Jagged Edge

Christ. I sit up and try to crawl away, but my head hurts like rusty nails driving into my eyeballs, and my back aches where I hit it as I fell. I hunch over, bile rising in my throat, force myself to breathe.

Get a grip, Jason. Look around you.

A bedroom. Unfamiliar walls and I can’t remember how I ended up here, but the voice that spoke before… I know that voice.

A man rolls off the bed and comes to crouch in front of me, tall and broad-shouldered with tousled dark hair and bright blue eyes.

I nod, even as my throat closes up. It’s Raine. I’m safe.

Shit, I’m safe.

“Dammit, Jase.” He gathers me up in his arms, and I should be mortified, but I can’t feel anything else but relief. “What happened? Are you all right?”

I’m so far from all right it’s funny. I’m hanging on to him as if there’s emptiness yawning under my feet, and if he lets go, I’ll fall to my death.

That’s how it feels.

My face is mashed to his shoulder, my arms around his back. He’s rocking me, I realize with a jolt. A subtle back and forth movement. He’s humming something, but it’s not the ditty from my dream, thank fuck. That would have thrown me off the deep end screaming, for sure.

No, this is real, not a dream, and I’m clinging to him like a scared kid. I have to let go. I have to pull back.

“Tell me what you dreamed of,” he whispers against my neck and that finally does the trick.

I draw away from his warmth. “I’m fine.”

It will be a cold day in hell when I tell anyone about that dream, and speaking of cold… I rub at my arms. Being buck naked ain’t helping.

“You were trying to scream in your sleep,” he says gravely, those blue eyes candid and darkened with concern. He’s kneeling in front of me, naked, like me. Beautiful, though. Unscarred for the most part. Unblemished. Too damn kind.

“Just a bad dream.”

“Jase.” Another shiver goes through me, lik

e every time he calls me that. He puts his hands on my arms and rubs them, and I lean in, unable to help myself. “Did you think you were at Simon Gomez’s Club?”

Ah fuck. I pull away and grab at the mattress to heave myself up. His interest in Simon Gomez is dangerous. “No. I can’t remember what the dream was about. I should get—”

“It was something else, then. Something that scared you.”

Man, I don’t want to talk about this. Don’t want to remember—the dream, or the faint memories behind it. I get up and sit heavily on the bed. “I said I’m okay. And that I should get going.”

“Yeah, you said that.” He’s still kneeling there, almost at my feet. Impossibly handsome. Way too sexy. And despite this showdown, his dick is half-hard between his legs, and damn if the sight doesn’t send a bolt of lust straight to mine. “Don’t go.”

I bow my head and breathe out, my hands fisting at my sides. “Don’t play with me.”

“I’m not playing.” He licks his lips. “Go out with me.”

What? I shake my head. “We fucked, that’s all.” Sure, it was more to me, but who the hell cares? “This ain’t real.”

“What if I want this to be real?” God, his eyes are so damn blue. Hypnotizing. “To hold you in my arms all night, wake up with you in the morning. Kiss, and fuck, and keep the nightmares at bay.”

My nails bite into my palms. “Look, we both have nightmares. But that’s all we have in common. I’m a hooker. You hate that.”

His brows draw together, shadowing his eyes. “I want to strangle every guy who as much as looks your way, or thinks about touching you. Anyone who thinks about hurting you.”

See? I wanna say. This is crazy, and you know it. I should just laugh and leave. But his answer stops me short, and the laughter dies in my throat.

He means it. He really means it, and it’s fucking with my mind. As if it wasn’t messed up enough.