Page 40 of Indigo Ridge (The Edens 1)

My parents used to say, “It’s just a bad dream, Winnie.”

This wasn’t a dream.

The blood, the mutilation, was real. The lifeless eyes. The scream, my own, that still rang in my ears five years later.

Would these nightmares ever stop? They’d been worse since moving here. They’d haunted me almost every night.

Beside me, Griffin shifted. The sheet he’d pulled over us after the last tumble dipped lower, revealing the sculpted contours of his muscled back. The broad shoulders. The dimples just above his ass.

I slipped out from beneath the cotton and stood from the mattress, still on the floor. On tiptoes, I padded out of the room, easing the door closed behind me.

My clothes from work were strewn alongside Griffin’s in the living room. I snagged his T-shirt, pressing it to my nose. It smelled of laundry soap and the masculine, natural spice of the man who’d made me see stars last night. I breathed it in again, drawing comfort from the scent, before pulling it over my head. The shirt hit me on my upper thighs and skimmed below my bottom, but at least I was covered in case one of my neighbors was awake too.

A favorite part of this house was the living room’s bay window. A narrow bench seat was built beside the glass, not wide enough for lounging, but enough to sit and stare into the night. There was comfort in the tranquility of this street. Peace in the silence of sleepy homes and glowing porch lights.

The nightmare tapped at my temple, begging for attention. I pushed it away and studied Griffin’s truck instead, tracing the Eden ranch brand on the passenger door with my gaze. Then I closed my eyes and pictured him on my couch. Naked. His washboard abs bunched. His hips thrusting. His cock like velvet and steel.

Focusing on sex probably wasn’t the right way to cope with my past, but for tonight, I didn’t care about right. I just wanted the nightmare gone. So I imagined Griffin’s face as he came, the clench of his stubbled jaw and the bulge of his biceps as his body shook through its release.

We’d fucked hard on the couch. Afterward, I’d expected him to leave, but he’d carried me to my bedroom, and if I’d thought the sex had been good before, with a little space to move, he’d shown me the power of that large body.

Orgasm after orgasm, I’d practically blacked out after the last round.

A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth.

Sleeping with him was undoubtedly a stupid decision. An addicting, toe-curling, stupid decision. Self-control was typically my specialty, but when it came to him, the rules didn’t seem to apply.

Griffin Eden was tantalizing. Magnetic. Rugged and bold.

And naked in my bed.

I pulled my knees up, stretching his shirt over my calves. Three yawns were my body’s way of reminding me just how tired it was, but I didn’t want to sleep. The dream would come back. It lingered too close to the surface. So with my temple to the window, I stared into the darkness. Alone.

The nightmare—a memory—always left me feeling alone.

My breath fogged the glass and the chill from the house brought goose bumps to my forearms. I was about to give in, to sneak into my bedroom for a hot shower, when the shuffle of bare feet filled the room.

Griffin emerged from the hallway, the sheet wrapped around his narrow waist. His steps slowed when he spotted me in the window wearing his shirt. “You okay?”

“Just couldn’t sleep,” I lied.

No one knew about my nightmares. Not even Skyler. He’d never asked why I woke up in the middle of the night, only that when I did, not to turn on a light. It might wake him up and he had work.

Griffin nodded and walked to his jeans, dropping the sheet to pull on his pants one thick, strong leg at a time. He left the top button undone and the belt hanging open as he strode my way, dragging a hand through his disheveled chocolate hair.

I’d tousled it myself earlier, holding on to it as he’d sucked my nipples into his talented mouth.

“I’d better get going.” His deep voice was fogged with sleep and the rumble sent a shiver down my spine.

“Okay.” I nodded, taking in his bare chest. The dusting of hair on his pecs was too tempting and I raised a hand, my fingers brushing through the coarse strands. His heartbeat was so solid and strong, like everything else about this man.

“Are you going to give me my shirt?”

“Are you going to take it?”

His hands went to the hem, lifting it up and over my head. Then he smirked as he put it on his own body, covering up the hard stomach and the sculpted V at his hips.

This man was better than any fantasy. Better than any romance novel hero or movie star. Better than any lover who’d ever taken me to bed. Not that I’d had many.