Fear slices through me, and I look to the house again.

He’s not walking anymore. He’s prone. He’s dead.

And the blood flows and flows, filling the field, climbing the hill, reaching for the wall. Reaching for me.

I start to scream and reach for my father, but he isn’t there.

Run, I think. Now is the time to run.

I race forward toward the house, screaming for her, searching for her.

She has to be there. Now that he’s dead, she should be there.

But she’s gone.

And as the force of the dream thrusts me upright and out of sleep, I scream for my mother … but I can’t even remember if she was ever there at all.

My eyes fluttered open, the dream still clinging to me, gray and cloying.

Tyler’s arm was still around my waist and he was breathing soft and evenly. I didn’t want to disturb him, but I also wanted to move, to shake off the last wisps of the nightmare. Carefully, I slid from his embrace, then scooted to the edge of the bed, taking care not to disturb the mattress too much.

Once up, I padded to the elegant bathroom, trying my best to stay quiet. I didn’t know what time it was, but since the drapes were open, I knew that it was still dark out.

When I returned to the bed, I noticed that there was no clock. Automatically, I reached for my phone, but it was still in the living room, safe inside my purse. I almost went to get it, but then I saw Tyler’s watch on the bedside table. I sat on the edge of the bed and picked it up, then tilted it to try to see the face in the ambient light from the city.

I frowned, realizing that the second hand wasn’t working, and when I held it up to my ear, there was no ticking.

“It doesn’t work.” Tyler’s voice skimmed over me, rough with sleep.

I turned to face him. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s okay.” He sat up, then reached for the watch. “It’s been broken for years.”

“Oh.” Maybe I was tired, but I didn’t understand. “Can’t it be repaired?”

“It can,” he said. “It’s not time yet.”

He put it carefully back on the table, then laid back down, pulling me with him.

I reached for the sheet, then pulled it up over both of us. “You’re being cryptic,” I said.

“I suppose I am. It was a gift from a friend. A mentor, really. Hell, he was practically a father to me. He passed away about six months ago.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, propping myself up on an elbow and facing him. “Will you tell me the rest? Why haven’t you had it repaired?”

“Well, that depends. Maybe it’s a secret. Are you prepared to tell me yours?”

“My secrets?” I felt the quick stab of fear. What the hell did he know of my secrets?

“Not that,” he said gently, and I realized that he’d seen my fear and worried that I was recalling my terror of being bound. “But there are things you’re holding back. Admit it. You haven’t told me the whole truth, have you?”

A cold chill swept over me. “No,” I admitted. “But I don’t know all your secrets, either.”

His smile was thin, but there was mirth in his eyes. “Sweetheart, you don’t know any of my secrets.”

“No? Then why don’t you tell me.”

“I don’t think so.”

I realized that I’d tensed up, my body ready for battle. I breathed in and out and told myself to relax. “I thought you said you trusted me.”

“No. I just said that I wanted to.” He reached out and stroked his fingers lightly down my arm. The gesture was sweet and casual, and I doubted he even knew he was doing it. Somehow, that made it all the sweeter.

“The truth is, I haven’t felt this way in a very long time,” he continued as he tugged me close and curled his body against mine. “Not since I was young and didn’t really understand what I had—and what I lost.” He spoke softly, the words holding even more intimacy than his touch. “Now, I think I understand, and I recognize it.”

“What?”

“That click,” he said. “That connection. It’s passion, Sloane. And it’s promise.”

My back was spooned against his chest, and I closed my eyes, then told myself to remember to breathe as he gently stroked my hair. I couldn’t deny how good it felt to be in his arms, but I also couldn’t forget that he’d spoken of trust.

And I didn’t trust him. Hell, I didn’t trust anyone. “Don’t make this more than it is,” I said.

“It already is more.”

I rolled over, then opened my mouth to protest.

“Shut up, Sloane. We’re not going to come to any sort of agreement with words. But in the silence, in the dark, I think we’ll come together just fine.”

He kissed me then, and as his warm hands slid over my naked skin, I had to admit he was right—we came together just fine.

Chapter Thirteen

I woke to the gentle caress of the sun streaming through a small gap in the black-out curtains. I blinked, trying to focus as the events of the night came back to me. And not just any night, but one of the most decadent, erotic, amazing nights of my life.

I pushed myself up and propped my back against a wall of pillows. The space beside me was empty, but there was a small envelope perched on the pillow.

At the gym.

Didn’t have the heart to wake you.

Coffee and croissants in kitchen.

I want you again. Hard and wild.

Soon.

T

I read the note twice, feeling like a teenager who’d just found a mash letter in her locker. All giddy and sweet and a little unsure of what to do next.

As I’d been swimming up from the depths of sleep, my mind had been filled with images of me spooning against Tyler. Of him waking me with kisses, with his hand stroking down my belly to ease the ache between my thighs.

I was wet from the night and from the erotic dreams that had followed, and I couldn’t help but be a little disappointed that Tyler hadn’t been in bed to make my fantasies a reality.

He’d done a number on me all right—or maybe I’d done the number on myself.

With a sigh, I sat up, the sheet wrapped tight around me. I leaned over and thrust my fingers into my tangled hair and tried to figure out what the hell I was doing. Because I damn sure wasn’t being a cop. Yes, it’s true that I’d gotten close to Tyler—mission accomplished there—but if I was in cop mode, shouldn’t I have awakened with an agenda, all ready to jump in and move on to phase two?

Instead, I was hot and horny and frustrated the man wasn’t around to cuddle. I wasn’t entirely sure when I’d let go of the last strands of sanity and reason, but I knew damn well that somewhere along the way I had. Because right now, I wasn’t thinking about Amy or the knights’ laundry list of sins. I was thinking about last night, and about the man in whose arms I’d spent it.

Tyler Sharp had sparked something deep inside me. Something wonderful, but a little bit scary. Something that made me feel tingly and girly. That made me want to have a pedicure and pay attention to my makeup.

Something I damn well needed to guard against. Nobody is what they seem. Not me. Not Tyler.

I’d do well to remember that.

“Well, fuck.”

My words clanged against the silence of the room, their impact like a slap. Time to wrap my fist around those threads and yank my sanity back. I needed to find out if he had any information on Amy. And I needed to watch my step.

I could fuck him, but I couldn’t trust him.

With that invigorating but rather depressing pep talk, I slid out of bed and gathered up the clothes that were still lying in a heap near the door. I didn’t bother with the shoes, and after a moment’s debate I didn’t bother with the underwear, either. I might be wary, but I wasn’t stupid, and if Tyler wanted a repeat of last night’s extracurricular activities, I was more than happy to oblige.