Dream of Me (9 page)

“Anger I can handle.”

Wolf nodded. “Tears are a bitch.”

Sam dragged a hand through his hair. “But giving her the ring wasn’t the worst thing I did.”

All three of his friends groaned.

Jax leaned back and clutched his chest. “What could be worse?”

Danny Thornton, the new man on their team, took a seat on the concrete floor near the group. Also an ex-SEAL, but from a West Coast-based unit, he’d melded with their team during training and had done his job well during the raid. His ice blue gaze met Sam’s. “Yeah, what could be worse than givin’ her another man’s ring?”

Another one against him. Sam gave Danny a glare, which slid right over Danny’s shaggy blond hair.

“Couldn’t help overhearing.” Danny gave him a quick smile. “Sounds like you made a muck of your chances with this woman.”

“I did.” Sam slouched in the chair and dropped back his head, staring at the bracing on the hanger ceiling.

“So, what did you say?”

“I told her to dream of me.”

*

Dream of me.

For the umpteen-millionth time since that morning, Ash heard Sam’s gruffly spoken words. All the little clues he’d dropped made sense now. Somehow, and realizing the man had some scary resources, she knew he’d been privy to her conversations with Melanie Oats.

At first, she’d been devastated—by his withholding of the ring, by his betrayal of her privacy. But over the weeks since her return to the mainland, she’d come to accept that the man she’d fallen in love with had done everything out of kindness and concern for her happiness.

Sure, she’d had to return to her bayou roots to figure a few things out.

Auntie hadn’t been surprised by her unannounced appearance on her doorstep.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” were the first words she’d blurted to the older woman.

Auntie had installed her in Siobhan’s room. Her half-sister hadn’t minded sharing her queen-sized bed. And after the first awkward moments where Ash had mostly mumbled apologies, then wept all over their shoulders, the three had all gotten along famously.

Auntie brewed her mysterious tea. Siobhan shared all the gossip around the bayou about the people they’d known growing up. Only a couple of days remained before Ash had to leave for New Orleans when her sister pulled out a scrapbook detailing Ash’s life—the announcements for their father’s and her mother’s funerals, the announcement from the New Orleans newspaper of her graduation from the police academy…the pictures from Marc’s funeral.

She’d relived the memories, cried, and laughed, and in the end, gave both women long hugs and multiple promises to visit as often as she could before she returned to her home. The past wasn’t forgotten, and it wasn’t as horrible as she’d always wanted to believe. Her father had been flawed, but loving. Her mother bitter, but gone so long now, no reason was left to continue the frostiness. Time had a way of dulling the sharp edge of anger.

Ash felt almost whole when she’d finally met with Melanie Oats.

“What have you been dreaming about?” the counselor asked, her hands folded on her desk, her expression unreadable.

“Good times…” she’d said, then smiled. “No more nightmares. I see Marc, but in happy times. And I see Sam.”

Melanie quirked an eyebrow for only a second. “This man, Sam—what are your feelings about him?”

She knew the woman likely thought she was filling a hole in her life with the first man who’d shown her kindness. That wasn’t true. Ash wasn’t trading Sam for Marc. Both were so different in personalities. Both were loving, but one had been her sunlight, the other was the man she knew she’d want to cling to in fair weather and in storm. Just thinking about him now caused her chest to ache.

Wherever he was, she hoped he was well. That he thought of her now and then. “I miss him,” she’d said quietly, but gave the woman a smile, because Melanie didn’t need to hear all the details of her relationship with Sam. Her memories, her dreams, were now her own to covet and savor.

After a single session, Melanie had cleared her for duty. Sergeant Patterson had given her a sharp nod and a growling, “’Bout time,” when she’d returned, but he promptly gave her desk duty.

And the most telling thing for Ash had been the fact she hadn’t fought his decision. She wasn’t out to avenge Marc’s death. His killer had been arrested in the middle of another robbery attempt. At some point, she’d have to provide testimony at his trial, but she’d be ready for the task. She felt stronger, if a little disconnected from her old life.

And the ring? She’d returned it to the store where Marc had purchased it and used the refunded money to hold onto her lease a little longer. She no longer shied away from their bedroom, because the memories of time spent there with Marc no longer made her want to curl into a miserable ball. Slowly, she was sorting through the things they’d both owned—downsizing—because she knew that at some point, she would leave.

Whether she’d stay in New Orleans, well, she didn’t have a clue. She was waiting. For something. Someone.

Tonight, she’d hit the bar to enjoy a virgin mojito and gab with Gennie. Something to fill her time before she headed home alone. The walk through the Quarter was oddly invigorating. Jazz and light rock blared from open doorways. She thought of the jazz parade that had led the funeral goers from the cemetery where they’d laid Marc to rest. The rousing sound of the ragtime tune “Didn’t He Ramble,” struck up by the band, played through her memory as she walked, and she couldn’t help but quicken her steps as she hummed.

At last, she turned onto her street and approached the wrought iron gate leading into her courtyard.

A figure seated on the steps stood.

Her heart leapt, and then settled into a steady thrum as she stared at Sam Blalock. He wore jeans and a button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled up his thick forearms. He was more deeply tanned and a little leaner than she remembered. Without hesitating, she strode up to him and halted. “Hi, Sam.”

“Aislin.” His gaze studied her face, then swept down her casual clothing—a Saints tee and jeans.

