Ethan started awake, his eyes blinking against the darkness. No, not total darkness. Dim light from the living room filtered through the partially closed bedroom door, just enough to dispel the hint of shadow. He rolled to his side, his gaze falling on Cindy. She was thrashing in her sleep, her hair covering most of her face. But he could see her mouth, saw her lips moving in a silent cry. He propped himself on his elbow and reached out with his hand, his touch gentle so he wouldn't scare her. He brushed the hair from her face and frowned as his fingers touched dampness.

She thrashed again, her head moving from side-to-side as a low moan escaped her parted lips. Was she having a nightmare? Should he wake her?

He didn't stop to think, just closed his hand over her bare shoulder and gently shook her, calling her name in a hoarse whisper.

Her lids fluttered open, her gaze empty for a few horrifying seconds. Then she looked at him and her eyes cleared, a sigh leaving her in a rush. She wiped a hand over her face, frowned at it, then dropped her head to the pillow.

"Is everything okay?"

She took a deep breath and nodded, still not looking at him. "Yeah. I think so."

"Was it a nightmare? Did something happen?"

"No." She frowned then shook her head, took another deep breath. "I mean, I don't think so. I—I don't remember."

Ethan reached for her, wanting to do nothing more than hold her. Protect her. But she stiffened when he touched her and he quickly moved away, disappointment and worry curdling inside him. He pushed the feelings away, cursed at his own selfishness as he muttered an apology.

She didn't say anything, wouldn't even look at him. The worry came back, flooding him with guilt. Had it been too soon? Touching her? Making love to her? Had he somehow made things worse?

He shouldn't have listened to her. Shouldn't have let his own selfish desire cloud his judgment when she said she was ready. He should have stopped, shouldn't have pushed, shouldn't have—

He let out a heavy sigh and scrubbed a hand over his face, not sure what to do now. Not sure how to make things better. He glanced at the clock, frowning at the time. It was early still, not even eleven o'clock at night. They hadn't been sleeping that long.

They hadn't been together long enough.

"Do you—" He paused, cleared his throat and forced the words to come. "I should probably take you home now."

Cindy stiffened beside him again. Had the words come out wrong? Had he made things worse? He shifted, flipped the comforter off and started to swing his legs over the side of the bed. A hand grabbed him, the skin cool against the heat of his flesh. He stopped, looked over his shoulder to find Cindy watching him, her lower lip pulled between her teeth. Then she smiled, just a small one. Hesitant, her lips trembling.

"Are you trying to get rid of me already?"

"No!" The answer came too fast, the word too forceful. He cleared his throat and forced a grin to his face. "No, of course not. Not even close. I just…I thought you wanted—"

"I want you to hold me. Please." The last word was nothing more than a whisper, a soft plea filled with need and hesitation. Ethan stretched out next to her, wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close. She rested her head against his shoulder and placed her hand on his chest, over his heart. He reached up and covered it with his own, holding it in place.

Never wanting to let her go.

Quiet minutes passed, filled with nothing but the sounds of their mingled breaths and the steady pounding of his heart. Had she drifted off? Gone back to sleep? He hoped so, wanted nothing more than to stay like this, holding her. Comforting her. Protecting her.

He didn't want to look at the emotions too closely, didn't want to examine how he felt. He didn't need to: he knew exactly how he felt. Knew exactly what he wanted—had known since the first time he met her.

But he couldn't tell her. Not yet. Not now. Maybe not ever.

Could he live with that?

Yes, he could. If he had to. And he would—he would do anything for the woman sleeping so trustingly against him.

She shifted, tilted her head up—not enough to look at him, but enough to let him know that she wasn't sleeping. He ran his hand over her head, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, wondering if she wanted to talk.

Waiting, letting her decide. Letting her choose.

Several more minutes passed before she shifted again, her hand tightening in his. She cleared her throat, tilted her head toward his, lowered it again.

"Are you, um—are you okay with what happened?"

He almost laughed, had to swallow the strangled sound. "Me? Yeah. Yeah, I am." He felt her smile against his chest. He tightened his arm around her and took a deep breath, the laughter gone from his voice. "Are you okay with what happened? I didn't—didn't hurt you or anything?"

Cindy moved again, propping herself up and finally looking at him. The green of her eyes glowed, bright and warm. "No. Not even close. You've never hurt me, Ethan. Never. And I know you never would."

