“Must you do that?” “I’ve passed out and this is all a dream. That’s it. I’m dreaming.” She told herself. Michael tilted his head to the side, his thickly lashed eyes narrowing. “Do you always talk to yourself, female?” “I… I… Oh, my God.” “Hmm… God? Not likely.” He strode toward her with purpose. She tried to move, forgetting she was held fast by the vines now wrapped around her legs and arms. When she looked up, Michael had raised his sword. She squeezed her eyes shut as if she could block a deathblow by hiding behind her eyelids, but it seemed Michael only meant to cut the vines that bound her. His hand snaked out and yanked her from the chair. She went flying, slamming into his chest. He may no longer be stone, but the hard planes of his body were just as unforgiving as slamming into a slab of granite. Her breath left her in a whoosh. She gasped to draw in air again or pass out. “Are you all right?” His blue-eyed gaze landed on her. She couldn’t speak and nodded as her legs went limp.
