He came to a stop in the middle of the field, dropped his hands to his knees, and hung his head, releasing a choked exhalation. If he touched Fontana right now—even with so much as a pinky—they were going to go there. In the barn, in the field. No way they’d make it to a bed.
It wouldn’t be gentle. Or sweet.
It would be passionate and powerful. Brutal and remarkable.
Only this time, Campbell was frightened.
Fontana didn’t hate him as much as she had at the start. At the mill, he’d witnessed a trace of affection and, fuck,sympathy, in her eyes. Understanding only those who’d experienced trauma themselves could extend. He’d grabbed it like a drowning man, told her things he’d never told anyone outside his family.
Told her things he’d never toldanyone.
She was sharp. She probably had a pretty good line on him at this point.
Talk about naked.
In a way he didn’tlike.
FONTANA
The dream came to her in bursts, flickers of luminosity amidst startling pitch-black, like a lightbulb flickering in a faulty socket. She knelt between rows of unharvested corn, her fingers embedded deep in the frosty earth.
Relief tangled with terror. The towering, untouched stalks were excellent concealment.
Whispering an urgent plea, she squeezed Hannah’s hand until her own felt bloodless.Quiet, or he’ll hear us.The crushing power of his boots destroyed everything in their path—cornstalks snapping as easily as the bones in her ankle had.
When she glanced back and found Hannah gone, a scream tore through her.
Waking, Fontana rolled onto her back, gasping into the darkness. She curled her fists around sheets gone damp beneath her. A bead of sweat trailed down her jaw, and she scrubbed it away. She didn’t have to leave.
Not today. Not tomorrow. Not yet.
And even when she did, they were safe. He wasn’t searching for them anymore. He didn’tthinkabout them anymore.
She hoped.
Fontana focused on breathing and let the night comfort her. The whir of the furnace, a branch scraping the window, the hum of the refrigerator. Her home. Her sounds.
Rolling her head, her gaze fell to Henry’s jacket hanging on her closet doorknob. Before she could stop herself, she grabbed the phone on her bedside table, dialing with one hand as she untangled the twisted cord with the other.
He answered on the first ring. Not an ounce of sleep in his voice.
She glanced at the clock. 3:16 a.m.
“Atlanta?”
Campbell’s terse breath shot through the phone. “Hellcat?”
“I’m sorry. It’s so late. But Hannah gets upset if I call about the dream and?—”
“Hold on, slow down.” She heard rustling as he shifted. “Are you okay?”
“Yes. No.” She sighed, pressing the phone to her cheek. “Yes.” His voice was making her feel better, which was a nightmare in its own right.
“A bad dream?”
She sank onto the mattress, imagining the shade of gold his eyes would be right now. “Notadream.Thedream. The one where he’s searching for me.”
“Who?” His voice was razor-sharp. His reaction to her wearing Henry’s jacket popped into her mind. That little show of jealousy shouldn’t have pleased her as much as it did.
