Mustang A Rough Romance - Piper Stone Page 0,43

go in. We die. Don’t be a martyr.”

Easing onto my elbow, I placed my hand against his face. Whatever nightmare he was having had left him in a cold sweat.

His body jerked, his arm flying out and the second he opened his eyes, his mouth twisted in agony.

“Mustang. Wake up. You were having a dream,” I whispered, shaking him gently.

“No. No!” he snarled, darting his terrified gaze back and forth.

“Come on. Wake up.” The words were barely out of my mouth when he rolled me over, jerking up onto both arms, the look on his face one of rage.

“We’re not doing this!” he snapped.

Zorro whimpered, trying his best to slide in between us.

Swallowing hard, I very gently placed one hand on his cheek, the other across his heart. Even in the dim shadows, I was able to see he was a million miles away. “Mustang. It’s okay. You’re safe. You’re with me.”

His eyes registered nothing but the cold, hard anger that had wrapped around his entire mind and body like a horrific clamp, squeezing to the point he had difficulty breathing.

“Wake up. Come on, baby. Look at me.” My words didn’t register at all. Then the blank look began to shift as he blinked twice.

When he slammed his fist into the pillow next to my head, I was unable to hold back a whimper. The sound I made dragged him all the way out of his trance. Zorro shifted all the way between us, his tail thumping as he crowded over my body.

Gasping for air, he glanced down at me, blinking several times.

I could feel my body shaking, a slight hint of fear creeping into my muscles, but I knew that if I’d been in any real danger, Zorro would have reacted differently. When the pup licked the cowboy’s face, Mustang reared back, glancing from one side of the room to the other, shifting his hand to his side as if searching for a weapon.

“Fuck. What… happened?” he managed.

“You were having a dream.”

He reared back, now gasping for air, finally returning his attention in my direction. As he tried to smile, he lifted his arm, flexing and fisting his fingers. “Are you okay?” He rubbed his hand down Zorro’s back, nuzzling against the dog for a few seconds.

Zorro finally huffed then shifted to the far side of the bed.

“I’m fine. The question is, are you?”

Rolling off, he eased his arms behind his head, glaring at the ceiling. “Yeah. Just fine.”

The man had closed himself off completely. Refusing to give in, I rolled over, staring him in the eyes. “What were you dreaming about?”

“Nothing important.”

“Since you almost punched me in the face, I’d say it was important.”

A look of horror crossed his face and he jerked away, shifting onto the side of the bed and planting his feet on the floor. “Fuck.”

I scooted closer, reaching out then pulling my hand away. “The war?”

“Something like that.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” I already knew the answer. Men like him didn’t talk about sadness or anger. They bottled up their emotions, pretending that whatever horrible experience they’d gone through they could get through all by themselves. He remained trembling, the heavy adrenaline flow obvious. Ten seconds passed. Fifteen. I was sick not knowing how to help him.

He snorted, darting his head over his shoulder. “Naw.” A quiet few seconds of tension settled in. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t. If you’d attempted to hurt me, Zorro would have eaten your arm off.”

Zorro whined his answer before crawling closer to Mustang. I wanted to call the fluff ball a traitor, but I was glad to see the two of them got along.

Huffing, Mustang placed his hand on Zorro’s head, rubbing behind the pup’s ears. “That’s good to know. You need protection.”

“I have a gun. Don’t worry.”

Cocking his head, he shot me a look before smiling as his breathing started to calm. “One bad woman.”

“Told ya.” I wasn’t going to push him, but now I knew the source of his sadness. Whatever had happened overseas was eating him alive.

Another ten seconds passed. Fifteen. I had no idea what to say to him.

Gggrrr…

Zorro’s sudden growl reeked of menace, every inch of his fur standing on end.

“What is it, buddy?” I asked, watching as my dog stared at the door to the bedroom.

After barking once, Zorro bolted off the bed, racing through the house. That had to mean that someone was outside the house. Damn it. If the assholes were attempting to do

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