That’s a nice thought. But it’s hard to set a dream aside. I guess you know that.”

“Yeah, I know that.”

“The other thing I wanted was to love someone, to be loved by him. Absolutely. To know when I went to bed at night, woke in the morning, that this someone was with me. Understood me and wanted me. I never had much luck with that one either. I might meet someone, and we’d seem to click. But it never got inside me. I never felt that leap, or the burn that eases into that wonderful, spreading warmth. When you just know this is the one you were waiting for. Until you. Don’t say anything,” she said quickly. “I need to finish.”