Handful of Dreams by Heather Graham

that nothing had changed at all, that his eyes could still proclaim all the loathing and contempt he felt for her and burn into her like searing blue lasers.
    “Mistress, Miss Anderson. It’s a word with which you should be extremely familiar. There are a few others, of course, that would fit, but this is probably the most civil.”
    Susan stood, dropping the dictionary dangerously near his head. “Good night, Mr. Lane. I will definitely say my prayers for the rain to stop.”
    She stalked to the stairs, only to pause on the first step again as he called her back. His voice was soft, husky, very curiously so.
    “Miss Anderson, I must apologize again for a total lack of manners.”
    She turned back to him, speaking coolly. “And not for a gutter-bound mind, Mr. Lane?”
    His hands were on his hips; his legs were apart and firmly on the floor. A shock of dark hair eased over his forehead, and his eyes were touched by the glint of the fire.
    “My apologies, Miss Anderson. Good night.”

CHAPTER FIVE
    S USAN ALTERNATELY AWOKE AND dozed, forever aware of the relentless rain that streamed against the window, sometimes easing to a drizzle, then streaming down again.
    She thought about David Lane a lot, feeling heat creep over her body, then tossing around to really burn, exasperated and totally disgusted with herself. She would determine not to think of him and doze again, only to enter restless, disjointed dreams.
    And peculiarly, they did not center on David Lane. Nor, for that matter, did they have anything to do with Peter.
    They swept her back further in time, and she was sitting in Carl’s last hospital room, fighting the tears for her brother’s sake, incredulous at his serene conversation.
    “The Muslims believe that Mohammed was invited to come close to God. And what Mohammed was able to see was light. Fierce, penetrating light. The feeling was to go to that light. That the light was comfort and peace. And you know, Sue, that’s what they all say. The people who have ‘died and come back.’ They say it’s light. That they’re going to it, trying to reach it. And that it’s very, very hard to pull away from it. Oh, Sue, don’t cry. Please, don’t cry. We all forget that everyone is mortal. We’re all going to die. The day will come when you have to face the light, and I’ll be there. I’ll reach out and touch your hand. I’ll be there, against any darkness, to reach out—”
    A tremendous shattering sound crashed into her dream, making Carl’s image fade as a horrible, wrenching scream tore from her throat.
    It was so dark. Dark and wet and cold. The rain seemed to have come inside, spattering her, driven by the frigid wind.
    She shook her head to clear her mind and fight off the terror, then realized what had happened. The wind had risen again, and a branch on the tree outside had been torn off and slammed against the window, breaking it.
    “Damn,” she muttered, wishing she’d had the sense to keep a flashlight in the room. The candle and matches were on the bedside table beneath the window and surely were soaked by now. She could barely make out the shape of the bed, barely see the curtain flying in with the wind.
    She sat up and put her feet to the floor, swearing softly again as both her thumb and big toe caught pieces of glass at the same time.
    “Susan!”
    Suddenly there was light. Her bedroom door—previously locked—burst in with a force equal to that of the wind. She raised a hand to her eyes against the brash glare of the huge flashlight aimed at her. Beyond the glare she could just make out David’s form.
    “I’m … I’m all right.” She laughed a little nervously. “I’m sorry I screamed like that. It was just the window. A branch slammed against it.”
    He didn’t reply. He strode across the room, checking the damage quickly, then gazed at her. With the glow from his flashlight she could see that she was surrounded by shards of glass.
    “Damned lucky you weren’t any