LITMIR.BIZ

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hadn’t had the dream in years. She was in the back of the car, her parents were arguing in the front, with her father in the driving seat. The trees on the roadside were blurred by the speed her father was going. The car swerved and spun but her father corrected it, laughing manically and asking if they were wetting their pants yet. Her mother had stopped shouting back and was now shrunk into her seat, begging him to slow down in a whimpering voice, one side of her face already blackened by her husband’s fist from the day before.

      Layla saw the tree coming towards them, looming, looming. She screamed but it was too late. Too late. Too late…

      Someone was trying to revive her. She could feel their hands on her shoulders and hear them calling her name. ‘Layla. Wake up. You’re having a bad dream. Wake up.’

      But it wasn’t the off-duty nurse or the paramedics who had been first on the scene that day. Layla opened her eyes to see Logan perched on the edge of her bed, his hands stroking back the hair that had fallen across her face.

      ‘It’s all right, I’m here. It was just a nightmare.’ His voice was gentle and his touch soothing, anchoring her in the present, not the past.

      Layla blinked away the terrifying images lingering in her head. She pushed herself upright into a sitting position, wincing against the light of the bedside lamp he had switched on. How long had she been sleeping? Hours and hours for it was now dark outside.

      ‘Sorry. Gosh, I didn’t realise it was night already. Did I wake you up?’

      He took one of her hands and held it in his, stroking the back of it with slow, rhythmic movements. ‘In bed but not asleep. I was going through some emails on my phone when I heard you call out.’

      Layla peered at the bedside clock to find it was close to midnight. ‘Oh, I must have wrecked your dinner booking. Sorry. I didn’t realise how tired I would be after swimming.’

      ‘Can I get you something to eat or a drink of milk or something?’

      She screwed up her face. ‘Eww. I hate milk.’

      His crooked smile transformed his features and made her heart do a little flip turn. ‘I should have remembered that. What about fruit juice or herbal tea?’

      ‘You don’t have to fuss over me like I’m a little kid.’ She plucked at the hem of the sheet with her fingers. ‘I’m not hungry and I’m perfectly able to get myself back to sleep.’ She kept her gaze lowered, conscious of his hair-roughened thigh so close to hers on the bed. Conscious of his stroking fingers on her hand, conscious of her body secretly reacting to his touch. Warmth spreading through her lower body, flickers of heat smouldering in her core.

      He was dressed in boxer shorts but naked from the waist up. His lean and athletic build could have been no better advertisement for regular exercise. His pectoral muscles were toned and carved on his broad chest and the neat washboard ridges of the muscles on his abdomen spoke of man who was not afraid of pushing himself to the limit. It was all she could do to keep her hands to herself. Her fingers tingled with the desire to explore those toned ridges, to trace every hard contour.

      ‘Do you want to talk about it? Your dream?’ Logan’s baritone voice was deep, calm and even and as soothing as his stroking fingers on the back of her hand.

      Layla fixed her gaze on her hand encased in the shelter of his. Her skin was so pale against his tan, a reminder of all the essential differences between them. She hadn’t been in a gym since rehab. She felt sick to her stomach at the thought. Too many reminders of the pain of trying to walk again, trying to be normal when normal was something other people took for granted and never had to question.

      ‘I haven’t had a nightmare in ages…’ She chanced a glance at him to find him watching her with concern etched on his features. She lowered her eyes again and asked, ‘Did I say anything while I was asleep?’

      ‘You were calling out “Stop” repeatedly. I was worried we might’ve had an intruder. I came rushing in to find you thrashing on the bed in the throes of a nightmare.’ His eyes were haunted with the stress of finding her so distressed. ‘You were dreaming about the accident?’

      Layla gave a small nod, her gaze still focussed on their joined hands. For years she had heard everyone refer to it as an accident. A chance thing, a driver error that had gone horribly wrong. Her memory might have been patchy for months after the crash but one thing she had always known was that it hadn’t been a simple driver error. ‘It wasn’t an accident.’ She brought her gaze back to his, her voice tight, her throat tighter. ‘It was a deliberate car crash.’

      Logan’s hand stilled on hers, his eyes widening in alarm. ‘What do you mean?’ His tone was hollowed out, echoing with shock.

      ‘My father wanted to kill us all. He drove the car into the tree because my mother told him she wanted to leave him.’

      ‘Oh, Layla…’ Logan’s hand gripped hers as if he was trying to anchor her to him. To stop her being swept away by a tide of distressing memories. ‘I can’t imagine the panic and fear and pain you must have gone through. What a cowardly act. A disgustingly cowardly act.’ His voice was full of cutting contempt for her father and deep concern for her.

      Layla rolled her eyes in a tell-me-about-it manner. ‘I certainly didn’t win the father lottery, that’s for sure. Or the mother one, although I think she would’ve had a much better chance of being a better mother if she hadn’t married my father. His influence was destructive and damaging but by the time she got the courage to leave him, it was too late.’

      Logan brushed back some imaginary hair off her forehead, his gaze steady and compassionate. ‘The more I hear about your childhood, the more I admire you. You’ve done an amazing job of overcoming those terrible experiences.’

      ‘I wouldn’t have been able to do it without Aunt Elsie and your family’s help,’ Layla said. ‘I know your grandparents were old-school Scots but their hearts were in the right place. I’m not sure how my life would’ve turned out if I’d stayed too much longer in foster care. I was there for a few weeks after I came out of rehab until Aunt Elsie got official guardianship of me. Some of those group homes were pretty terrifying. Damaged kids damaging other kids.’

      She shook her head, trying to shake away the memories of the past.

      ‘I know not all foster homes are awful but it’s not the same as belonging to your own family.’ She twisted her mouth and added, ‘Not that my family was anything to crow about. My father was an angel in public but a bullying devil behind closed doors. He claimed to love us but he didn’t know the meaning of the word.’ She flopped back down against the pillows with a heavy sigh. ‘Now I’m going to shut up about my childhood. I’m probably boring you.’

      Logan turned her hand over and traced a slow line across her palm. ‘You’re not boring me at all.’ He locked his gaze on hers. ‘In fact, I find you one of the most interesting and intriguing people I’ve ever met.’ He drew a circle on her palm this time, the lazy movement of his finger sending shivers shooting up and down her spine.

      Layla sucked in an uneven breath, her insides coiling with desire. She could see the same desire reflected in his sapphire-blue gaze. Desire that sent a current through the air like high-voltage electricity. She disguised a swallow, her heart picking up its pace, her pulse sprinting.

      ‘Will you stay with me until I go back to sleep?’ The question popped out almost before she knew she was going to say it. Her cheeks grew warm and she lowered her gaze and bit down on her lower lip, pulling her hand out of his and burying it under the sheet covering her lower body. ‘Forget I said that. I’m old enough to get myself back to sleep.’

      A silence ticked past. Tick. Tick. Tick.

      Logan stood from where he was perched on the side of the bed, but he didn’t leave. ‘Scoot over,’ he said, gesturing with his hand. ‘I’ll lie on top of the covers, though.’

      Layla gave him a wry look. ‘Don’t you trust me?’

      His

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