Dream or not, I was more than happy enough to hold on to it; I woke up cradled in warm arms, against a firmly muscled male chest, and smiled and cuddled closer and refused to open my eyes and find out that I’d imagined the whole thing. I felt a hand smooth my hair, then touch my cheek and glide gently along my jawline. ‘You’re awake,’ he said. No, clearly I wasn’t, because that was David’s voice, wasn’t it? Warm and intimate as his touch, which was waking fire all over my body. I was limp and relaxed and utterly, completely dreaming. And then his hand touched a bruise, which set off a red flash of complaint, and I realised that I wasn’t dreaming at all. Not even I dreamt of having bruises. Now that I let myself drift back into the real world, I had a monster headache, pinpoints of sharp, glasslike pain all over my body, and a general feeling of having been run through the wood chipper headfirst.
