He had been so much more than she had expected. So much more considerate, tender, and passionate.

She closed her eyes, but she couldn’t block the images that played through her mind.

His face as he moved inside her, fierce and gentle, determined and sensual. They had barely gotten started, damn it. She had things she wanted to do to him. Really cool, sexy, fun things. She had been hungry to try them, and she was still hungry. But apparently he wasn’t interested enough in exploring anything further with her.

Of course he wasn’t.

He was no longer the asshole she had thought he was. There was something decent, true, and fine in him, and just as she glimpsed it, it moved away.

His scent was still on her skin. She loved his scent. Loved it. She was never going to get to sleep if she kept experiencing his scent, as if he were still with her, while she fantasized about taking his cock into her mouth.

Pushing out of bed, she grabbed a nightshirt and went into the bathroom to take a shower. When she was through and fragrant with her shower soap, she padded into the kitchen to drink the tumbler of wine still left on the counter.

Sipping it, she stood at the kitchen sink, looked out the window, and saw him. The moon still looked quite full, and the scene outside was almost as bright as day.

Nikolas had dressed, and he stood with his hands on his hips near one end of the manor house, his back to the cottage as he looked out over the landscape. Instinctively Sophie glanced at the corner of the kitchen where his sword harness had been, but it was missing. She felt better knowing that he was armed even if the cloaking spell prevented her from seeing it on him.

He had so many bad memories wrapped into this place. He had so much history, period. She barely knew him, so why did the sight of him standing alone out in the night tug so hard at her emotions?

She felt a pull to go outside and join him that was so strong she almost gave in to it. But he had been the one to leave her, and with a stinging realization, she knew he would not welcome her presence.

As she finished the wine in the tumbler, the monkey came into the kitchen, jumped onto the counter, and sat looking out the window beside her. She said, “Robin, I wish I knew how to help him.”

The monkey took her hand and patted her fingers.

“I know,” she said. “I’m doing what I can. And he didn’t ask me to do anything more anyway.” Forcing herself to look away from the lone figure outside, she turned her attention to the puck. He seemed bigger, more substantial, and for the first time, she could feel a hint of his Power. Pleased, she said, “You’re getting better.”

He nodded.

“I’m so glad.” Passing a hand gently down the back of his head, she rinsed out her glass and set it in the sink. Then she went to bed.

For the first time, she realized somebody had made the bed, and she knew it hadn’t been her, and she was pretty sure it hadn’t been Nikolas.

She and Nikolas had made love on top of the bedspread. Made love, huh. She meant they’d had (tremendous, mind-blowing, screaming, utterly fantastic, wildly pleasurable) sex, and it had lived up to every single one of those adjectives. Every single one and more.

Her damn eyes threatened to dampen again. She whispered to herself, “Be careful what you ask for.”

Robin slipped into the room. The monkey jumped to the headboard and settled into a sitting position. Now that she knew he wasn’t a monkey or a dog, it was probably weird to let him spend the night in her room, but he never invaded her privacy or tried to hang around when she was dressing or undressing, and she got comfort from the companionship. She thought he got comfort from it as well.

Climbing under the covers, she curled on her side and fell fast asleep.

This time she wasn’t nearly so lucky in her rest. This time the nightmares came.

She never outran the gunman. That was not how her story had gone, and her body knew it. The gunman chased her and chased her through the dark, shadowed warehouse where they had cornered him, and she could never remember to pull the shadows around her before he brought his gun up to point it at her.

The tat-tat-tat of gunshot had grown all too familiar. And then she was falling again. Still, somewhere in her mind, she was always falling.

The quiet sound of voices woke her, but God, she didn’t want to be awake. Rolling over, she stuck her head under one of the pillows and tried to go back to sleep.

Voices?

Even as she thought the question, the answer came to her. Gawain had arrived, and he and Nikolas were somewhere close by, talking. The sound of their conversation didn’t come through the window, so there weren’t many options—they were either in the kitchen or the sitting room.

Once awareness had come so forcefully, she knew she would never get back to sleep. Swearing under her breath, she got out of bed and dressed. There were places all over her body, intimate places, that ached with a sensitized tenderness that hadn’t been present yesterday.

Her nipples felt the rasp of cloth as she donned her bra, and the muscles of her inner thighs were sore. The folds of her private flesh felt full and delicate. Even as memory flashed through her mind of his head between her legs, of the sensation of him moving inside her, a pulse of renewed hunger made her ache. Even though her mind wanted nothing more than to move on and forget the sense of abandonment she had felt the night before, her body remembered what had happened, and it wanted more.

Dressed again in her flannel pants, soft, long-sleeved shirt, and flip-flops, she left the bedroom to go in search of coffee. Oh, right. There was no coffee. This day had barely begun, and it was already a pain in the ass.