They stood there for a few moments longer, not speaking, just eyeing each other. She couldn’t help but look for injuries, but he seemed healthy. So what the hell had been his excuse for not calling? Her back slowly stiffened. “I see you’re well.”

“Everyone made it home.”

“That’s good.” She dragged away her gaze and pulled in a quick breath until she had herself under control. Angling her head, she met his gaze. “So why didn’t you call? Even once? I was worried.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know if you’d want to hear from me.”

“And yet,” she swept a hand in front of her to indicate the place where he stood. “Here you are.”

He reached out a hand but let it drop. “Look, I know you’re pissed.”

“Really?” she said, her voice rising as her gaze narrowed. “You know me so well? Did you get that from Melanie, too?”

He blinked then let out a deep breath. “You know I checked you out.”

“Dream of me?” She frowned and poked her finger at his chest. “
Dream of me
? I’ve done nothing but do exactly that, but I guess it was out of sight, out of mind for you.”

He stood still for a minute, and then the corners of his mouth twitched into a smile.

Again, she poked him. “Don’t you dare laugh at me. You played me like a violin. Were you following some playbook for how to cure a girl of grief? Think I wouldn’t have pulled myself out of that hole all by myself?”

“I wanted to help.” He grabbed her finger before she could jab him a third time. “Hold off, I think you bruised my chest.”

“I want to bruise a whole lot more.”

He pulled her finger and reached a hand around the back of her neck to drag her closer. His mouth slammed down on hers, effectively cutting off her air and most of her anger.

Ash melted against his tall, hard body, savoring the feel of his solid muscles and breathing in his familiar scent. He lifted his head, and she hit his chest with her fist. Not hard, but she wasn’t done showing him he’d hurt her. “I didn’t like not knowing where I stood with you.”

His mouth twisted. “I hated leaving you like that. Hated the devastated look on your face. I wanted to stay, to pick you up and carry you back to bed and love you until you weren’t sad anymore.”

To keep herself from throwing her arms around him, she clenched her hands at her sides. “I’m over being sad. But I have to know whether…you feel…
anything
…for me.” She felt those pesky tears filling her eyes again, and blinked them furiously away. “I’m not going to cry.”

“Glad to hear that, because your tears might make me cry.”

She canted her head. “I can do that? Make you cry?”

He cupped her jaw, a thumb running over her cheek. “Baby, your pain hurts me, too.”

Ash felt a weight lift from her frame, a warmth invaded her chest, and she smiled. “I love you.”

“I’m head over heels for you, too.” He leaned his forehead against hers. “So what are we gonna do about it?”

Ash walked her fingers up his chest and flicked his chin. “I have an idea or two.”

*

A week later,
Ash lay on the sand, sunglasses shielding her eyes from the intense noon sun. She was working on her tan—which by the slight sting of her skin was more of a burn in the making.

“Hey, you ran out on me.” Sam lowered himself beside her. “You forgot sunscreen,” he said, his gaze skimming her figure.

Her body was bared by the most miniscule bikini she could find at one of the island’s beachwear shops. “Didn’t forget it. I’m working on my tan. Can’t be a beach bum for the rest of my life if all I do is sizzle and peel.”

A finger ran over the cap of her shoulder. “And what if I like your pasty-white skin?”

Her jaw lowered, and she pulled down the sunglasses to look over the rims. “I’m pasty?”

He tapped her nose. “You’re perfect. Just the way you are.”

“Says any man eager to get some.”

Sam chuckled and leaned toward her. “I don’t have to give you compliments to get plenty.”

“La-la-la-la. I cannot unhear that.”

At the interruption, Ash grinned and looked to her side.

Suri stood beside her, fingers plugging her ears, Jax at her shoulder. “I’m the welcome committee. Come to bring you welcome drinks.”

Grinning, Jax held up a six-pack of wine coolers.

“You’re houseguests, not residents,” Sam muttered.

“We’re working on that,” Jax said. “While Suri’s looking for a teaching job here on the island, I’m house hunting.”

“Might be able to help you with that…” Sam aimed a pointed glance at the cottage beside his house.

Jax’s mouth pursed, and he nodded. “We’ll rent, if you’re game, but we’ll need more space once this one starts poppin’ out babies.”

Eyes wide, Suri slapped his arm. “Popping out babies. Who says that?”

Jax laughed and put his arm around her. “But you’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”

The couple snuggled against each other’s chests until Sam rose and held out a hand to Ash. “We’d better leave these two alone.”

“Yeah, better close the blinds, too,” Jax growled as he bent to land a playful bite on Suri’s shoulder.

They left the laughing couple, walking hand in hand to Sam’s house. Their house. Once Sam had convinced her he was her future, the rest had fallen quickly into place. She’d quit her job. They’d packed up her belongings and put them into storage, awaiting shipment that the Charter Group was arranging.

Other than the fact she didn’t have a clue what sort of work an unemployed cop would find there, she was satisfied, happier than she’d been in a long, long time.

They entered the house and Sam quickly flipped the bamboo blinds. “We don’t need the distraction.”

“Or any inspiration.” Standing in the middle of the room, she reached behind her and unhooked the top of her bikini, then dangled it on the end of her finger, watching as Sam’s blue-green eyes darkened.

He strode toward her with a determined tilt of his jaw. “Now, where did we leave off that conversation…?”

“I don’t recall,” she said, stepping backward. Her pulse throbbed at her temples. Her nipples prickled in the cool air.