12
The light was too damn bright.
Groaning, Rayne rolled away from it, pulling the pillow with her, covering her head with it. That didn't help for long...she felt like she couldn't breath. With a sigh, knowing that she was done with sleep, she pushed the pillow away and sat up. And froze.
This was not her bedroom. It took her a few seconds to remember...she was in Mark's room. In his bed. Rayne pushed the blanket aside and looked down. The T-shirt was back. She glanced to her left. Mark was not there.
She sighed in relief, then stood up and stretched. That had been one crazy dream she'd had. It was hazy, but still...she knew it had been erotic. She snorted. That was an understatement. It had been so damn real that she actually felt...sore.
There were several bags on the floor next to the door. Curious, she went to check them out. They were full of clothes. Randy had apparently returned finally.
Rayne picked out a shirt and jeans, socks, underwear...he'd managed to get close to her size anyway. She'd manage. Sighing, she went into the bathroom to get dressed.
She tugged Mark's shirt off and tossed it aside. Then froze as she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. There were faint bruises on her right breast. She looked down, frowning. Little pieces of her dream came back to her...something about being grabbed...she shivered. Something cold had touched her. That was all she could remember about that part.
She craned her neck and looked at her hip. "Shit...how the fuck..." There were several gashes on her skin. Shallow gashes, but still...there was little blood, and it was dried. She grabbed a washcloth and ran it under cold water, then gingerly cleaned off the wounds. She hissed in a breath. They might be shallow but they stung.
Finished, she quickly tugged the new clothes on, not wanting to find anything else. How could something she had dreamed have come through when she was awake? She hadn't...done it herself, had she?
Rayne shook her head at the thought. For one thing, she kept her fingernails short, blunt. Maybe Mark...no. His fingernails were shorter than hers. Why the hell couldn't she remember?
She glanced at the cabinet where she'd hidden her cell phone. Then at the closed door. All right. Enough of this shit. She knelt down and rummaged, pulling the phone out.
Rayne hit the power button and then used the memory to dial Wynn's number. She pressed the phone to her ear, then reached out and turned the lock on the bathroom door. She waited. There was nothing. Frowning, she looked at the phone. The battery was fully charged. That in itself was amazing.
She dialed the number from memory, closing her eyes when she was done and actually willing the cell phone to work.
She was rewarded with a click, followed by a low hiss as the phone made the connection. It rang. And rang. "Come on Wynn..." Rayne tapped her fingers impatiently on the plastic of the phone.
"Hey, this is Wynn..." Shit. Voicemail. "I'm out clubbing with Rayne. Hopefully we'll get lucky. Leave a message, I'll call you after I untangle myself."
Rayne rolled her eyes. Wynn hadn't changed her message from the other night. She must have found a really, really, really distracting guy.
"Wynn...I need help," she said. Shit. She still had no clue where she was. "Listen, something happened and I'm...stuck...call me when you get this. Voice mail me, I'm turning the cell off."
Rayne hit the power button. She'd have to conserve what battery power was left. She hid the phone back in the cabinet, then picked up Mark's shirt and left the bathroom.
The bedroom was still empty. She glanced at the bed mistrustfully, remembering how he'd appeared there the day before. This was nuts. Why was she being so damn jumpy all of a sudden? If they were going to force her to stay one more night, she was damn sure going to get her own room. Even the floor would be better than actually having to lay in bed with Mark.
Rayne made her way downstairs. She could hear voices from the kitchen. It would be nice if she could just make a break for it, but where would she go?
"...stopped him before anything really happened..." Mark's voice carried clearly into the hall, stopping her in her tracks.
"Do you think it worked though?" Randy's voice. She heard the scrape of a chair, then the sound of running water.
"I don't know..."
"So how did you stop him?"
There was a full minute of quiet. Rayne pressed herself against the wall and waited. Stop who?
"I had to go in."
"No wonder you look so beat." The water shut off. "You should be resting. Recharging yourself. It's only going to get worse. You're the only one who can get to them when she's asleep."
Rayne closed her eyes and took a deep breath. What did he do to her when she was sleeping? She realized she had better make her presence known. She'd been standing in the hallway for too long.
Before Mark could reply, she pushed away from the wall and went to the doorway. Randy was at the sink, washing dishes. Mark was sitting at the table, a mug of coffee in front of him. He looked up as she entered. Rayne bit her lip and looked away. She felt embarrassed by the dream she'd had. Not that she could remember the whole thing, but she knew that something naughty had gone on.
"Hey...good morning," Randy had noticed her. He was flashing that boyish grin. Rayne nodded back, then headed for the backdoor. Looked like a good time for another smoke.
Mark stopped her by reaching out and grabbing her arm. "Wait a minute..." He pulled her closer to him, turning her.
Not this again. Rayne had taken about all of this she was going to take. Randy had moved closer to look as Mark pulled her shirt up.
Rayne jerked forward, and spun around on her heel. She glared at Mark. "Look...whatever the fuck you see on my back do you think it's fucking possible to ASK me to let you look instead of just trying to rip my clothes off?"
Mark's eyebrow went up. Randy looked stunned. "Uh...I..."
"Uh, you." Rayne mocked him. She was mad. More than mad. And she had no clue where it was coming from. "The next fucking time you...or you..." she pointed at Randy. "Grab me, I'm going to fucking kill you." She meant it. Enough was enough already. Turning, she went to the door and slammed it on her way out.
"Uh...damn." Randy sounded awed. "She's throwing off my subliminal stuff." When he had put her under yesterday, he'd used a trick of his, kind of like brain washing, to keep her calm.
"I noticed." Mark was staring at the door. With a sigh he got up.
"I wouldn't go out there. Give her a few minutes to calm down," Randy shrugged. "Or if you go out there...make sure you don't touch her. She's mad enough right now she might decide to rip your throat out with her bare hands."
Mark nodded. He had heard that edge to her voice, the tone that meant she had meant business. He didn't fear that she would actually be able to kill either of them, but rebelliousness on her part could mean the end to everything he had spent twenty years getting ready for. He needed her. He did not want to admit it, but there it was.
He headed for the front of the house instead, away from Randy's questioning looks. Mark settled for going onto the front porch, leaning against the railing and looking out at the driveway. Last night had been the first time he'd ever gone into someone's dream and manipulated it. It had drained him, a little. But that was not the problem.
The problem was what had happened once he'd gotten in. His sole purpose had been to keep Dominic away from Rayne. At first anyway. But something had happened. He'd followed his instincts and had joined with her. His father had been watching, outraged, and he took satisfaction in that. But now he was dealing with something he'd never felt before. He'd liked it. There was no urgency, no animalistic rutting...he had not been in any kind of rush. He wondered what it would be like to lay with Rayne here, in his world, real flesh against flesh...
Mark closed his eyes and took a deep, calming breath. It was not going to happen. He'd have to focus on the job at hand and not waste time on foolish fantasies. Rayne would not have him, not while she was awake. And he had never forced himself on someone who was not willing. He would not even use one of his little tricks to get to that end.