venturing into John and Vivian’s room to use the bathroom. Unconsciously, her hand skimmed over her hip and thigh. She decided to stay put. She could handle being a little uncomfortable.
Clarisse slipped between the sheets and lay listening. Her ears strained to hear the least little noise from the adjacent room. After a minute, a door closed. Then nothing. Obviously the glass was like impenetrable steel, she mused with a mixture of relief and frustration. Grumbling aloud, she rolled over and snuggled deeper into the covers.
Time and exhaustion forced her lids closed, and sleep overpowered all thought. Colors swirled, abstract and meaningless, but soon they took shape, sharpened and focused into the interior of a single engine plane.
Seat belt snug around her middle, Clarisse smiled over at the pilot. The aircraft glided down toward Heathrow. The runway appeared, growing larger with each second.
A roar ripped into the interior of the plane. Something crunched. The engine died, and for a second the plane stood poised, silent and deadly, then dipped and dove, careening wildly toward the ground. The plane slammed into asphalt. Clarisse catapulted forward, cutting the seat belt into her stomach. The airplane whirled like a crazed dervish, then crumbled on one side. Metal screamed, ripped apart, crashing into itself and onto Clarisse. Something smashed against her. Intense pain tore into her leg.
“Clarisse. Clarisse,” someone called.
A silent scream locked in her throat, Clarisse jerked to a sitting position. Air. She gulped and managed to fill her lungs with oxygen. Terror gripped her mind. She buried her head into someone’s wide shoulder.
“It hurts. It hurts,” she whimpered. “Please stop the pain!” Sweat coated her back and brow.
Shuddering, Clarisse came out of the dream. Slowly, she became aware of her surroundings, of John’s naked chest, of one of his hands stroking her back and another brushing her wet hair from her neck and shoulders. Her chilled body grew warm. The heat of his skin against her flattened breasts penetrated the thin material of her nightgown.
“It’s just a dream,” John murmured. His breath ruffled the hairs along her temple
She pushed away. “I’m all right.”
Reluctantly, he let her go. “Are you sure? You sounded terrified.” His gaze probed her features. “Since when did you start having nightmares?”
Clarisse didn’t think to lie. “A few years. This was the first one in the last couple months. I guess the near crash today triggered this episode.”
“You never used to have nightmares.”
She read the question in his words but chose to ignore it. “I didn’t scream, did I?”
“No. Vivian’s still asleep,” John whispered. “I was awake. At first, I wasn’t sure if I heard you tossing about. Then I heard whimpering, and I decided to check.”
She slid under the covers. John remained seated on the bed’s edge, both hands resting on either side of her waist. She sensed him studying her face before looking down over the curves of her breasts and hips.
His hand drifted to her shoulder, the thumb caressing her skin in a circular motion. “Do you think you’ll be all right?”
Unable to withstand his intimate touch, Clarisse pulled herself up into a sitting position and twisted to one side. It was a mistake. She found herself brushing up against his naked chest. His breath, scented with peppermint, skimmed her cheek and temple, and his mouth only inches from her own, lowered till his lips grazed hers. Arching upward, she parted her lips, craving his kiss and the pressure of his mouth on her flesh. She let her head fall against the hollow between his neck and shoulder and watched him through lowered lashes. Moonlight streaming through the window illuminated the desire in his smoldering gray eyes.
“You’re beautiful,” he sighed. His hand trailed down her arm and over her waist to rest along her hipbone.
Clarisse froze. Though befuddled with
Clarisse slipped between the sheets and lay listening. Her ears strained to hear the least little noise from the adjacent room. After a minute, a door closed. Then nothing. Obviously the glass was like impenetrable steel, she mused with a mixture of relief and frustration. Grumbling aloud, she rolled over and snuggled deeper into the covers.
Time and exhaustion forced her lids closed, and sleep overpowered all thought. Colors swirled, abstract and meaningless, but soon they took shape, sharpened and focused into the interior of a single engine plane.
Seat belt snug around her middle, Clarisse smiled over at the pilot. The aircraft glided down toward Heathrow. The runway appeared, growing larger with each second.
A roar ripped into the interior of the plane. Something crunched. The engine died, and for a second the plane stood poised, silent and deadly, then dipped and dove, careening wildly toward the ground. The plane slammed into asphalt. Clarisse catapulted forward, cutting the seat belt into her stomach. The airplane whirled like a crazed dervish, then crumbled on one side. Metal screamed, ripped apart, crashing into itself and onto Clarisse. Something smashed against her. Intense pain tore into her leg.
“Clarisse. Clarisse,” someone called.
A silent scream locked in her throat, Clarisse jerked to a sitting position. Air. She gulped and managed to fill her lungs with oxygen. Terror gripped her mind. She buried her head into someone’s wide shoulder.
“It hurts. It hurts,” she whimpered. “Please stop the pain!” Sweat coated her back and brow.
Shuddering, Clarisse came out of the dream. Slowly, she became aware of her surroundings, of John’s naked chest, of one of his hands stroking her back and another brushing her wet hair from her neck and shoulders. Her chilled body grew warm. The heat of his skin against her flattened breasts penetrated the thin material of her nightgown.
“It’s just a dream,” John murmured. His breath ruffled the hairs along her temple
She pushed away. “I’m all right.”
Reluctantly, he let her go. “Are you sure? You sounded terrified.” His gaze probed her features. “Since when did you start having nightmares?”
Clarisse didn’t think to lie. “A few years. This was the first one in the last couple months. I guess the near crash today triggered this episode.”
“You never used to have nightmares.”
She read the question in his words but chose to ignore it. “I didn’t scream, did I?”
“No. Vivian’s still asleep,” John whispered. “I was awake. At first, I wasn’t sure if I heard you tossing about. Then I heard whimpering, and I decided to check.”
She slid under the covers. John remained seated on the bed’s edge, both hands resting on either side of her waist. She sensed him studying her face before looking down over the curves of her breasts and hips.
His hand drifted to her shoulder, the thumb caressing her skin in a circular motion. “Do you think you’ll be all right?”
Unable to withstand his intimate touch, Clarisse pulled herself up into a sitting position and twisted to one side. It was a mistake. She found herself brushing up against his naked chest. His breath, scented with peppermint, skimmed her cheek and temple, and his mouth only inches from her own, lowered till his lips grazed hers. Arching upward, she parted her lips, craving his kiss and the pressure of his mouth on her flesh. She let her head fall against the hollow between his neck and shoulder and watched him through lowered lashes. Moonlight streaming through the window illuminated the desire in his smoldering gray eyes.
“You’re beautiful,” he sighed. His hand trailed down her arm and over her waist to rest along her hipbone.
Clarisse froze. Though befuddled with
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