Breathe for Me (Be for Me 1)

She flinched again, then froze. He was right behind her—a furnace of heat and hardness. Oh hell. A different panic washed over her. Please, please let him still be asleep. Please don’t let him have woken when she’d stiffened as she’d woken. She didn’t want to admit to the nightmare, definitely didn’t want him to think she was a total nutjob.

She listened, holding her breath again so she could hear. His breathing was regular and smooth but his arm banding across her ribs tightened infinitesimally. It was such a slight increase in pressure she wasn’t sure if it actually happened or not. She remained as still as she could, but his warmth and evenness slowly seeped into her again. Relief swept through her as she recognized his relaxation. He hadn’t woken. Her vulnerability remained hidden. He wouldn’t know, wouldn’t ask. And she was cocooned in an embrace. Alive and, for once, not alone. She covered his strong forearm with her hand. The demons driven away by the light, by company.

But inside the torment remained. It might have been a dream today, but that night all those months ago, it had been real. And while she was safe now, the man she’d loved then, wasn’t.

Xander counted, keeping his breathing regular, even, deep. Some nightmare she’d just had. She hadn’t cried out, hadn’t thrashed around the bed and punched him by accident or anything. Instead she’d curled into even more of a ball, shaking like some terrified kitten, her entire body twisted in an expression of raw pain. Agony.

Her jaw had clamped shut and she’d seemed to contract in on herself until it was too much and she could hold it in no longer. She’d woken with a harsh gasp, as if she’d not breathed fresh air in eons.

He’d felt her shock as she’d stiffened. Then she’d caught herself and gone completely silent—catching her breath again, he’d almost been able to see her listening for his breathing. She hadn’t wanted him to know.

He could understand that. He’d never wanted anyone to know the fears that had once made him hide. So he feigned sleep now with regular, deep breaths, working hard to keep his body relaxed. Eventually she settled again, resting her hand on his arm, keeping it tight about her. Only then did she relax, finally falling asleep again.

While he lay awake.

He knew nightmares. He knew the extreme vulnerability those first few seconds upon waking, just before you realized it had been a dream and that you were safe after all. For years he’d had dreams like that—too many to count. Trapped in icy dread, fear, futility. He knew what it was like to hide and hold your breath until your lungs burned, for fear of being heard.

You can’t leave me. You’ll never get away from me. You and the brat. You’re mine.

Always he’d woken covered in horrible cold sweat and with a racing heart that took too long to settle. He mightn’t have had one like that in while, but that didn’t mean he didn’t remember. Some things could never be forgotten. Not least the real memories that served as muse for the nightmares.

But he wasn’t going to intrude on that vulnerable just-woken moment for her. He didn’t know her well enough. Frankly he didn’t want to know the cause of hers—though he suspected it had to do with the accident that had claimed her fiancé and crushed her leg. But he had enough terrors of his own to deal with, he couldn’t take on hers too. Yet he felt a quiet satisfaction that his presence had helped her. She’d burrowed back into his embrace and found enough comfort there to fall asleep again. It was instinct, of course. He was bigger than her, stronger and she probably felt safe in his arms. But it felt absurdly good to know she trusted him not to hurt her. And she was right, he wouldn’t. He was only about having a good time. Easy was all he ever did and ever wanted. Nothing serious, never heartache. A lot of fun for a little while.

That ability to have fun didn’t come as easy to her though. For all her sass talk back at him, she couldn’t initiate the play. She’d wanted—needed—him to take complete control. To give her no ‘choice.’ Why? Did she need to be absolved of ‘guilt’? Did she have some ‘good girl’ hang-up about sleeping with a near stranger? Well, she wouldn’t be the first woman he’d met who’d worried about that—for about five seconds.

Frankly Xander loved a game. He loved taking control. But there was always choice at the heart of it. And she’d responded to that lame superhero scenario. Once involved she’d given it good. She’d risen to his challenge, every bit as strong as she’d reckoned the other night. Yet every bit as soft and needy as he’d thought.

Sensitive. Insatiable.

The sensual promise between them had been strong, but the reality had been a revelation. Her unfettered response had pulled an intense reaction from him. As fantastic as sex usually was, that was spectacular.

