Playing With Fire. Kat Black

a long breath and closed her eyes. She had no idea what the time was, but the grit of tiredness behind her lids told her that she hadn’t been asleep all that long. The one thing she did know about her new nocturnal pattern was that, regardless of the hour, now she was awake – that was it. No more sleep tonight.

      As though in protest, her body let out a huge yawn while she wondered what to do about the situation. If she was on her own she’d hunker down on the sofa and lose the rest of the night to bad TV. But what was she supposed to do with Aidan here? Insist the light was kept on and then lie awkwardly awake beside him all night? Not that things would be that easy. Not with Aidan Flynn. He’d want to go all Spanish Inquisition on her and find out what was wrong.

      But there was nothing wrong. She was fine. It wasn’t like anybody had control over what they dreamed, was it?

      She almost wished she’d refused his request to stay the night. When he’d asked, she’d been senseless enough from their mad-bunny sex to let the excitement of novelty outweigh her natural resistance. She’d never had a man share her bed for the night before, had never invited one back to her place. In the past she’d always gone to them, and now she remembered why she’d lived by that rule – so that she could simply leave whenever she wanted instead of finding herself locked in her own bathroom in the middle of the night. She wondered how long it would take Aidan to fall back to sleep.

      Letting out a sigh, she figured she might as well make use of the facilities to pass some time. She relieved herself and gave her hands a good wash, trying out the comprehensive, NHS-approved technique she’d seen promoted on posters at the hospital. During the rigorous cleansing, she noticed that her nails were getting a bit long. After she’d dried, she gave them a trim and file, and, as she was putting the clippers back in the cabinet, decided she might as well brush her teeth while she was at it. Teeth clean and flossed, she closed the cabinet and caught sight of her tangled hair in the mirrored door. She combed it through carefully, put it up in a loose twist and inspected the results in the mirror. Much better … except for the mascara smudged under her eyes. As she fixed that up, she was aware of the skin on her hands beginning to pull unpleasantly tight from all the soap she’d used, so she moved on to applying hand cream. Once that was thoroughly rubbed in, she decided that enough was enough. She couldn’t, wouldn’t spend the night held hostage in her own bathroom.

      She turned the lock and switched off the light before very slowly and very quietly opening the door. She hadn’t a clue how much time she’d wasted, but hopefully enough that Aidan would have drifted off again. Putting her eye to the crack, she saw a soft glow spilling from the bedroom, indicating that the bedside lamp was still on. Trying to keep her breathing as quiet as possible, she strained to hear the smallest noise. After a long minute of silence, she decided it was safe to venture out.

      Heading in the opposite direction from the bedroom, she crept along to the sitting room. Entering, she pushed the door carefully to behind her and used the ambient light coming in through the window to pick her way across the room to switch on a lamp. Mindful of making too much noise, she started looking for the remote before turning on the TV so she could mute the sound.

      Could she find the damn thing in the half-light? Could she hell. It wasn’t on the coffee table. Or the sofa. Nowhere on either of the armchairs. Or the TV stand.

      Muttering to it to show itself, she conducted a quick search of the bookcase. No luck there either. Straightening, she turned towards the sofa again, only to stop short at the sight of the door, now wide open and showing Aidan – very much awake and dressed in jeans and jersey – leaning against the jamb.

      Arms crossed over his chest, he watched her. ‘How long have these nightmares been going on?’

      Flustered, she deflected the question with one of her own. ‘What do you think you’re doing, sneaking around in the dark?’

      Calmly, he unfolded one arm and reached to flick on the overhead light so that the room was suddenly as bright as day, leaving her squinting. ‘How long, Annabel?’ he persisted softly.

      Shrugging, she muttered something non-committal and turned to continue her search for the remote, making it clear she didn’t want to talk about it.

      From the corner of her eye she saw him straighten from the doorway and come into the room. ‘Are they always that bad?’

      That bad? Mostly they were worse. ‘They’re just dreams,’ she sighed.

      ‘Dreams about the attack, that much was obvious from your shouts. I remember you had a couple when you came to stay with me from the hospital.’

      Admitting defeat in her hunt for the remote, she flopped down on the sofa. If Aidan wasn’t going to take her hints, she’d have to state the obvious for him. ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

      He came to sit beside her, reached out and tucked a wisp of her hair behind her ear. She was relieved to see him nod. ‘As long as you’re talking to someone.’

      Aware of something hard sticking into her behind, Annabel shifted. Reaching under the cushion she found the remote. Typical.

      Aiming it at the TV, she was ready to hit the on button when Aidan said, ‘Annabel?’

      She glanced at him to find he was looking at her expectantly.

      ‘Are you?’ he prompted.

      She blinked at him. ‘Am I what?’

      He let out a slow, audible breath. ‘Are you talking about the dreams with your counsellor, or therapist, or whoever it is you’ve been seeing?’

      She gave a short laugh. Therapist? Counsellor? What was he on about? Was he sleep-talking? ‘I’m not seeing a counsellor.’

      His brow furrowed as though that troubled him somehow. ‘Maybe you should think about going again?’

      ‘Again?’ She felt her own brows join the party. ‘I’ve never seen anyone like that in my life.’

      Now he gave her an incredulous stare. ‘You didn’t take up the offer of Victim Support?’

      ‘What?’

      ‘What do you mean, “What?”?’ Those pale-grey eyes continued to stare. ‘The support service the police spoke about referring you to. At the hospital. After the attack.’

      Oh, that. She recalled someone getting in contact after she’d agreed to follow it up as a means to get Aidan to stop harping on it. To say the man could be single-minded about things was an understatement. ‘They did? I don’t really re–’

      ‘Don’t tell me you don’t remember. Because I do. Very clearly,’ he said stubbornly, proving her point about him not being able to leave things alone. ‘I was there with you.’

      That was true. For all his annoying ways, he’d been the one by her bedside almost constantly, the one who’d taken her in and cared for her when she’d had nobody else. But did that give him the right to be as overbearing as hell now? ‘I didn’t follow it up because I don’t need that sort of help.’

      He stared at her for a moment. ‘Are you sure about that?’

      What was that supposed to mean? ‘Of course I am. That type of thing isn’t meant for someone like me.’ She was affronted by the mere suggestion.

      ‘Someone like you?’ he pursued, his expression a mixture of confusion and doggedness.

      ‘It’s for, you know … real victims.’ She sprang up from the sofa, eager to get away from his irritating questions. ‘Do you want a coffee? I’m going to make one.’

      Of course her escape attempt was thwarted. ‘Annabel, you were a real victim,’ Aidan insisted, right on her tail. ‘Of a serious physical assault.’

      ‘Physical being the operative word.’ She turned on the light as she entered her small galley kitchen. She went straight to the kettle and flicked the switch with one hand as she waved her injured arm in his direction. ‘And