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them? If you'd died along with them that day?" |
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He went on as though she hadn't spoken. "So I lived with the Rousseaus and saw how horrible life could be with hate instead of love to guide you. But I swore that night as I stood over the dead bodies of my parents that I would never feel helpless again." He opened his eyes and looked directly into hers. "I never did. Until I met you." |
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D.J. couldn't breathe. Every emotion she'd fought to subdue stared back at her from Christian's eyes. The fright that had consumed her moments before returned with a vengeance. She jumped to her feet and backed toward the door. |
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He watched her go, making no move to stop her. Then he spoke again, and his words stopped her inches from escape. |
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"Last night I dreamed of you." |
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"Me?" D.J. cursed the husky rasp of her voice. She bit her lip and forced herself to be quiet. |
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He nodded his head, slow and sure, then pushed himself up on his elbows to see her better. The muscles in his shoulders bunched, and D.J.'s gaze fastened on them despite her resolve to remain aloof. She forced her gaze back to his face. His dark eyes bored into hers, and she went still, his words washing over her, freezing her in place, trapping her with their power. |
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"Yes, you. You and our children. Walking in a field of wildflowers. You were all so beautiful, I had to draw the picture when I woke up this morning." He nodded at the sketch pad balanced against the wall just inside the door. "Look at the picture, D.J. Then tell me what you see." |
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