“You’ll need something to sleep in,” he said. “Steph has nightgowns somewhere in that monster closet.”
“Would you mind very much if I use your sweat suit again?” Tara asked instead. “It was, um, comfortable.”
His smile held a tender edge that made her hands quiver. “No, sweetheart. I don’t mind at all,” he assured her. “I’ll get it for you.”
It took her the entire four minutes he was gone to recover from that smile, and the casually spoken endearment.
This was no way to keep her emotional distance from Blake.
Blake returned carrying the sweat suit and a clean pair of white socks. He handed them to Tara, then asked, “Is there anything else you need?”
“No, I’m fine, thanks.”
He seemed suddenly reluctant to send her off. “You’ll be okay in there by yourself?”
Tara made a face at him. “I’ve been sleeping by myself for a long time, Blake.”
That lifted one of his eyebrows a bit, but he merely nodded. “I just thought—well, with everything that’s been happening, it would certainly be understandable if you were a bit nervous.”
“I’m fine,” she repeated.
“You’ll let me know if you need anything?”
“You’ll be the first to know,” she assured him dryly. As if there was anyone else to tell.
“And if you have another bad dream—”
“Blake,” she interrupted him. “I’m fine. Really. There won’t be any more bad dreams.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure. Now go to bed. Get some rest.”
He leaned over to brush a kiss across her lips. “Good night, Tara.”
“Good night, Blake.” Her reply was noticeably husky.
“TARA.”
The sound of her name penetrated her dream. She opened her eyes, then almost groaned at the sight of Blake sitting on the side of the big bed. The room was gray, but there was enough light for her to see him clearly. His hair was tousled and he wore nothing but a pair of dark-colored sweatpants.
She dragged her gaze away from his sleek, bare chest. The details of her dream came back all too clearly to her, making her face flame. “Please tell me I didn’t talk in my sleep again,” she croaked.
He stroked her hair away from her face, his fingers warm against her chilled skin. “No. You just seemed restless. I was afraid you were having another nightmare.”
It hadn’t been a nightmare. But Tara had no intention of telling Blake exactly what type of dream it had been, nor that he had played a prominent role in it.
“What time is it?” she asked.
“A little after six.”
She grimaced. “I’m sorry, Blake. I keep disturbing your sleep.”
“In more ways than you think,” he murmured, his fingers lingering on her cheek.
She swallowed and reached hastily for the glass of water she’d placed on the nightstand during the night Aware of Blake’s eyes on her, she drank half of it, the liquid loosening her tight throat
“Better?” Blake asked, taking the glass from her and setting it back on the nightstand.