her fear was consuming her?
The tremors moved north until her entire body shook. She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out. No sound, not even a squeak.
Maggie cleared her throat and tried again. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she said clearly. Ah-ha success! “I want—I want . . .”
What did she want? Her mind went blank, totally, utterly blank.
Having spent the entire day memorizing what the District wanted her to say, now, just as she began the recitation, it disappeared. Vanished from her mind like a magician’s trick.
The realization that she stood before the taping cameras and did not have a clue what to say took her knees out from under her. She went down, her skirt flying up around her ears.
Maggie’s cheeks heated with a flush. Her arms scrambled to lower her skirt, but it wouldn’t go down. The material covered her mouth and nose. It tightened around her head, suffocated her. She struggled to breathe. Each inhale drew material instead of air into her mouth.
Her chest constricted, fought for oxygen. Then the jerking started. Her body began to convulse with its need for air.
As nightmares went, this may not be the worst one she’d ever had, but it certainly could be considered the most embarrassing. At least she would pass out soon if her lungs did not get some air. Then she’d wake up safe and sound in her bedroom.
The rational thought did little to calm down the heart that beat a furious rhythm in her chest. She continued to fight for air until her brain hurt and her legs went numb.
Darkness tunneled in and took what little light came through the material over her face. This was it. Her suffering would end soon.
When the material of her skirt suddenly left her mouth, Maggie drew in a deep breath of air. Oxygen coursed through her blood, bringing a rush of adrenaline to flood her cells.
She felt herself gathered into a set of strong arms. A man she realized, his masculine scent surrounding her when he stood. His biceps flexed when they took her weight. Too weak to wrap her arms around his neck, she let them dangle and simply lay against the broad chest of the man carrying her.
Her eyes still closed, she concentrated on breathing. In. Out. In. Out. She didn’t care where he took her as long as the way led away from the cameras and the reporters.
The sound of running water opened her eyes.
She looked about and found herself in a Victorian style bath. Pink and brown velvet wallpaper covered the walls, with its flocked lace pattern. A toilet designed with a high tank and a pull chain sat against one wall. Beside it, an antique sink stood on its pedestal, matching the toilet in porcelain white.
Across from the pair, a white claw-footed tub, large enough to fit two, sat under a huge oval mirror in a gilded frame. The water ran in the tub from the showerhead positioned above, the sound soft and soothing like a gentle summer rain.
She noticed, though the water flowed steadily, the tub did not fill. Maggie dismissed the oddity by assuming the drain must be open. Steam rose to fill the room, creating a humid haze that settled over her skin.
Maggie looked up at into the eyes of the man holding her, not surprised to find Zane looking at her, his azure eyes searching hers. Her heart continued to beat quickly in her chest, though she could not be sure whether it was from the adrenaline still coursing through her veins or from seeing Zane.
“Are you all right?” Zane sat down at the vanity, and nestled her on his lap.
Her nightmare just turned into a dream. “I’m fine.” Now .
Her dream man quirked one brow and gave her a look that said he did not believe her.
“Okay,” she confessed, “I’m not entirely fine, but I will be now that you are here.”
His chest swelled at her side as his arms tightened around her in a warm hug. He rested his chin on top of her head. “I hate when you have bad dreams.”
“Me too.”
“What did those TV reporters want with you?”
It felt so right
The tremors moved north until her entire body shook. She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out. No sound, not even a squeak.
Maggie cleared her throat and tried again. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she said clearly. Ah-ha success! “I want—I want . . .”
What did she want? Her mind went blank, totally, utterly blank.
Having spent the entire day memorizing what the District wanted her to say, now, just as she began the recitation, it disappeared. Vanished from her mind like a magician’s trick.
The realization that she stood before the taping cameras and did not have a clue what to say took her knees out from under her. She went down, her skirt flying up around her ears.
Maggie’s cheeks heated with a flush. Her arms scrambled to lower her skirt, but it wouldn’t go down. The material covered her mouth and nose. It tightened around her head, suffocated her. She struggled to breathe. Each inhale drew material instead of air into her mouth.
Her chest constricted, fought for oxygen. Then the jerking started. Her body began to convulse with its need for air.
As nightmares went, this may not be the worst one she’d ever had, but it certainly could be considered the most embarrassing. At least she would pass out soon if her lungs did not get some air. Then she’d wake up safe and sound in her bedroom.
The rational thought did little to calm down the heart that beat a furious rhythm in her chest. She continued to fight for air until her brain hurt and her legs went numb.
Darkness tunneled in and took what little light came through the material over her face. This was it. Her suffering would end soon.
When the material of her skirt suddenly left her mouth, Maggie drew in a deep breath of air. Oxygen coursed through her blood, bringing a rush of adrenaline to flood her cells.
She felt herself gathered into a set of strong arms. A man she realized, his masculine scent surrounding her when he stood. His biceps flexed when they took her weight. Too weak to wrap her arms around his neck, she let them dangle and simply lay against the broad chest of the man carrying her.
Her eyes still closed, she concentrated on breathing. In. Out. In. Out. She didn’t care where he took her as long as the way led away from the cameras and the reporters.
The sound of running water opened her eyes.
She looked about and found herself in a Victorian style bath. Pink and brown velvet wallpaper covered the walls, with its flocked lace pattern. A toilet designed with a high tank and a pull chain sat against one wall. Beside it, an antique sink stood on its pedestal, matching the toilet in porcelain white.
Across from the pair, a white claw-footed tub, large enough to fit two, sat under a huge oval mirror in a gilded frame. The water ran in the tub from the showerhead positioned above, the sound soft and soothing like a gentle summer rain.
She noticed, though the water flowed steadily, the tub did not fill. Maggie dismissed the oddity by assuming the drain must be open. Steam rose to fill the room, creating a humid haze that settled over her skin.
Maggie looked up at into the eyes of the man holding her, not surprised to find Zane looking at her, his azure eyes searching hers. Her heart continued to beat quickly in her chest, though she could not be sure whether it was from the adrenaline still coursing through her veins or from seeing Zane.
“Are you all right?” Zane sat down at the vanity, and nestled her on his lap.
Her nightmare just turned into a dream. “I’m fine.” Now .
Her dream man quirked one brow and gave her a look that said he did not believe her.
“Okay,” she confessed, “I’m not entirely fine, but I will be now that you are here.”
His chest swelled at her side as his arms tightened around her in a warm hug. He rested his chin on top of her head. “I hate when you have bad dreams.”
“Me too.”
“What did those TV reporters want with you?”
It felt so right
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