Always - Iris Johansen [10]
The arms tightened around her. “That’s right.” Donahue’s voice was no longer harsh, but velvet soft. “You’re safe, Lisa. I’ll keep you safe from now on.”
It wasn’t true. No one could keep her safe from the dreams. Yet it was nice to pretend for a little while. “Thank you,” she murmured drowsily.
His chuckle was a bit husky as it reverberated beneath her ear. “I doubt if you’ll be quite as grateful to me when you regain consciousness.” She was being placed on something soft and cushioned, and the arms were suddenly gone. She muttered a protest. “It’s all right, I’m still here.” The mattress sank beneath his weight, and he gathered her hands in his warm clasp. “I’ll be here when you wake up. I won’t let you go.” One hand loosened its clasp to brush an errant tress back from her forehead and then began to stroke the hair at her temple. “Go to sleep.”
“You’ll keep the dreams away?”
His hand halted its motion for the briefest instant before resuming the stroking. “If that’s what you want.”
“Oh, yes, please,” she whispered. “That’s what I want.”
“Then I’ll keep the dreams away. Go to sleep, Lisa. I won’t let the dreams come back.”
She could almost believe him. She let the resistance flow out of her and the darkness take her.
She was asleep. Carefully Clancy released Lisa’s hands and stood up. According to what the lab had told him, she would be unconscious for at least ten to twelve hours; yet he was reluctant to leave her. She looked so damned alone. Her honey-beige hair, fanned out on the white pillow, was as tumbled and silky as a small child’s. Her lips were pink and crumpled, slightly parted with the deepness of her breathing. She was probably no longer aware that he was with her, but somehow it made no difference. He had promised that he would protect her, that he would keep away the dreams she feared so much. What nightmares could be so terrible that fear of them would pierce a drug-induced sleep as deep as Lisa’s? He had a sudden irresistible compulsion to know.
He strode to the door and grabbed his suitcase, which he hadn’t yet bothered to unpack. Setting it down on the low padded bench at the foot of the king-sized bed, he unsnapped it and threw open the lid. The dossier on Lisa Landon was on top. He’d scanned it briefly before boarding the plane in L.A., planning to go through it thoroughly later. At the time he’d been more interested in Baldwin’s relationship with his ex-wife than in any more personal details. Now he wanted to know everything about the woman curled up on his bed like a bereft child. He dragged the cane chair across the room and settled himself as comfortably as possible. The chair wasn’t built for a man of his size, he thought wearily. It was going to be as uncomfortable as the devil by the time Lisa woke up. Well, he’d been a hell of a lot more uncomfortable any number of times in his life for less reason. He slipped off his shoes and propped his feet on the bed. Then he opened the manila folder and began to read about Lisa Landon.
One moment Lisa was sleeping deeply and the next she was wide awake. Ice-blue eyes were narrowed on her face. Clancy Donahue’s eyes. But what was he doing in her room? “What are you …” She sat up straight in the bed and then wished she hadn’t moved so quickly as the room whirled in dark, sweeping circles around her.
She heard a muttered curse from Donahue. Then he was sitting beside her on the bed, his hands cupping her shoulders, steadying her. “Easy. Do you always wake up this abruptly?”
“No. Yes.” Her head was muzzy and she shook it, but she still couldn’t seem to think straight. “I don’t know.” She did know, however, that