Danger, Sweetheart Part 27

45. Happily ever after Read on for a sneak peek at MaryJanice Davidson's next novel.

USA DEAD AHEAD.

Copyright 2016 by MaryJanice Davidson.

I'd never hurt her, I'd never hurt any woman, I've hurt men who have tried to hurt women and never regretted it, not once; black eyes get better and broken noses can be reset.

But this is hard. Literally, this is very very hard. Dear Abby: I'm sharing a room with my (kind of) boss who's super-cute and I haven't m.a.s.t.u.r.b.a.t.ed in ninety-six hours and she has lovely soft-strong hands and I might be getting Stockholm Syndrome because I'm looking forward to working with her tomorrow even though I'm terrified of Peeps. How skeevy is it if, while being very very quiet, I- No point even finis.h.i.+ng the question. He knew it was unacceptable levels of skeevy. He sighed and flopped over on his back. Just don't think about it. Sure. It would be just that easy, right? Don't think about it. Don't think about Delaney just a few feet away, warm and fragrant in her bed. Don't wonder what her mouth tastes like, and the spot behind her ear, and her lovely long throat. Definitely don't wonder what it'd be like to gently rub your cheek over her stiffening nipples. What she'd sound like if you slipped a hand between her legs and softly stroked her open. Nope. Don't think about any of it. Easy-peasy. And definitely don't grab yourself. A lot.

Delaney sat up, like Frankenstein in the lab after the lighting hit. Rake almost shrieked. Oh G.o.d, she's a telepath and knows I'm a perv! My l.u.s.tful thoughts were so loud they woke her up! Let death come quickly! "What?" he shrilled from the sofa bed. "What is it? Not the face, okay?"

She didn't answer. Just abruptly swung her legs over the side of the bed, stood, and went straight to the biggest window in the room, occasionally squas.h.i.+ng a Peep or grinding a chocolate egg into the carpet on her way but not stopping. Not even slowing. She got to the window and stood and looked and said nothing and did nothing.

He cleared his throat. "Are you okay?" Please don't kick me out. You can't help being hot, and I can't help finding you hot, but I'd never act on it. Never unless you made it clear you wanted me in your bed. And maybe not even then because although you're hot I'm a little scared of you.

Nothing.

She was still, so still. He'd never seen her like that, like a statue in the dark. "Delaney?"

She turned to look at him and he felt a chill; her gaze wasn't on him, not really. It was like she couldn't see him, was looking past him, or through him. "I don't..." she began in a low, halting voice unlike any she'd used before.

He pushed his blankets off, relieved that when she clomped toward the window like a cute Frankenstein, his p.e.n.i.s, Mr. Roboto, turned back into Flaccido Domingo, and went to stand beside her. "Are you okay?"

"I don't know where I am," she whispered, sounding young and lost. And d.a.m.ned if she didn't look young in the barely lit glow by the window.

She reached out as if she was going to touch the gla.s.s, then let her hand drift back down. The woman who'd laughed when he barfed and yelled when he b.i.t.c.hed and called him on his ent.i.tled douchebaggery was afraid to touch a window, or raise her voice, or make eye contact.

"It's always different, you know," she murmured. "I don't know where I am."

"You're in Venice," he said, and now he was whispering. "It's-it's okay. I mean, you're safe and everything. I'd never-no one's going to hurt you."

And G.o.d, the way her face lit up. That smile. Jesus. "Really?"

"Yeah. Really."

"No one will come in? Unless I let them?"

"No one," he promised through numb lips. f.u.c.k. A nightmare that she's sleepwalking in? Or sleepwalking during a nightmare? What is this? "It's okay. You're safe. You-you can go back to bed. If you want."

"Bed?" And she flinched. Claire f.u.c.king Delaney flinched.

"Well, you don't have to. You don't have to do anything you don't want to."

The smile again. The relief. "Really?"

"Really."

"Okay," she said, and beamed at him. Then she turned around and walked back to her bed and climbed under the covers and flopped over on her side and twenty seconds later she was dead asleep again. He watched her for a while to make sure she was really out; he no longer wanted to m.a.s.t.u.r.b.a.t.e. Now he had a whole new thing to wonder about. Did that make him a good man, or just easily distracted? Both? Neither? And was he wondering about that so he wouldn't think about how scary she had been, and sad, and afraid?

What the h.e.l.l was that?.

Also by MaryJanice Davidson.

Me, Myself and Why?.

Yours, Mine and Ours.

You and I, Me and You.

Faeries Gone Wild.

No Rest for the Witches.

About the Author.

MARYJANICE DAVIDSON is the international bestselling author of several books, including the Betsy the Vampire Queen series. Her books have been translated into several languages and are available in fifteen countries. She writes a biweekly column for USA Today and frequently speaks to book clubs and writer's groups, teaches writing workshops, and attends conferences all over the world. She has published books, novellas, articles, short stories, recipes, movie reviews, and rants. You can sign up for email updates here.

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