Before I Wake (21 page)

“Sure,” he replied, expressionless. “But first, you work on defense. Then later, we can work on other stuff if you’re still interested.”

I figured I would be. Interested, that is, and not only in ass-kicking. Noah had a lot of baggage—maybe more than anyone should want in a boyfriend, but I was willing to risk it. The question I had to ask myself was—did I want him in my life because I liked him as he was, or because I thought I could fix him?

Maybe “fix” was too strong a word, but I can’t deny that the need to help him was there inside me, right beside the urge to bonk his brains out.

“The point of aikido is to use the attacker’s energy and momentum against them,” Noah said as we stood. “The movements are circular, using the hips rather than the upper body.”

“Finally,” I quipped. “My hips are good for something.”

He grinned, and oh, it was sexy! “A few things.”

I actually blushed. “Okay, so no upper body.”

“Right. If someone tries to hit you, you block and push their arm or foot beyond, so that the extension throws them off-balance.

Pretend that you’re going to slap me.”

I did, swinging my arm slowly just in case. Noah’s own arm came up as he sidestepped, blocked mine without hurting me—he was going slowly as well—and then pushed my arm farther into the arc so that I was forced to lean forward. My center of balance was gone, I couldn’t retaliate, and neither of us had gotten hurt.

“That’s obviously pretty simplified,” he remarked, helping me straighten up. His hand was warm around my arm. “But you get the idea.”

“If aikido’s so kind and gentle, why the mat?”

His dark eyes shone brightly as his gaze met mine. “Aikido’s kind and gentle. I’m not.”

I was pretty sure that was meant as a mock threat. I was also pretty sure it turned me on.

We started out slowly—not much faster than his example exercise. Since we were working at less than warp speed, my movements felt heavy and clunky. It was like reliving all those dance classes my mother made me go to as a kid in the hopes that I’d stop tripping over my own size eleven feet. Once we got a few basics down, however, Noah picked up the pace, and my confidence increased.

Thirty minutes later, I was sweating and breathing through my mouth. My back was damp and icky and so was the flesh between and underneath my boobs. Noah had sent me sprawling only once so far, and I was feeling pretty confident as we circled each other, him instructing and me doing what I was told.

That was, of course, before he sent me sprawling on the mat for the second time. And the third. Somewhere between two and three we stopped to discuss how to take a fall so I wouldn’t hurt myself. It helped—a little.

The fourth time I knew what was coming, and I managed to get my leg in around his. If I was going down, this time he was coming with me. I wasn’t going to be the only one with bruises on my butt tomorrow.

We landed in a tangled heap—and not in a graceful, sexy way either. He landed on top of me—hard—and knocked the breath from my lungs. He swore. I swore. Thank God for the mat, or I probably would have knocked myself out.

I was almost afraid to look at him, convinced he was going to be pissed.

“Nice move,” he remarked drily, with just a hint of amusement. “You hurt yourself more than you hurt me.”

I tried to grin, but it felt more like a wince. “I’m good that way.”

He pushed up on his elbows, but his chest was still on mine. I could feel his heart pounding, feel every breath. One of his legs was between mine, and I tried very hard to ignore the lovely pressure of his thigh.

From this close I could actually make out the pupils of his eyes—a bare shade or two darker than the irises. I’d never met anyone with eyes so dark before. I could see my face reflected in their shining blackness. God, I was a mess. Noah didn’t seem to mind.

As his gaze flickered over my features, I saw nothing but appreciation in the bright depths. I liked it, even though it worried me. It seemed so sudden, his attraction to me, and I wasn’t so sure I could trust it.

And then, he was obviously overcome by the ruddy flush in my cheeks that happens every time I exert myself. Or maybe it was the sweat beading in that little valley above my lip that did him in. The next thing I knew, Noah’s lips were on mine, and our tongues were doing the tango. Mentally, I sighed in delight, and let him have his way with my mouth.

He tasted faintly of toothpaste—sweet and minty. His lips were soft against mine, firmly coaxing a response. I met every nip and nuzzle, opened myself to the hot wetness of his tongue, and stroked it with my own.

