“I’m sorry. I should’ve known. I would have known if I hadn’t jumped so fast.”
“You jumped to logical enough conclusions.”
“Maybe.” Now she sat on the side of the bed. He took the bottle from her, opened it, handed it back. But she only stared down at it. “Thank you for staying with me.”
“You’re welcome.” But he took the shoe she still held, set it on the floor. Just in case.
And wished those sizzling sparks of outrage hadn’t died away into weariness.
“It’s just the beginning, isn’t it? Shadows at the window. They’re only the beginning.”
“It began long ago. This is another step along the way. You’ll do fine.”
“You think so?”
“I do, as I’m the one who nearly got bashed in the head with a shoe. You’re not alone in this.” He gave her a friendly pat on the leg before he pushed to his feet. “What do you say we meet down for breakfast in an hour?”
“All right. An hour.”
He reached down, tipped her face up. “Remember. You didn’t let her in.”
When she nodded, he walked to the door and out.
And nearly into Riley.
Her eyebrows rose, her lips curved as she tugged earbuds out of her ears. “Quick work, Irish.”
“Not of the matter you’re thinking. You’re up and about early.”
“Got a workout in.”
“If you can slap yourself together in a half hour, I’ll go down to breakfast with you, tell you what happened with Sasha. She’ll be an hour, and that would save her from having to go over it all again.”
“Now you’ve got me curious. Make it twenty minutes.” Riley jogged to her door, stopped to look back. “She okay?”
“She is. Tougher than I thought, and certainly than she thinks of herself. Twenty minutes,” he repeated. “If you’re not ready I’ll meet you downstairs, as if I don’t have coffee by then I may murder someone.”
“I’ll be ready.”
* * *
She was as good as her word and rapped on his door closer to fifteen minutes than twenty. They went down, agreed to grab coffee, take it out by the pool so he could fill her in.
“First, just
to get it out of the way, I’ve gotta respect you didn’t dive into the pool—and I don’t mean this one.”
“Sex?” He shook his head. “A man who’d take advantage of a dream-walker doesn’t have much respect for himself or the woman. Add in, if we’re in this together, we need some level of trust.”
“You’re right there. And I trust you’re not telling us everything about Bran Killian.”
“I’m not, Dr. Gwin.”
On a laugh, she toasted him with her coffee. “Googled me?”
“I did.”
“Only fair. I did the same with you. That club of yours—or clubs, because you’ve got another in Dublin—looks pretty kick-ass.”