She’d forgottento set up the coffee before bed. Wishing desperately for one of those replicator machines from Star Trek, or at the very least, a local coffee shop with a drive-thru, Cayla stumbled down the hall to roust Maddie for the day. If the child didn’t dawdle, she could probably manage to brew a couple cups for a travel mug before they had to get out the door for school. Until someone made IV drips of caffeine standard in cars, that would have to do.
“Rise and shine, Sleepyhead.” She strode into Maddie’s room, crossing to close the window she didn’t remember opening last night.
Nothing moved from the vicinity of the bed.
“Come on, kiddo. Time to get up. We’re going to be late for school.”
There was so much on her plate today. She couldn’t remember what all it was, but in her mind’s eye, she could see the fully filled pages of her planner. She couldn’t afford to be late, not when her business was just starting to really thrive.
Maddie didn’t stir. Not surprising. They’d been up well past her bedtime last night. Cayla couldn’t quite remember why yesterday had been such a big day or what it was Maddie had been so excited about.
Coffee. Coffee would jumpstart her brain. With that holy grail in mind, she began knocking the mountain of stuffed animals off the bed to dig out her daughter. But there was no sleepy little girl in a heap under the covers.
“Maddie?”
Confused, Cayla checked the bathroom, then the living room. She was running by the time she hit the kitchen.
“Maddie!”
The back door stood open, a trail of muddy footprints leading out to the yard. Footprints far too large to belong to her child. Terror, black and potent, sucked at her heels as she ran out the door, shouting. “Maddie!”
From somewhere beyond the treeline, her daughter cried. “Mommy!”
And the sound of Arthur’s chilling laughter floated to her on the breeze. “I always come back for what’s mine.”
“No! Maddie!”
The touch on her shoulder had her rocketing up, choking on a scream.
“Hey. Hey, it’s okay. It was just a bad dream.”
Cayla turned toward Holt’s low, soothing voice and felt his arms close around her. “He took her. He took her.”
“He didn’t. Maddie’s fine. It was just a dream.”
His warmth soaked into her, his solid presence cutting through the panic that followed her out of the nightmare. She held on, fisting her hands in his t-shirt and pressing close to the man who’d vowed to protect them both. His hand tangled in her hair, rubbing tiny circles on her nape that leeched away the fear. But her heart still thundered, her mother’s instinct unable to settle without seeing the truth for herself.
“I have to check.”
“Okay. Then we’ll check.” Squeezing her nape once, he eased away, off where he’d sat on the edge of the bed.
Cayla scrambled up, rushing past him, down the hall. Maddie’s door was cracked, the glow of the nightlight spilling out. She carefully pushed it open and stepped inside. Her daughter lay sleeping, face squashed to the pillow, one arm hooked around Sven, her knees drawn up so her rump was in the air amid the sea of stuffed animals. The window was closed.
All the tension drained away, relief making her knees weak. On a long sigh, she carefully pulled the door to. Behind her, Holt jerked his head toward the kitchen. She followed him, not questioning how he knew which cabinet held the glasses. He filled one with fresh water and passed it to her. Without a word, she drank it down, wetting her parched throat.
“Better?”
She nodded. Everything was better in this moment, having him here. Not being alone with her fears in the wee hours.
“Wanna talk about it?”
“Not a lot to talk about. After everything that happened, it’s not surprising that I dreamed Arthur did exactly what he threatened to do.” She shoved a hand through her hair. “I’m sorry I woke you.”
“No worries.”
Cayla focused in on him, noting that other than the rumpled hair, he looked truly awake. He wore a t-shirt and a pair of cut-off sweatpants that showed his prosthesis. Surely he didn’t sleep in it. Which meant he’d probably put it back on to come check on her. How fast was he at doing that? She didn’t feel like she could ask him.
“Have you slept at all?”
“Some. I’m a light sleeper. Part of my training. You think you can go back to sleep?”
“I don’t know. I should try. I’ve got a full schedule tomorrow. Or today. What time is it?”
“A little after two. C’mon. I’ll tuck you back in.”
Rather than feeling infantilized by him leading her back down the hall and drawing back the covers, Cayla felt cared for. As she slid beneath the blankets, she thought back to those first few moments after she came out of the nightmare, when his arms had been around her. Everything in her yearned for more of that contact. More of him.
“Holt?”
“Yeah?”
“Will you stay? I just… I’d really like to be held.” Embarrassment crawled up her cheeks at the admission, but God, she didn’t want to be alone with all her dark thoughts.
He hesitated a moment, and she was on the cusp of giving him an out, when he sat on the edge of the bed and removed his prosthesis. She had questions. How did it happen? Did it still hurt? But she didn’t ask, especially as he was very careful to get in so that his good leg was closest to her.
He stretched out an arm, and she cuddled against him, sighing as he closed her into his warm embrace. She hadn’t been held by anyone since her divorce, and never like this. All his solid strength surrounded her, blocking out the demons from her past and the echoes of the dream. The slow, steady thump of his heart beneath her palm smoothed her ragged edges.
“Thank you,” she murmured. “For everything. I know you didn’t choose this either.”
He stayed quiet for a long time before finally sucking in a breath. “I’m crazy about your kid. And I’ve spent most of the past couple months trying not to be crazy about you. Marrying you isn’t a hardship, Cayla.”
She wasn’t up to asking him why he didn’t want to feel something for her and wasn’t sure he’d answer if she did. It was enough knowing he cared beyond friendship. That this wasn’t only about her daughter. She didn’t know exactly what she felt for him. Friendship, certainly. Gratitude beyond measure. Lust. There were worse things to base a marriage on. In the intimacy of his embrace in the dark, quiet room, she acknowledged to herself that she wanted a genuine marriage, and everything that went with it, for as long as they lasted.
Cayla thought of what he’d said before about how he had no expectations. That if they went to bed together, it would be because she chose it, because she wanted him. She did want him. Had wanted him for months, even before their lives had become inextricably entwined. He’d been starring in her fantasies almost from their first meeting. Now he was her husband. She could make them real.
She considered rising up, taking his mouth for the kiss she’d wanted as his wife. Seducing and being seduced. But if she pushed for more in this moment, took solace in the pleasure of his body, it felt as if she’d be using him, somehow. That wasn’t right. Not when he’d shown her such kindness.
They should take their time, build on the foundation of friendship, and see where things went. Maybe, just maybe, this crazy scheme could turn into something more. Something real.
Content with the prospect, she settled against the heat of him and pressed a kiss to his shoulder instead. “Goodnight, Holt.”
He brushed a phantom kiss to her temple. “Goodnight.”