Warmth tingled in my veins. Want blossomed in my stomach. I could smell the salty heat of our damp skin, feel the insistent hardness of his body pressed into mine. I adjusted my hips to better cradle his, torn between wanting to gyrate against his erection and pull away from the bruising arousal of it.

It was obvious that he liked kissing me, that wasn’t the problem. The problem was I didn’t know if his interest stemmed from a genuine attraction to me or if it had been “influenced” by Karatos and The Dreaming. For all I knew, the Terror could have done something to Noah to make him act this way. He could be using Noah to get to me.

Scary.

Once Karatos was gone, what would we have? As far as I knew, we had very little in common except for some power in the Dream Realm. I was willing to take a chance on a relationship with Noah—risk having it all fall through—but I wasn’t going to be the only person to take that risk. How could I give all I had when the man I was with only gave half back?

I might not have my pick of men, but I knew what I wanted and settling was not an option. If Noah didn’t want me the same way I wanted him—if he wasn’t ready for a relationship of some sort—then what was the point?

One of his hands—those beautiful, strong fingers of his—was easing up my ribs toward my chest. Tight and tingling, my body was anxious for him to reach that very destination, but I knew it wasn’t a good idea. If he touched me like that—if he started something more serious than just kissing—I’d let him, and I wasn’t ready to go there yet.

I pushed against his shoulders, even though my fingers itched to dig in and hold on. He lifted his head and gazed down at me, all heavy-lidded and delicious-looking, but my resolve was firm.

And oh boy, so was he.

He didn’t speak, but his gaze was questioning. I heard his voice in my head as clearly as he had spoken out loud. What’s wrong?

“I can’t do this,” I told him. “Not here. Not now.”

The golden skin between his brows puckered. “Do what?”

He could play coy all he wanted, but I wasn’t totally stupid. “Have sex with you on a dojo floor.”

“You think I want to have sex?”

I arched a brow. “Unless you’re carrying a zucchini in your pants, yeah.”

He rolled off me completely, and a chill rushed up the front of me where his warmth had been. “That has a mind of its own.”

Yeah, and I was pretty sure what that part of him had in mind. I sat up to face him on an equal level. “Are you saying that you wouldn’t have taken it further if I had let you?”

He shrugged. “I was just enjoying myself. I thought you were, too.”

That was quite possibly the most words I had ever heard him speak at one time. “I was. I just don’t want us to rush into anything.”

He was scowling now. He knew there was more to my lame protests than I was saying. “You think I’d just fuck you, then I’d disappear?”

“No.” I was getting agitated—we both were, obviously. “I think you’d wait until Karatos disappeared first.” Oh, that so hadn’t come out the way I meant it.

Noah paled, and I felt cruel. “Nice to know you have such a high opinion of me.”

He rose to his feet, so I stood as well. “Noah, that’s not it.”

Defiantly, he faced me, muscled forearms folded over his chest. “Then how is it?”

“I have to focus on stopping Karatos. I can’t have any distractions.” Was that toes I tasted in the back of my throat? Had to be, for I certainly had my foot in my mouth.

“I’m a distraction.” His voice was so quiet and low that I shivered at the sound of it. Noah was dangerous at that moment. He was either going to shut down or lash out, and I had no idea which one I’d prefer.

“Of course not.”

“Then what?”

I couldn’t answer. What words could I possibly use? Did I tell him I’d been infatuated with him for months and risk that vulnerability? How could I explain that I was very much afraid that he was my strength without making myself weak?

He raked a hand through his hair, pulling the silky black strands back off his forehead.

My silence obviously spoke to him. The high planes of his cheeks darkened as his eyes narrowed. “I don’t need you to save me.”

His voice was still that low, controlled pitch. “I don’t want to be some pathetic victim you feel the need to rescue and protect.”

At least he hadn’t accused me of wanting to “fix” him.

“Noah…”

He stopped me with a look of undisguised bitterness. “Find someone else to show you how to fight Karatos. A victim like me can’t be much help. I’ll be fine on my own.”

Anyone else, and I might have rolled my eyes at the martyred tone, but as Noah walked away, I felt like crap for letting something that had started out so wonderful go down the toilet in such a spectacular way. I knew that he wouldn’t be all right on his own.

