patch of wall directly in front of him.
He was still asleep.
This was a nightmare or something. She vaguely remembered Justin sleepwalking and having what her parents called ‘night terrors’ when he was a boy. He used to scream and shout. Sometimes he’d walk around the house and do the strangest things—like put his wellies on and then just go back to bed as if nothing had happened.
Trying to wake Luke was a bad idea. He’d probably lie down in a second and move into a deeper phase of sleep. She would just sit on the edge of the bed and watch him for five minutes, just to make sure it wasn’t the prawns after all.
Her bottom had only just started to make a dent in the mattress when he moved his head in one swift turn to stare at her. She held her breath. If he’d just woken up, she was going to have a tough time explaining her presence in his bedroom—on his bed, no less—wearing nothing but an oversized T-shirt.
But she needn’t have worried. He turned away again and shuffled over to the other side of the bed. She was on the verge of breathing out her relief, when she realised he was getting out. And she watched open-mouthed as he walked calmly to the door that led out on to the terrace, opened it and went outside.
Gaby shot after him. The cold air hit her like a wall, but Luke didn’t even seem to notice. Thank goodness he was wearing pyjama bottoms. She hadn’t been able to tell while he was in bed. She wasn’t sure she could handle coaxing her naked boss back to bed. Seeing him shirtless was bad enough. It wouldn’t have been quite so uncomfortable if he were awake—in fact, under other circumstances, seeing such a finely toned torso would have been a definite bonus—but while he was unaware of her existence it felt voyeuristic.
And she couldn’t think that way about this man.
He stood motionless at the railing. Coming outside seemed to have soothed the dreams that had him tossing and turning a few minutes ago. But it had to be close to freezing outside; they’d both be hypothermic if they stood here much longer. She couldn’t leave him. What if he wandered down the steps? The tide was in. He could drown!
The only option was to try and get him back inside. An image of her father leading Justin back to bed when he’d had one of his sleepwalking episodes floated to the surface of her memory.
Luke still hadn’t moved and she walked over to him and gently took him by the hand. His fingers closed over hers, a gesture she found oddly warming, even though it was just a reflex.
She moved towards the open door, tugging him gently. He didn’t budge. There was no way she was going to manage to drag him back inside. Over six foot of solid male, versus five-foot-five of slightly out of shape female wasn’t a fair contest.
‘Luke?’ She tried to keep her voice low and steady. ‘It’s time to go back inside now.’ Then she moved again and, amazingly, this time he let her lead him. ‘That’s it. We’re almost there now.’
She ushered him into the room and shut the door behind them. Then, as an afterthought, she turned the key in the lock, removed it and searched for somewhere sensible to leave it. She could hear him moving around the room, pacing, and she didn’t want to waste time, so she just left it on the dressing table. Luke would scratch his head when he found it there in the morning.
Now inside, Luke began to show signs of distress again. He walked over to the door and rattled the handle, obviously desperate to escape. What was she going to do? And what was going on inside his head? Was he was back in prison, feeling trapped and powerless?
He just kept working the door handle, each attempt more frantic than the last. The top half of the door was glazed and he started banging on it with the flat of his hand, muttering something about needing to find her. She had no idea whether it was Heather or his wife he was talking about, and she didn’t have time to work it out. If he kept slamming his hand against the pane like that, it was going to shatter. And she couldn’t unlock it and let him go outside to freeze or drown. Think, Gaby!
‘Come on, back to bed.’
She placed her hands on his upper arms and tried to turn him round, but he just kept banging the glass and growling in frustration. The only thing she could think of was to get between him and the door. Luckily she was small enough to duck under his arms, and wedge herself into position.
The next blow from his hand hit her clean across the cheek. He stopped and she took the opportunity to grab his hands and push him back a step or two. ‘Come on, Luke. Please. Just get back in the blasted bed, will you?’
But he wasn’t having any of it. He tried to walk through her as if she wasn’t there. She stumbled backwards, landing against the door with the handle sticking into her back. She was trying to keep calm as she talked, she really was. But now her cheek was stinging, her back was sore and Luke was seriously starting to cheese her off—asleep or not!
‘Will you just do as you’re flipping told?’ She was just going to have to get bossy. She shoved Luke hard and it seemed to stop him in his tracks. While he wasn’t trying to engineer a break-out, she grabbed him by the hand and dragged him to the edge of the bed. Then she gave him another hefty push so he sat down.
‘Luke.’ This was ridiculous. He probably couldn’t hear her anyway. ‘You’re not going anywhere. Just give up.’
Even in the dark she saw his shoulders droop. His chin dropped on to his chest and he gave a great shuddering sigh. More gently now, she guided him until he was lying on his side and got him to swing his legs on to the bed.
Flushed with triumph, she stood there, grinning in the darkness. Luke Armstrong was going to get what was good for him—whether he liked it or not!
And then she heard a sound that broke her heart. This big strong man, who had been through so much, was crying. It started as just a sniff, but pretty soon the sobs were coming thick and fast.
She couldn’t stand it any more. Just couldn’t bear to hear him take one more gulp. It twisted inside her like a knife. So she clambered on to the bed beside him and put her arms around him. Tears were streaming over her lashes too.
‘Please, Luke. Please don’t cry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.’
It didn’t matter that she had nothing to apologise for, that none of what had happened was her fault. It just seemed right that somebody should say it, somebody should care.
She stroked his hair and rubbed his back and gradually his tears subsided. She lay there, listening to the sound of his breath as it slowed and grew more even.
She was kidding herself. For the past few weeks she’d been telling herself that she was making a difference, helping him put his life back together, but the scene this evening had made that a farce. His wounds went deeper than she could ever imagine. All her notions of being able to make a difference seemed so pathetic.
He seemed to be more deeply asleep now. She started to wriggle away, but the instant she did so, he started to mumble and fidget again. Soothing words alone didn’t do the trick, so she pressed her cheek against his back and snaked an arm around his waist. Physical contact seemed to calm him. Somewhere in his brain the sensations must register and tell him he wasn’t totally alone.
She breathed in the smell of him and felt the smooth skin of his back against her face, the contours of his muscles under her fingers.
This
