Reckless (Blue Collar Boyfriends Book 1) by Jessi Gage Page B

jeans or sweats? Was he still pretending she was nothing but a dream or hallucination?
    Her skin flushed hot as she remembered giving in to her attraction last night. She finally knew what the thick muscles of his shoulders felt like under her hands, the taste of his salty skin as her tongue played along his neck. She finally knew the passion of his kiss. Wow, the man could kiss! She had no memory of kissing anyone else, but even if she’d Frenched a dozen Don Juans, Derek’s rough, possessive kiss would have wiped the slate clean. There had been no room for insecurity or indecision in it. She wished she had half the confidence he wielded in his kiss alone.
    And in his touch. The man was a taker, and she wanted to be taken completely. Derek would never let something like doubt stop him from possessing whatever he wanted. And she had been foolish enough to think he might want her. When he’d accepted the intimate comfort she offered, she’d thought he’d accepted her. She’d felt like she finally had an ally in this strange existence. Someone cared about her. She could deal with her situation, as long as she had that much.
    How wrong she’d been. Whatever she thought they’d shared last night, this morning he’d been scared of her, and tonight he had barred her from reaching him. At first, she hoped it was unintentional, but when she heard his footsteps pad from the bathroom to the living room and saw the light extinguished and heard nothing more, she knew he was avoiding her.
    The rejection cut deep. She sank to her knees and pressed her forehead to the door. Tears tried to come, but she refused them. She had no one to blame but herself. She’d been too bold. Perhaps with the affection she’d pushed on him while he’d been vulnerable. Definitely with her pathetic attempt at morning-after conversation.
    Embarrassment made her rock her head against the smooth wood. Anger at her miscalculation made her fists clench. She should have been more cautious.
    Now he was sleeping somewhere on the other side of this door, where she would be powerless to help him if his nightmares returned.
    “Spare him those horrible dreams tonight,” she begged whatever power had brought them together.
    But her plea went unanswered. Before long, she heard him begin to whimper. The sound of leather creaking told her he was on his couch and likely thrashing, like she’d seen him do in bed with the nightmare at its worst. Her stomach turned at the thought of him scared or hurting.
    “Derek,” she called through the door, desperate to wake him. But he probably wouldn’t have been able to hear her even if he were awake. “Please, wake up! Oh, please,” she added under her breath as she gripped the doorknob and yanked with all her strength. “Please,” she implored again, putting a foot on the doorframe and pulling until her muscles protested and her joints throbbed with pain.
    His whimpers changed. One moment they reflected phy sical pain, the next they were heart wrenching pleas. “Daddy!” he cried. “No! You have to wake up!”
    She couldn’t stand it. She should be comforting him, telling him it wasn’t real, making sure he didn’t have to face his nightmares alone. The door wouldn’t budge, but if she was a ghost, maybe she could go through it…or under it. It was worth a try.
    She shoved her fingers under the door, and willed he r body to transform to mist or whatever and slide underneath, following the path of her fingers. But she only bruised her knuckles.
    Derek’s suffering tortured her ears. He was only a few yards away, but completely out of reach.
    She had an idea.
    This morning, she’d turned off his alarm and clicked on the lamp without thinking about it. Those things weren’t on the bed. They were beside the bed. She shouldn’t have been able to affect them. She’d been able to because she’d been on the bed. Maybe if she got on the bed, she stood a chance of waking Derek from his nightmare.
    She leaped up