He wasn't sure how to answer, wasn't sure how to take her words. He tried to control his response, to keep it light and not let her see how much her trust meant to him. "Damn straight I wouldn't."

A shadow flashed in her eyes. Had he said the wrong thing? He opened his mouth, wanting to take the words back, to tell her what he really meant, how he felt. Then she smiled and pressed a quick kiss against the base of his throat.

"That's why I asked…I mean, that's why I wanted you to—" She stopped and lowered her gaze, no longer watching him. But he thought he understood.

Maybe he understood too well.

He swallowed back his disappointment and forced a lightness he didn't feel to his voice. "That's what friends are for, right?"

She stiffened but only for a brief second, so quickly he wondered if he imagined it. She rested her head against his chest again, her voice soft when she spoke. "Friends. Yeah, of course."

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. What the hell was wrong with him? Why had he said that? It was the wrong fucking thing to say. He needed to tell her no, they were more than friends. She was more than a friend. He needed to tell her that she meant so much more to him. That he wanted more. Now, later. Whenever she was ready. He was here for her. As a friend, yes—but more. So much more. Always.

But how could he tell her that? He couldn't drop that on her, not now. What if he screwed things up more by telling her? What if telling her scared her so much that she ran away from him—for good?

And what if all she wanted was friendship? Could he take a chance and ruin what they had, all for a chance at something she might not even want? What would he do if that happened?

Was it worth the risk?

Was it worth the risk not telling her?

He opened his mouth, ready to say…something. But Cindy started talking, her voice quiet, almost thoughtful.

"When I…a few months ago, when it was nothing but darkness…it wasn't just darkness. I kept seeing images. Just a flash here and there, just something to keep me from totally drowning in the black."

He tightened his arms around her, simply because he could. "Cindy, you don't have to—"

"I know. I want to." She pressed another kiss against his chest and snuggled closer to him. "Blue."

Ethan stayed quiet for several long seconds, waiting to see if she would say more. But she didn't. "Blue?"

She nodded, her hair tickling his arm. "Blue. I thought—I wasn't sure what it was at first. Then I remembered: water. So clear and deep blue. Remember? When we were in St. Thomas?"

"I remember." His voice was hoarse, the words nothing more than a croak. Did Cindy notice? He didn't think so.

"So blue. Everything. The water. The sky. And that's what I focused on. I just kept remembering blue. And that—" She paused, took a deep breath. Her voice was thick when she spoke again, the words almost choked. "That saved me, I think. That was the only thing that stopped the blackness from swallowing me whole."

Ethan sucked in a ragged breath, fought to get words past the growing lump clogging his throat. "Then I'm glad you had that time on St. Thomas."

"It wasn't just St. Thomas. I didn't realize that until I started therapy, until the darkness receded. The blue that helped me focus…it wasn't just the sky or the water. It was deeper. Smokier."

Ethan closed his eyes tight and swallowed, forced himself to breathe. Willed his heart to slow down, willed his body to calm. Cindy shifted in his arms. He could sense her watching him, knew she was looking at him now. He didn't want to open his eyes, didn't want to feel the disappointment he was certain he'd feel when he looked into their green depths and realized he was reading too much into things. That her words didn't mean what he thought they meant.

Fingers touched his face, their touch feather light as they stroked the stubble on his jaw and gently traced the bandage under his eye. As they carefully caressed his lower lip. He held himself still, afraid to move. Afraid this was nothing more than a dream and that he'd wake up if he moved.

"It was you, Ethan. Your eyes. It was our time in St. Thomas. Our time together. The way you looked at me. Your smile. That…that's what saved me, I think. Remembering you."

Ethan forced his eyes open, felt his heart slam into his chest when he met Cindy's gaze. He opened his mouth, ready to let the words come, to tell her…everything. But then her lips were pressed against his, silencing him, seeking something more than words.

He wrapped his arms around her and deepened the kiss, claiming her. Losing himself.

He reached for another condom, held himself still as Cindy took it from him, her fingers trembling as she rolled it down his length. Stroking him, sending pleasure shooting through his body.

More than pleasure. So much more.

He tightened his hold around her and rolled so he was stretched out on top of her, the heavy length of his erection poised at her entrance. He grabbed her hands, threaded their fingers together and pulled them above her head. His eyes never left hers, refused to let her look away, holding her prisoner as surely as she held him one.

"I love you, Cindy."

She opened her mouth but he silenced her with a kiss, swallowing her cry—and whatever she had been about to say—as he plunged into her.