He’d known she was emotional afterwards. You couldn’t allow yourself to be that exposed, experience sensations that extreme and not have a moment of vulnerability in the aftermath. He’d been the same. But he’d said nothing despite the weight in his chest—that heavy, aching feeling that had nothing to do with the physical. He recognized something within her that he shared—that thing that caused nightmares.

Pain. Loss. Fear.

But the only way to work through that intense aftermath was in a calm, quiet embrace. He’d kept her turned away from him to keep it purely physical. That was all this was and all it could ever be. He didn’t want to face her, to kiss her, to let her confuse comfort with caring of a deeper level. Because she was screwed up, no doubt about it. And so was he.

But she was trying hard to work through it and he respected that. He knew how much effort it took to come out the other side.

If it were only fantasy sex, some night-time companionship that she needed, he’d be happy to provide more. Having her underneath him—her breathing erratic, with those little whimpers escaping haphazardly—was insanely good. He’d do just about anything to have her like that again and again and again.

Except that was exactly what he shouldn’t do. Because she needed more than a few fun fucks. Already she’d clutched his arm closer. Needing contact. Comfort.

He regretted having to do it, but he knew it was the right thing. Carefully he slid his arm out of her hold. Very slowly he slipped off the bed, as silently as possible. He grabbed his clothes, tiptoeing through to her plant-packed lounge to put them on. It was a struggle but his cock could just quit with the erection already. He wasn’t doing her again. It wouldn’t be right. Not for her or, he had the feeling, for him.

He left her apartment and climbed the few flights of stairs to his own. He went straight to the shower to refresh, pulled on some jeans and sat at his desk. Not tired. Not hungry. Not going to think about her or the sweet taste of her that lingered despite that damn shower.

He glared at his computer and forced himself to focus. He finished two reports, researched a new proposal, got to the point of clearing his emails because it was a mindless click-click-click task he could zombie through. He still refused to think. Refused to let that wedge of regret widen.

His phone rang. He glanced at the screen and with a sigh picked it up to answer. No point trying to hide from Logan. Ever.

“Where are you?” Logan asked. “I have a zero-sugar, all caffeine soda on the bar.”

“Can’t,” Xander closed his eyes and rubbed them. “Working.”

“It’s nearly midnight, you geek. Come get a life.”

His cousin Logan had been teasing him about working too hard for the last eighteen years. Logan’s brother Connor had been more of a study buddy, but even he hadn’t had the urgency, the drive, that Xander had. Conner and Logan had their trust funds, their family millions to fall back on. Xander had nothing. His mother had nothing.

It had been Xander’s job to fix that.

Now he pushed his chair away from his desk and spun it so his back

was to the screen. He stretched out his stiffened muscles. “I didn’t get as much done today as I’d like and this is a big project.”

“Yeah well, this is a big night. Lingerie fashion show, Xan, you really need to be at the after party. Rocco’s. Now.”

Of course the after-party was at Rocco’s bar. And of course ultimate-party-animal Logan was in the thick of it. It always amused Xander given Logan and Connor’s father was such workaholic, patronizing, controlling tyrant.

The punitive reaction of Xander’s uncle had meant his mother had been on a good behavior bond the rest of her life. Xander had too, while he’d lived there in the Hughes family compound. It was like any minute his uncle expected him to go bad.

He never had. Not evil bad—not like his father.

Instead he’d wanted to break himself and his mother free from the ‘good-willed’ oppression of their family. To earn enough for them not to have to be dependent on someone else’s damn magnanimous gestures. Because the charity had been so close to animosity. She’d been there under sufferance. Reminded daily what an ‘idiot’ she’d been. His uncle was an unforgiving bastard, but Xander’s mother had been too scared to leave her brother’s protection. And Xander didn’t blame her.

“Get Rocco to party with you.”

“He’s working. Hunter’s gone AWOL. You’re it.”

“Not tonight, Logan.” Last thing Xander felt like was an all-night party and the potential for another hook-up. He was still working through the intensity of this afternoon.

“Are you seriously turning down a night with these models? I’m talking glitter and ink. Girls who are excited and ready to party—”

“Like it’s 1999, yeah I got it. Not tonight.” Just the thought of it made him feel rocky.

“What’s wrong—you sick?” Logan asked.