Karatos would come for him.

And it would be all my fault when the Terror took him.

“Stupid is as stupid does.”

From now on this sage phrase from Forrest’s mama was going to be my personal motto. Stupid was as stupid did, and I felt really stupid about the fight I’d had with Noah. I just needed to know that he liked me, and that maybe he planned to stick around once our Night Terror problem was solved.

Because I wasn’t investing my heart or my energy for less.

“Kleenex?” Lola asked from where she lounged beside me on the couch. On the TV screen, Forrest was still at Jenny’s bedside, but we both knew what was coming next. I pulled two tissues from the box.

Even though I had watched this movie more times than I could count, I still teared up when Tom Hanks says, “You died on a Saturday.” In fact, the entire Jenny’s grave speech never fails to make me cry like a baby. Lola is the same way, hence the box of tissues on the cushion between us.

It’s these moments that make me miss my family. I refuse to watch Little House on the Prairie reruns for the same reason.

Sentimentality gets me every time, and I end up longing for home, my dad’s fried bread, and, yes, even my mother.

So it was perfect timing when my sister Joy called at exactly the right moment to catch me vulnerable. Instead of letting the call go to voice mail, I picked up, suddenly needing to hear my sister’s voice, regardless of the topic.

“Is this a bad time?” my sister asked after I said hello. Joy was the closest to me in age, being six years older. I thought of her—and the others—as my full siblings regardless of who my biological father was.

I sniffed and wiped my nose with a Kleenex. “No. Lola and I just finished watching Forrest Gump.”

A soft chuckle rang in my ear. “So that’s why you sound like you’ve been bawling.”

Another sniff, but I was smiling. “Yeah. What’s up?” It wasn’t that I thought she had to have a reason for calling, but Joy normally didn’t call just to say hi.

“Ivy was going to call you, but I thought it might be better if I did.”

My soft and sappy feeling evaporated, replaced by a frisson of fear. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.” I knew there was a “but” coming. “We’ve arranged for a specialist to see Mom.”

I frowned. “What kind of specialist?” That I knew of there were none.

“Ivy found a neurologist from Boston who has agreed to take a look at mom’s case.”

Of course it would be Ivy. I shouldn’t be this annoyed. Ivy was only worried about Mom. She didn’t know what I knew—that she would be wasting her money—Dad’s money—on trying to bring back a woman who didn’t want to be with us.

“We’ve had three different neurologists look at Mom already,” I reminded her. “It hasn’t done any good. No one can figure out what is wrong with her.” No one except for me, and no one would believe me.

“This one has a theory.”

“I bet he does. What’s his rate?”

“It’s going to cost five thousand for the consult and treatment.”

“Jesus. And Dad’s going to pay it?”

“He wants her back as much as the rest of us, Dawnie.”

I didn’t want her back. “Right.”

“He thinks the coma might be psychosomatic. Of course, you know what that means better than I do.”

Well, shit. Maybe this doctor wasn’t trying to make a quick buck after all. But that didn’t mean he could bring my mother back to this world. “So, what does this guy think he can do for Mom that the others couldn’t?”

My sister hesitated, as though trying to think of the best way to phrase her words. “He says he can wake her up.”

What the hell was I supposed to do with this?

After hanging up with Joy, I sat on the couch trying to figure out if I should tell my mother and Morpheus what the family had planned. I couldn’t confide in Lola since she seemed to think I was sane, and I didn’t want to do anything that might change that. I told her that they were calling in another specialist, and that was it. She thought maybe I was afraid to get my hopes up. She was partially right.

Was it wrong of me to hope that this neurologist might actually succeed in breaking the “Arms of Morpheus” spell? My mother was happy where she was, but I wanted her to face the family she’d abandoned. I wanted her to face the pain she’d put them—us—through.

But I also didn’t want anything to jeopardize my standing within The Dreaming—not that I had any plans to spend a lot of time there, but if Mom woke up, Morpheus might decide she was more of a priority than apprehending Karatos. Or worse, he might decide to go all vengeful on my family. I wish I could say I trusted him not to be so petty, but I didn’t. He was a god, and gods were known to behave like overgrown children.