I Want You To Want Me. Kathy Love

sat there for a moment, her gaze distant, fear still lingering in her eyes. Even though this look was much better than the wide-eyed, unblinking stare she’d had as she’d dreamed.

      “I can’t remember ever having a nightmare that horrible. And that realistic.” She shivered, wrapping her arms around her midsection.

      Vittorio’s fingers twitched with the longing to touch her, to comfort her. But he couldn’t. It might seem like a compassionate gesture, but really, it would be the height of selfishness.

      She shivered again, but then forced a smile. “I don’t think I’ll be going to sleep again right away.”

      She slid her legs off the sofa and sat up, clearly trying to shake off the residual effects of the dream.

      She stared at the coffee table, again in that way that indicated she wasn’t really seeing the table. But he noted the plate of sticky-looking bars she’d made for him. Half of them were gone. And he felt a pang about that. She’d come down and eaten them herself. The unwanted offering. Somehow the image upset him. He should have just taken them. What harm would there have been in that?

      “I figured, why let them go to waste.”

      Vittorio’s eyes met hers, startled to realize she’d followed his stare and was explaining the missing pieces.

      He met her gaze again, pulled in by the grayness of her eyes. Stormy blue at times. Then all dove gray and soft-hearted other times. And somewhere in between now. Shaken and uncertain.

      He glanced back at the plate, then asked, “Are you okay now?”

      She nodded, then her lips twisted into a pained grimace. “I hate to be this silly, but will you stay while I go check the other rooms? I really do feel—jumpy.”

      That was the least Vittorio could do. After all, until he saw her on the sofa alone, he’d thought her screams could have been caused by something he’d brought upon her. The idea sickened him, like the nausea from earlier in the bar.

      “Let me check,” he offered, heading toward her hallway.

      “Thank you,” she said in a small voice, but he didn’t glance back in her direction.

      The way she looked, delicate and scared, called to him. He wanted to hold her, protect her. But his presence would not give her protection. Even if he wasn’t right about the deaths of the women in his past being connected to him, he wasn’t the type of guy who’d be any good at playing the knight in shining armor.

      Not to mention, he was simply too attracted to her energy. He wanted to sample it, to feel it inside himself.

      He headed down the dark hall. The rooms were still, and he didn’t sense anything there but the vibe of Erika herself. Her energy seemed to permeate the old walls, giving the whole apartment a new, warm feeling.

      Yearning flared inside him, reinforcing why he had to get out of here, quickly.

      Still, when he reached her bedroom, he flipped on the light, telling himself it was for her benefit—and certainly not his own curiosity. He paused in the doorway, surveying all the nuances of the room.

      Her bed was piled with pillows and covered with a plush velvet duvet in a rich deep blue. Gilded lamps with bead-fringed shades sat on each side of the large bed. An oval mirror hung on one wall and a painting of cherubs took up a majority of the wall behind the bed.

      The room could have reminded him of a baroque bordello, but instead Vittorio found himself appreciating the flow of colors and textures. It was a room that revealed the artist in Erika. Each piece of furniture complimented the other until the whole room radiated a feeling, a personality.

      He tried to sense something amiss in the room. But nothing was uncomfortable there. He focused on the other smaller bedroom that she was using to store her art supplies, and the bathroom.

      There was nothing wrong—no residual energy from anyone else being there. Well, except for the cat. And he only had a distinctly disdainful air. Typical cat.

      Vittorio headed back to the living room. Erika was no longer seated on the sofa. Now she paced, her arms wrapped around herself as if she was freezing. Her eyes didn’t look any less haunted.

      “Everything is fine.” He kept his voice low, but laced it with conviction. She needed to believe she would be safe. There was nothing worse than not feeling secure in your own home. He knew that feeling all too well.

      She nodded, but her arms tightened around her and she glanced at the hallway, clearly not believing him. He looked toward the front door, knowing that he shouldn’t stay any longer. But he couldn’t make himself go.

      She pulled in a breath, then paced back to the kitchen counter.

      “I’m sorry,” she said, her tone frustrated, and he knew the emotion was directed at herself. “I know I’m acting ridiculous, but that dream…it was so vivid. So…”

      She shook her head, unable to give words to the horrible images in her head.

      Vittorio watched her a moment longer, her fear making the air heavy. He shifted, uncertain what to do, how to help her.

      Finally, he moved to the sofa and sat. He patted the cushion next to him. “Come. I’ll sit with you until you fall back asleep.”

      She gave him a weak smile. “I don’t think that’s going to happen again tonight.”

      He didn’t say anything. He just tapped the cushion again.

      Her eyes moved to his hand, but she didn’t move. Probably not sure if she could really trust him. He couldn’t blame her. But she eventually crossed to the sofa, her movements wooden.

      She sank down, not touching him—for which he was grateful. She was too much temptation even without her body directly against his.

      They were both silent for several seconds, then Erika turned to him, her knee very close to his. He could feel her heat.

      “You don’t have to stay,” she said. “I appreciate you checking out the apartment. I’ll be okay.”

      He knew he should take the opportunity to exit. But he couldn’t leave her looking so distressed, so pale.

      “Just lay down.”

      “Excuse me?” Her brows rose, her expression almost comical. A better look than the lingering fear.

      He felt a smile tug at his lips. “It’s four a.m. You need to try to go back to sleep.”

      “I really don’t think that’s going to happen.”

      “Try,” he said, keeping his voice low, and slightly coaxing.

      She considered him for a moment, then turned to arrange the jumbled cushions. She slid away from him, and settled down. Her body was stiff, and her legs were curled up so even her feet didn’t touch him. The position didn’t look overly comfortable, and he thought about suggesting they move to her bedroom, but immediately dismissed the idea.

      He prided himself on good self-control, but being in a bed with her would test even his limits. Who was he kidding? She tested his limits by just breathing.

      “Close your eyes,” he murmured, trying to lull her with his voice. He half expected her to reject the idea. But she did as he asked, her lids fluttering shut.

      Then he closed his own eyes. He started to draw in her energy, then stopped. He couldn’t do this. It wasn’t right.

      He glanced at her, and her eyes were open, staring straight ahead. She was clearly reliving her dream. He could help her. He could take just enough of her energy to make her relax and sleep. Was that selfish?

      Yes. But he couldn’t leave her this way.

      Slowly, he breathed in through his nose, his eyes never leaving her. Her life force filled him, making every nerve ending in his body pulse and vibrate. The effect on his body was like breathing