Anaisa heaved until her abdominal muscles were sore. Trace produced a handkerchief and a cup of water to clean her mouth. His readable face was plainly worried about her.
Had she been too hard on him?
Admittedly, her pride was stinging a little from humiliation. She'd shamelessly thrown herself at him in the dream, intent on enjoying the experience and not knowing it was really… him.
She was quiet for a while, and lay back down on the sofa, rolling to her side to stare at a cushion instead of at Trace. He sat down on the floor near her head.
"Please forgive me," He whispered desperately.
Dozens of questions rolled through her mind. What had been his goal and purpose in entering her dreams? What was he looking for? What had happened in the dreams she couldn't remember? Her cheeks burned.
"Was that…" She choked on the words and cleared her throat. "Was that the most intimate dream we've shared?"
