Kiss.
Lick.
Donotgo there.
Once again, the voice in her head was right. That she was eventhinkingof sex today—with a man she’d just met, no less—sent another stream of guilt flowing through her system.
With everything that had happened, it should be thelastthing on her mind. Yet, here she was...eating pizza and imagining herself in that shower with the most intriguing man she’d ever known.
Thankfully, by the time he came out of the bathroom, something else had taken over Emma’s scattered thoughts... Sleep.
“You look exhausted.”
The rumbling voice had her turning her weighted head toward him. Trace’s short hair was damp, and he’d changed into a clean pair of jeans and a black t-shirt. Something else she noticed were his bare feet.
Feet shouldn’t be sexy, but damn.
Okay, now you’re obsessing about feet. It’s definitely time for a nap.
“I am.” Emma stood to throw her plate and napkin away. “I don’t know what happened. I was fine before, but now I feel like I could sleep for a week.”
“It’s the crash.” He came closer. “Your adrenaline levels are returning to their usual level, and your body is realizing it’s no longer in survival mode. It’s normal.”
“Normal.” Emma gave him a sleepy grin. “Not usually the word people use to describe me.”
One of Trace’s broad shoulders lifted and fell. “I don’t know about you, but I’ve always considered normal to be highly overrated.”
Emma smiled. She opened her mouth to agree, but a huge, unattractive yawn prevented the words from forming.
Covering her gaping mouth, she waited for the sudden intake of air to subside before giving him a sheepish grin. “Sorry.”
“Why don’t you get some sleep?” Trace motioned to the bed furthest from the door.
A nap sounded like heaven, but what if—
“Your brother will call if there’s news on Jake or the bomber.” Trace seemed to read her thoughts. “I’ll wake you if he does.”
Emma hesitated a moment longer before tipping her chin and moving sluggishly toward the bed. From behind her, she could hear the sound of curtains rustling just before the entire suite became blanketed in darkness.
Appreciating the consideration, she glanced over her shoulder and offered Trace a heavy-eyed smile. “Thank you.”
“Get some rest.” He dipped his rugged chin.
Emma moved one of the extra pillows over and pulled the comforter and sheet down far enough to climb in underneath. With her back to Trace—because it would’ve been weird to face him—she settled down into the bed and sighed.
It took all of three minutes for sleep to pull her under.
Over the next several hours, her dreams were a conglomeration of the day’s events. There were multiple variations, the faces and emotions morphing from one to another...to another.
At times, just as she would try to warn Jake and the others, an overwhelming fear would paralyze her. Her voice muted as she’d open her mouth to scream.
The dreams would then change. Emma would burst through the conference room. She’d get Coop and Mac and everyone else to safety well before the explosion destroyed their place of business.
In other versions, she found herself trapped in Jake’s office. Just her, the package, and a nameless, faceless man blocking the way out.
And then, sprinkled throughout her mind’s subconscious creations of violence and bloodshed, Emma would be in another room.
Thisroom.