"You don't look very comfortable," she said, reaching out a hand to touch his hair, lightly nudging it off his forehead with a finger while her throat ached with longing. "Don't you want to lie down? Put your feet up, rest your knee awhile?"

"Naw…if I do that I'm afraid I'll fall asleep. I need to call Al…have him come get me. Just wanted to make sure the crowd was gone." His voice sounded gravelly. His eyes searched her face as if she were someone he'd just met and he was trying to commit her face to memory.

Her mouth went dry and her tongue thickened. The words slurred as she said, "Tris, you're so tired. Why don't you stay here tonight?"

"You know I can't do that."

"No, I do not know that." Primed with new confidence and resolve, she grabbed the second chair, turned it around and sat in it, facing him with her knees almost but not quite touching his. "I know you tell me you can't, because of some fear you have in your mind that you might do something that's gonna shock me or hurt me or…I don't know, drive me screamin' from the room. Which, if you want to know the truth, I think is just plain ridiculous."

"Jess-"

"No. You listen to me. In the first place, in case you've forgotten, I am a nurse, and while I might work in a NICU now, I've done rotations in psych wards. I've handled episodes of PTSD before. Believe me, there's nothin' you could do that's gonna shock me. But Tris-" she reached for his hands and enfolded them, stiff and resisting, in hers "-what's more important is, I'm your wife. You understand me? I am your wife. That is for better or worse and sickness and health, in case you don't remember the vows we said to one another. You don't get to protect me from this. This has happened to both of us, dammit. You are not allowed to shut me out."

Something dripped from her nose. She dashed it furiously away, then stared down at the moisture on the back of her hand. She couldn't imagine how it had come to be there. She hadn't known she was crying.

"Jessie…" Now it was his hand lifted to her face, his fingers wiping away tears.

She caught his hand and held it pressed against her cheek. Eyes closed, she said in a fierce, choking voice, "Look, all I'm asking you to do is sleep here, in this bed. I'm not planning on ravishing your bones, if that's what's worryin' you."

"Bones would be the operative word." His voice was bumpy with amusement.

She opened her eyes and glared at him through tears. "Really? I'd hoped it was ravish."

Hunger flared in his eyes and was quickly extinguished, as if someone had slammed a lid over a fire.

If she only knew, he thought, how close to the truth that might be. Since this afternoon he no longer had any doubts that his normal masculine urges, dormant for so long, were alive and stirring again. It was his ability to control those urges he wasn't sure he could trust, and until he was sure, he didn't intend to put himself-or her-to the test.

"If I stay," he said, closing his eyes, "you have to promise me…"

"Yes-what? Anything." Her hands clutched his eagerly, and his lips twitched into a patient smile.

"You have to promise you won't touch me if I, uh, seem to be-if I'm, you know…having a nightmare. Don't try to wake me up, okay? Whatever you do." He was thinking of the nurse he'd given a fat lip to just the night before, striking out blindly at an imagined attacker. He lifted her hands to his lips and looked at her gravely over them. "If I start yelling or thrashing around, I want you to go in the bathroom and lock the door. You hear me? I know you're my wife and I know you're a nurse, and you're just naturally gonna want to help me, but I'm telling you you can't. Okay? I have to know you'll get out of my way and stay there. Promise me." His voice, harsh to begin with, became a croak when he repeated it, gripping her hands too hard. "Promise me."

Her eyes swam as she whispered brokenly, "I promise."

He let go of her hands and leaned back in the chair, exhaling like a steam valve letting go. He felt inexpressibly weary. And he hoped he wasn't going to regret giving in to the temptation…to the lure of incredible luxury of a night in a private room, in a soft bed next to his wife's warm body. The hospital staff had gone to great lengths to make his room there comfortable and homey, but it was still a hospital. He hated hospitals-always had.

"Do you want anything to eat?" Her voice sounded shaky. She had risen and was looking anxiously at him, hugging herself.

He shook his head and nodded at the pile of peelings. "I had a little something while I was waiting for you. I think I might just lie down for a while."

Getting to his feet took the last remnants of his strength. The room whirled and tilted as he started toward the bed, and he felt Jessie's strong arm come around his waist and her shoulder fit itself under his arm. "Thanks," he muttered as the bed came up to meet him, a great pillowy softness that threatened to swallow him completely.

