Page 45 of The Saint

He considered all the shitty places he’d slept in over the years: bunked in the cold desert night, trapped in a tundra shack, sweating through his clothes in a jungle. The couch suited him more than the bed anyway. “I think I was raised better than that.”

He didn’t know why he said that. It was true, but he didn’t usually trot out quips about how he was raised. Maybe he was trying to impress her. Either way, he sounded like an idiot.

Amelia hugged him. She simply wrapped her arms around his neck as though it were something they’d done a hundred times, and every part of him lit up like lightning streaking across the sky. His breath caught, and his fingers ached to flex into her softness. Camden tried to rationalize the connection. He tried to downplay their interaction and the sparks igniting from their physical touch. Shehadhugged him at the prison. So, they’dhugged twice—only twice. The unexpected familiarity of holding her would have been off-putting if it didn’t feel so fucking good.

Her arms tightened around his neck. Her lips brushed just below his earlobe. “Thanks, Cam.”

A shiver cascaded from the spot her lips grazed, and the hairs on the back of his neck shot to attention. Her soft cheek pressed against his. One forearm snaked around the small of her back and held her still against his torso. His heart drummed a heavy staccato. He should’ve pulled away, but he ignored all his responsibility and tightened his arms around her, hugging, holding.

The seconds ticked by. He breathed her in, trying to rationalize the way he held her in the flickering darkness, and he came up with absolutely nothing. Holding onto her was rash. Irresponsible. He needed to let go, but he didn’t know how the hell that was going to happen when his body was memorizing the way hers pressed against his and stupid things like the sweet smell of her shampoo.

“I haven’t felt this safe in days.” Amelia leaned into him.

Well, fuck.That wasn’t going to tamp down his interest. Arousal pounded in his blood. If he couldn’t rationalize his reaction to her, he needed to understand her reaction to him. He swallowed hard and mentally fought for clarity. She was seeking reassurance. Safety. Something that was very different from his racing thoughts about her sweet mouth and pliable body. Right then, he needed to do everything by the book or, at the very least, not be a piece of shit and take advantage of their dynamic.

His chin dropped to the top of her head and brushed her silky hair. Camden didn’t kiss her, but he damn well wanted to. “You should go to bed.”

“Cam…”

He didn’t trust himself and pretended not to hear the soft way she said his name, but he sure as hell didn’t step back to give himself space.

Amelia tipped her chin up.God, those eyes.They were dark pools of wonder and—he clearly saw it—desire. His blood raced faster. His lips tingled. Candlelight danced over her features. He had wanted to touch her since their first phone call. Primally, he’d wanted to keep her safe and chase away the man who chased her. It had killed him that he was thousands of miles away, and then he was awestruck that she hadn’t crumbled under pressure. She’d been so close to not making it through the night.

But she had, and after that first night, the more they talked, the more he needed to find out who the strong woman on the other line of the phone was. He’d been attracted to her without knowing what she looked like, and now holding her, Camden couldn’t think straight.

They needed space. Daylight. A long night’s rest. They needed many, many things that didn’t exist in that bedroom. Camden brushed her hair behind her ear and forced himself to let go.

Cold air invaded the space between them. Her frown was almost enough for him to say, “Fuck it.” They could use the two beers as an excuse for a bad decision.

He squeezed her biceps and trailed his palm to her elbow before finally pulling away. “Good night, Amelia.”

Camden awoke to a sound. He sat up and blinked in the darkness. It was still the middle of the night. The wind and rain still battled outside. Without electricity, the house had cooled. He shivered and heard the sound again.

It had come from the bedroom. Amelia had left the door open, explaining that after spending nights in solitary confinement, she hadn’t even wanted the appearance of being locked in.

“Amelia?” he called softly enough to not wake her but loud enough to get her attention if she was calling for him.

He got no answer.

He strained to filter the weather from what might be her calls when he heard it again.

Camden padded barefoot across the living room and up the stairs. He wasn’t sure what was happening until he stood at the bedroom door and saw Amelia thrashing under the covers. Her words were frightened but unintelligible.

“Amelia? You’re sleep talking.”

Actually, it was more like a night terror. He stepped to the foot of the bed. Her legs had tangled in the comforter. The only word he was certain of was “no.”

“Hey.” He gripped her ankle and squeezed. “Easy.” That didn’t stop her nightmare. Camden moved to the top of the bed and perched on the edge. “Amelia. You’re dreaming.”

She snapped up with a gasp, one hand outstretched. Her wild eyes scanned the room until she saw him. “God…” Her outstretched hand folded to her chest. “That nightmare.” She tried to catch her breath. “It keeps coming back.” Her head dropped back, breath racing as though she’d finished a marathon. Finally, she leaned against him. “I don’t even know what happens in it. But it’s the same thing. I can’t run. I can’t hide. I don’t know what from. I just”—she rolled her forehead against his arm—“know I’m going to die.”

“You’re safe,” he promised. “Slow your breathing. It’s okay.”

She inhaled a long, shaky breath.

“There you go. Hold it for a second, and let it out.”

Amelia followed his instructions.

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