Water droplets glistened in the warm light as I stared at myself. I wasn’t sure what had prompted me to take yet another shower, but I had. I lifted my face to the glow, taking in the radiating warmth with the knowledge that I was clean.
Returning my line of vision to the large mirror, I took in my reflection. My bruises were still present. Yet I concentrated on other aspects of my image, such as my long red hair piled messily upon my head. I brushed away small wisps of curls clinging to my face and neck as my skin dried, the moisture continuing to evaporate under the warm lamp from above.
As if I were in a daze, each act required thought. It was like I’d forgotten routines I’d done for years. Seeing my toothbrush in its holder reminded me to brush and floss. There was no set time, no number of strokes. Battling thoughts and flashes of memories—ones that seemed disjointed by time and space—I found myself floating in a continuum, unable to make sense of the world in any dimension.
Next, finding my hairbrush, I loosened the hair tie and began smoothing my unruly long locks. The humidity in the shower returned life to the curls, making my mane difficult to tame. I tugged on one strand, brushing and running the tangle-free curl through my fingers.
There was a flash of something. Dropping my hairbrush, I jumped back. My arms reached to cover my nakedness as my skin peppered with goose bumps, and my heart pounded in an erratic rhythm.
Whatever had just happened wasn’t a complete thought.
I lifted a strand of my hair and stared down.
That was it, but in the flash, the hand wasn’t mine.
It was big and dirty.
As I concentrated on the hand, my body became rigid. The air was no longer filled with the sweet aromas of shampoo, conditioner, or lotions. My nose scrunched at a horrible stench. I closed my eyes as my stomach twisted, and I saw the hand with dirty fingernails tugging on a long red curl.
It was as real as if someone had been right here with me.
And then it was gone—all of it.
My head shook as I reassuringly reached for the vanity and took in our master bath. The scent of lavender from my shower gel returned, suspended in the moist air. The glass stall where I’d been dripped within from the condensation. The tile work throughout was colorful and ornate. Plush towels hung from the racks, and my long robe dangled from a hook. Though my heart still beat too fast, the reflection in the mirror confirmed that I was alone.
I turned a complete circle, taking comfort that my surroundings were not those in the flash.
Was this what Laurel meant?
A flash that made no sense?
No matter how I tried, I couldn’t place the scene, the hand, or the feeling.
Taking a deep breath, I willed my heartbeat to normalize as I bent down and retrieved my hairbrush from the floor. Forcing a smile at my reflection, I spoke, “It’s the drugs they gave you.” Saying it aloud gave my proclamation authority. And though I didn’t speak aloud again, my mind continued the conversation, creating plausible answers.
The loss of memory and thoughts of my dream were conjuring up scenes from fiction. Perhaps it had been a book or a movie I’d seen and long forgotten. My mind was simply too tired and confused to differentiate a distinction.
As my skin continued to air dry, I took my time applying lotion gently over the bruises while adding antibiotic cream to the cuts and bites. The scent of eucalyptus replaced the lavender. Clean and fresh, the aroma infiltrated my senses, relaxing me as I reached for the bottle of sleep aids I’d received after asking Laurel.
After filling a cup with water and opening the lid, I shook two into the palm of my hand.
Indecision slowed my movements.
The tablets were white and round, yet I worried how they’d affect me.
I recalled the scene of terror at the flash I’d just experienced.
If perhaps I could sleep without dreams...
With a shake of my head, I placed one back in the bottle and hurriedly tossed the remaining tablet into my mouth, taking a drink of water, and swallowed. As the ajar door to the bedroom opened wide, I spun, facing the intruder and bringing the bottle and my arms to cover my breasts.
“I expected you to be asleep,” Reid said. His tone was a mix of emotions. Fatigue combined with a whirlwind of others swirled in his gaze.
A wave of relief flowed through me at the sight of my husband.
“I’m about to go to bed,” I replied. Holding up the bottle, I added, “I decided to give these a try and see if I can sleep for longer than a few hours.”
With each step toward me, lust overruled Reid’s exhaustion. “Seeing you here all sexy and naked...I have another suggestion to help you sleep.”
Reid’s voice deepened with each step. Once his massive frame was before my nude one, he reached for a tendril of my hair and twisted it around his finger. For a moment, my breath caught, and as quickly, the uncertainty the flash had caused moments ago was lost.
This hand twisting my hair was not the same one as in the flash. Reid’s was large but clean. His skin wasn’t covered in grime, and the color was different than the one with dirty nails.
I reached for the hand of the man I loved and looked up into his eyes. The heat from his gaze scanned over me from my head to my toes; the longer it lingered, the more it twisted my core.
My breathing deepened as hardness returned to my nipples. “Please, Reid, take me.” It was one thing to hold his hand in mine, but I needed more. I needed to focus on reality and push away the uneasiness that lurked in the shadows.
“I...Dr. Dixon—”
Lifting myself to my tiptoes, I covered his lips with mine, stealing his words. Like a statue of granite, his hard body remained still as I surrounded his neck with my arms and pressed my naked breasts against him. Reid’s hands went to my hair as moans came from our throats and our kiss deepened.
No longer did my scalp send waves of pain at his touch. Instead, our closeness sent sparks igniting my nervous system and tingling each synapse. Small detonations, one after another, exploded until moisture flooded my core. I pulled him closer, pushed me closer, made us closer, until my entire body melded against his.
The need within me surpassed physical desire. It was primal. Such as a wild animal in heat, I needed Reid inside me to survive. More than that, I wanted him to eclipse the revelations of the day and of what was to come. No longer did I think about Dr. Dixon’s report or a flash I didn’t understand.
As my empty core clenched with unmet need, my only thought was Reid.
“Fuck, Lorna,” my husband growled as he seized my shoulders, pushing me to arm’s length.
His handsome face was all I could see. The bathroom was gone. The flashes were gone. It was only the man I knew and loved. Though my request was that of a desperate woman, my voice was strong. “Show me I’m not damaged. Show me I’m someone.”
In one swoop, Reid released my shoulders and pulled the hem of his shirt over his head. The aroma of deodorant and cologne mixed with the eucalyptus. His toned massive chest filled my vision. Before I could speak, he lifted me to the vanity and spread my legs. Tugging me forward, he brought my ass to the edge and sank to his knees. “Hold on, sweetheart.”
“Oh God.” It was a prayer or a decree of worship, I wasn’t sure which, as my fingers gripped the edge of the granite, and his warm breath skirted over my wanton core.
Reid’s secure grip held me in place, keeping me from falling. Without hesitation, his tongue delved between my folds. The day’s beard growth abraded my sensitive skin. I gasped as a shiver ran through me, prickling my flesh and curling my toes.