his own veins. With gritted teeth, he continued to work until he was satisfied that he’d compromised the plastic enough to break it. Then he lifted his leg and slapped her wrists against his knee. The cord snapped with almost no resistance, and Donovan stepped away.
“You okay?” he asked.
She drew in an audible breath. “You’re not him.”
“Jordynn.” He turned her around to face him.
She shook her head, and continued to hold her eyes closed. “Please don’t be real.”
“Jordynn—”
“Stop saying my name.”
Her voice held a tiny bit of rebellion, and part of Donovan was glad to see she was as strong-willed as ever. A bigger part of him was worried that the longer they stayed on her lawn with an unconscious man at their feet, the longer they’d risk being caught. The longer he’d risk being caught. He sure as hell hadn’t come all this way to let that happen.
“We can’t stay here,” he said.
“Were you in my house?”
Donovan frowned at the seemingly unrelated reply. “Yes, but—”
“How did you get in?”
“The key you keep inside the garden gnome.”
“When’s my birthday?”
He smiled. “December 20. But you celebrate it on June 20 so no one tries to double up your birthday and Christmas gifts.”
At last, she lifted her lids. Her too-blue eyes went wide. She stared at him for three long heartbeats. Then her baby blues rolled back in her head. She slumped to the side, and Donovan caught her. With a sigh that was one part pleasure, one part resignation and one part worry, he lifted her gently with both arms, snagged her discarded shoe from the grass and started up the walkway.
And he had to admit, holding her close made him feel like no time had passed at all.
At first, Jordynn thought she was dreaming.
After all, that’s where she always saw him. Where her subconscious reigned, and the decades-old heartbreak couldn’t quite be buried.
She inhaled deeply, trying to orient herself. Instead, she got a whiff of something sharply sweet, and recognized it right away as coming from the not-so-secret stash of brandy her mom had always kept in the cabinet beside the TV. Immediately, her eyes flew open. And that distinct, familiar gaze met hers.
Donovan Grady’s hazel eyes.
The ones she’d seen just before all the blood rushed to her head and she fainted.
And Jordynn didn’t just think she was dreaming. She knew it.
But if you’re dreaming...then how come you saw his eyes before you passed out?
Panic hit her. She attempted to sit up, but only made it as far as an elbow before her head swam again. She squeezed her eyes shut, and a warm hand—Donovan’s hand—slipped to the back of her neck and eased her down again. His touch lingered. She let it. She wanted so badly for it to be real. Tears pricked at her lids.
“Look at me.” Donovan’s voice.
Her heart thundered in her chest. And she refused to obey. She wouldn’t look. She wouldn’t open her eyes and find him there. She wouldn’t see his ghost. If she stayed still for long enough, the dream would fade and so would the sadness.
“C’mon,” he said.
“No,” she whispered hoarsely.
“I need to make sure you’re okay.”
“I can’t.”
“You have to. Please.”
In spite of her desire to keep them shut, his pleading tone made her open them. Though her vision blurred, she still had a decent view of the big man in front of her. He sat beside her on a chair, his knees brushing the edge of the couch where she was lying down. He held the brandy decanter in his hands, the crystal cap off.
Relief flooded through Jordynn. She wasn’t dreaming. But clearly, her mind had mixed up past and present. Taking the scent of her mother’s favorite poison and mixing it with the unusual presence of a man in her house, and sending her back ten years. Because Donovan was a skinny kid in too-baggy pants. He had an easy smile and no rough edges. This man was huge, and he wore fitted jeans and a white T-shirt, stained with dirt and what looked like blood.
“Jordynn?”
She blinked, and the dulled edges of him came into focus. He’d taken off his hat and his sandy hair sat matted to his head in a tangle she knew well. A mess she’d run her hands through a thousand times. She blinked a second time. He didn’t disappear. His hazel eyes—framed by thick, familiar lashes—were tinged with concern, their corners crinkled up. She’d stared into them enough times to be able to pinpoint each fleck. To know what they looked like sad, happy, scared...all of it.
Impossible.
She squished backward onto the overstuffed arm of the couch as an enormous, terrified lump filled her throat.
“Dono.” His name was barely more than a choked sob.
“Yes.”
“You’re dead.”
“I can explain, honey. But I’ll need more time than we’ve got right this second.”
Jordynn blinked, watching his mouth work as he continued to talk, but not hearing a word. He could explain? How? She’d attended his funeral. Comforted his grieving father. Lost herself in a year-long despair she never thought she’d crawl out of. She’d blamed herself for what happened. Blamed himself for his death. No explanation could erase that, or the accompanying dark moments. The pain and loss were too great.
But somehow that didn’t stop her from wanting to reach out. From having an incredible need to run her fingers along that stubble on his face. To touch him, just to make sure—really sure—he was there.
Oh, God.
She tightened her hands into fists, steadying herself to stop from actually following through on the desire.
His hand landed on her shoulder, and when she flinched, he drew it away again quickly, hurt touching his eyes before he covered it again in an impassive mask.
“Hey. Did you hear me?” he asked gently.
She shook her head. “No.”
“I said it’s not safe for us to stay here much longer.”
“Safe?”
“Not safe,” he corrected.
“So...what?”
