Chapter Twelve

Amelia

I tossed and turned in my sleeping bag, unable to shake the memory of Rory’s mouth pressed to mine, the taste of his tongue, the feel of his body against me.

He’d stared at me like I was his salvation—until he remembered where he was and who I was. The way he’d looked as I left the tent…

He’d been mortified—maybe even horrified.

Maybe he’d forget it all by morning. That would be ideal. I could pretend it never happened and forget about it, too.

Liar! shouted the voice inside me, like the old crone in The Princess Bride. I sighed, rolling over again. Yeah, it would be better if he didn’t remember it, or thought it was just part of his dream going from nightmare to…not a nightmare.

But that kiss, that explosion of desire I felt even in that strange moment—it was a hundred times more than I’d felt with either of my college boyfriends. If Rory had been aware that it was me he was kissing, had felt even a fraction of that passion for me, then no, I didn’t want him to forget it. Even if it made the rest of the week awkward as hell.

In the darkness of my tent, I pressed my fingers to my lips. He’d tasted like whisky and the sea.

In the darkness of my tent, I couldn’t help but wonder who he’d thought he was kissing—who he’d wished he was kissing—because he’d definitely been surprised when he realized it was me.

And in the darkness of my tent, I could admit that I was just a little jealous of whoever that was.

…

The remainder of my night was long and mostly sleepless. When I did doze off, I had a disturbing dream of Rory, lost and wandering in the dark, and though I could hear him, he could never hear me.

I had another dream, too, one in which Rory and I were entwined together in a sleeping bag. He’d known who I was this time, had murmured my name more than once—and I’d murmured his. And there hadn’t been any apologies.

I wasn’t sure which dream bothered me the most.

When the sky was gray with the approaching dawn, I gave up on trying to sleep. I got dressed and braided my hair, then grabbed my phone and stepped outside. Bearreraig Bay faced east—maybe I could get some sunrise photos.

I shivered in the cold morning, glad I’d put on my fleece. I glanced at Rory’s tent, hoping the rest of his night had been more restful than mine.

As I passed by, something moved. I did an actual double take when I realized what it was. Rory was in his sleeping bag, outside his tent. He was curled on his side, his head pillowed on his arm, apparently oblivious to the layer of silvery frost that clung to him, including his hair.

My sleep had been restless, my dreams disturbing, but how bad must his nightmare have been if sleeping in the cold air—with frost—was preferable to the warm confines of his tent?

The sleeping bag had slipped down, exposing his arm. He had to be freezing. Carefully, so as not to wake him, I tugged up the sleeping bag so it covered his shoulder.

I continued down to the shore and settled on a boulder to await the sunrise, wincing as the cold from the rock seeped through my pants. I snapped a few photos of the pink and lavender clouds that splashed across the horizon and then started recording as the sun began to emerge from the sea.

“Morning, Ree,” I said quietly, not wanting to detract from the serenity of the moment. “Just wanted to share this glorious sunrise with you. Can’t wait to see you and tell you everything. Love you.”

I ended the recording after the sun exploded from the horizon, then turned to go back to my tent. Rory stood a few feet away. He had dark circles under his eyes and strain lines around his mouth.

He looked like hell.

“Hey,” he murmured, his eyes not meeting mine. “I, uh…I’m sorry about last night.” He made a disgusted sound and scrubbed his hands through his already-crazy hair. “God, it sounds like I’m apologizing for finishing your whisky without asking, not for… How can I even apologize for what I did?”

I stared at him. What was he talking about? And then it hit me. I laid my hand on his arm. He looked at my hand and then at me, his eyes troubled.

“Rory, you didn’t do anything you need to apologize for.”

He laughed humorlessly. “Amelia, I’m one hundred percent sure you didn’t come into my tent to be kissed, much less anything else.”

My whole body grew hot as I recalled that moment, my memory of which was apparently vastly different than his.

“Look, Rory. It’s true that you kissed me as you were coming out of your nightmare, but then we both got caught up in the moment, and I…wasn’t an unwilling participant,” I said, my face flaming. “Okay? It happened, and it’s over. You don’t need to apologize.” The look in his eyes went from despondent and self-deprecating to hopeful. “You really don’t remember what happened?”

Now his face turned red. “The dream—it’s not the first time I’ve had it, and each time I wake up from it, I’m usually pretty wrecked. I…didn’t trust that what I remembered was what actually happened.”

“It was. And I think we should just forget about it, okay?”

His eyes searched mine for a moment, and then he nodded. “Okay. Then I’ll just say thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being there.” He looked away again. “It was a…rough night.”

It couldn’t be easy for him, especially as the guide for our group, to have been so vulnerable in front of a stranger.

“I’m glad I could help.” I turned toward my tent, then paused. “Rory? Wasn’t it cold, sleeping outside?”

He shrugged. “Aye, a little, but it’s always better than being inside.” He turned on his heel and made for Tommy’s tent.

It’s always better than being inside…

I watched him go, wondering just how many times he’d awakened in a panic, alone in the dark, and had chosen to sleep outside with no walls or roof to close him in.

It took almost as long to break down my tent and get it to go back into its sack than it had to fail at setting it up, but I finally got everything packed away by the time we sat down to breakfast.

“How was everyone’s night?” asked Tommy, who looked annoyingly bright-eyed and well rested. The others chimed in, while I just concentrated on my porridge. A quick glance at Rory showed that he was also focused very intently on his breakfast.

“And you, Amelia? Sleep well after the long day?” asked Tommy.

I looked up, meeting Rory’s stare across the circle. In spite of the inscrutable look on his face, I knew what he was thinking, and for a crazy moment, I almost wanted to tell the truth. Well, Tommy, since you asked, my night wasn’t too bad until your buddy woke me up with his weird nightmare and kissed me in the dark. And that part wasn’t exactly bad, either…

Rory sat up straighter, as if he was reading my mind. His eyes burned into me, pleading with me not to say anything, and at the same time it almost seemed like he was daring me to.

Tommy cocked his head, looking from me to Rory and back to me. Shit, those blue eyes were more perceptive than he let on.

“Fine. It was fine,” I said. “Looking forward to today’s walk. It’s like nine miles or so, right?”

Tommy narrowed his eyes at me, as if to say I see what you did there, but then nodded. “Aye, a lot easier than yesterday, and then you guys get to sleep in a B&B and eat real food tonight. More importantly, there will be beer…”

Rory finished his breakfast and got to his feet, heading for his backpack. I turned back to Tommy, who was chattering away, even as his gaze tracked his friend across the pebbled beach.

Next time, I’d need to be more careful about what I didn’t say, as well as what I did.

Wait, what? There isn’t going to be a next time! Ignoring the tingle in my lips, I crumpled my empty porridge package and stuffed it into my pack.

There was not going to be a next time.