“Are you calling me crazy? I saw a woman!” she said, anger entering her tone. Confusion. Fear.
“No. It’s just—”
She sensed him holding back. “What? What is it? Dylan?”
He closed his eyes briefly. Jesus. She really was giving him more than he bargained for.
“There’s no one in this house but us,” he finally repeated grimly.
“So I saw a ghost?” she asked sarcastically.
He frowned down at her, his sleek brows slanted. “Of course not.”
She caught his scent—spice, lingering soap … sex. Her body flickered with awareness, despite her desperation to understand what was happening.
“Do you believe in them? Ghosts, I mean?” she asked shakily, her gaze sticking on the vision of his strong, bare chest. He stood so close. He was so touchable, no matter how intimidating he seemed to her at times.
“No. And you strike me as much too practical and rational to believe in them.”
“I don’t believe in them,” she said quickly. Despite her assurance, however, she turned her face back toward the door, as if it had some kind of magnetic pull on her consciousness. He caught her chin with two long fingers and gently urged her to look at him. His gaze narrowed on her, turning his eyes into gleaming crescents. His hands moved on her upper arms, molding the muscle gently. Her attention was caught.
“Isn’t it more likely that you were disoriented being in these unfamiliar surroundings, and that you got up and were still half asleep?”
“You mean I was sleepwalking?” she asked.
“Isn’t that more plausible than seeing a ghost?”
Her mouth hung open. She stared past his muscular arm down the hallway. It certainly all looked ordinary, if luxurious, in the bright lights Dylan had turned on. She couldn’t think of what to say. Since she didn’t believe in ghosts, she must have been dreaming. She’d never sleepwalked before, but she had been having especially vivid nightmares since coming to Camp Durand.
But no. It’d been all too real.
“Alice?”
She focused on his face because her world had started to swirl. He touched the side of her neck and cradled her chin in his palm. It was a possessive, grounding gesture. Nice. She shivered and stepped closer to his body.
“You must think I’m crazy,” she muttered, seeking his heat. “I’m starting to think it.”
“No. It’s like I said. I think you’re disoriented and overwhelmed being here. It’s understandable.”
“If I was somebody else, it would be understandable. I don’t do things like this,” she insisted. “And I’ve been having the weirdest dreams since I came here.”
“What about?”
She shook her head in frustration. “Stupid things. Being chased. Feeling like someone …” Wants to kill me, she finished in her head, recognizing how melodramatic she’d sound saying it.
He caressed her cheek with his thumb and she looked up at him uncertainly. “You’re okay now. But this is what I’ve been trying to tell you,” he said quietly. “Entering this world can make you feel like you are a different person.”
“You keep saying you’re not feeling sorry for me,” she whispered. “But I don’t believe you, Dylan.”
His gaze narrowed. “You should. And because I understand what you’re experiencing doesn’t equate to feeling sorry for you.”
“Are you telling me that you saw imaginary people when you came to Camp Durand? You don’t understand me seeing that woman,” she said bitterly. Why are you always making a fool of yourself in front of him? He was the one man she’d actually condescend to try to impress, and all she could do was act like an idiot or a crazy woman.
His thumb caressed her lower lip. Electricity flickered across her nerves at the touch. He firmly raised her chin, refusing to let her duck to hide her embarrassment and confusion.
“I understand better than you think,” he said gruffly before he leaned his head closer.
“What do you mean—”