"Don't you want to undress? Get inside…" Her voice was fading into the distance.

"No. 'S okay…better this way…" He sighed and let the softness have him.


* * *

Jessie had more trouble than she'd thought she would falling asleep. It had been a long time since she'd shared a bed with anyone, and as big as this one was, with Tristan in it, it still seemed crowded. He had always been a cuddler. She remembered that, in the first years of their marriage, she'd had a hard time adjusting to the heat, confinement and distraction of his body entwined with hers. Eventually, though, she had gotten used to it, so much so that their bed during his absences had seemed unbearably empty. Then, during his last absence, she'd gotten used to that, too. Now, though he lay on top of the covers and she underneath them, the heat from his body felt suffocating to her. His quiet breathing seemed loud in her ears.

Eventually she fell into a restless, sweaty doze, painted with erotic dreams. In her dream, hands were touching her…a stranger's hands, rawboned and hard. They were stroking and caressing her body all over, and in her dream she moaned softly. She writhed and opened herself to the hands, inviting every imaginable intimacy. Heat suffused her skin and thumped inside her chest. She moaned again, lifting into the caressing hands, and felt a cool familiar tickle of hair on her belly. Her breasts ached and her nipples hardened in response to the sucking pressure that engulfed them. She whimpered when that same pressure found the throbbing place between her thighs. The heat became intolerable…the throbbing threatened to tear her body apart. She cried out…again…and again. And woke up.

But the crying went on. She sat up, shivering violently. The light she'd left burning in the bathroom threw stripes of light and shadow across the bed, but she didn't need that to tell her the terrible moans she could still hear were coming from Tristan's side of the bed.

Chapter 7

He was lying on his side, huddled in a fetal curl. His face was turned away from her and his arms covered his head as if to shield it from blows. The sounds he made would have been heartrending coming from anyone-a child…a woman…a stranger. Coming from her husband, who had always been so proud, so stoic and strong, they shocked her to the very depths of her soul.

"Oh, Tris," she whispered. Tears were streaming down her face. He was right-her instincts, every nerve impulse in her body, compelled her to reach for him, gather him into her arms and stroke and comfort him, soothe away the terrible nightmare that was tormenting him so. She even put out a hand, holding her breath to confine her sobs.

Promise me…promise me…

As the sobs she'd fought so hard to hold back burst from her, she flung herself out of bed and lurched across the room to the bathroom. Pulling the door closed behind her, she fumbled blindly with the latch, then leaned against the sink and buried her face in her hands. Shudders racked her, and dry sobs that tore at her throat. Oh, Tristan…love, what did they do to you?

The shaking and sobs subsided gradually. Jessie nurtured and quieted herself with slow, deep breaths, then turned to the sink and washed her face with cool water. As she blotted it with a towel she was surprised to see that the image gazing back at her from the mirror above the sink looked remarkably calm. Only the eyes betrayed the fear and despair in her heart.

All seemed quiet now, in the room beyond the bathroom door. She listened with her ear to the panels, then cautiously eased the door open a crack. She heard nothing, at first-then, the faint rhythmic rasp of breathing. Opening the door wider, she saw a shape framed in the rectangle of light that stretched across the carpet toward the bed. Tris. He was lying on the floor, half on his side with one leg drawn up and one arm pillowing his head. Fear grabbed her throat and froze her where she was, until she saw that he was soundly, peacefully asleep.


* * *

When Jessie woke again she was astonished to find it was daylight, and even more astonished that she'd actually gone back to sleep. She'd been certain she wouldn't, lying stiff and tense in the great huge bed, thinking of Tristan on the cold floor, so near yet so far away in the private hell he wouldn't share with her. Which, damn him, he undoubtedly wouldn't because of his enormous sense of honor, and undoubtedly believed by so doing he was protecting her. The thought made her feel helpless and angry.

A cautious check showed her that the rug beside the bed was unoccupied, and she could hear the shower running in the bathroom. The sound, one she hadn't heard in a very long time, brought a nourishing and unexpected joy, and for a moment she allowed herself to bask in it, smiling to herself as she stretched and fidgeted herself into full wakefulness. Then the water sounds ceased and her heart leaped and quickened.