Chapter 29

When he saw her, dancing by herself to the music, he could only grin and shake his head some more.  She wore a lime green nightgown that fell to her thighs, a pair of blue jeans, her faux fur slipper boots and a cashmere shawl over her shoulders.  It looked like she'd been playing dress-up again tonight.

Slowly, so as to not startle her, he walked over and said, "Hello, Chrissie."

She smiled dreamily as she danced in a circle.  "Don't you just love this song?"

Yeah, he did.  "Lay It Down" was "Their Song."  They danced to it at their wedding, much to Dolly's disgruntlement.  The rock ballad wasn't the most appropriate song for a wedding reception, but Chrissie wanted it, and so they used it.

"May I have this dance?" he offered, holding out his hand to her.

"Oh, yes...please," she sighed and slipped into his arms.  They moved around the room through three repeats of the song.  Race gorged himself on watching her sweet face as she smiled hypnotically, her eyelids half-closed.  

As exhausted as he was from staying up with her through these late night escapades, he could honestly dance with her every night forever.  But all too soon, her head lolled to his shoulder and she fell back to normal sleep.  Race picked her up in his arms and carried her up the stairs to her bedroom, wishing it was still their bedroom.  She murmured sleepily as he laid her down, gently pulling off her boots and jeans and tucking her under the quilt.  Immediately, her hand reached out and grasped his...just like every night.  And she wouldn't let go, so he curled up next to her, telling himself that, by holding onto him like that, her unconsciousness was saying she did know him somewhere deep inside.

Dena appeared in the doorway.  "She okay?"

"She's fine.  We danced, that's all."

She glanced at her sister for a moment.  "You know, you don't have to always tell me what happens.  I know you'd never take advantage of her when she's like that."

Race rubbed his thumb over the back of Chrissie's hand.  "I know, but if Chrissie asks, she'd believe you before she believes me."

Dena's face softened.  "She does trust you, Race.  If she didn't, she wouldn't allow you near her when she's sleepwalking."

"Maybe so," he yielded.  "But it's still better that she hears about it from you."

Dena sighed heavily and went back to bed.  Race closed his eyes and listened to Chrissie's deep breathing, knowing he'd not get much sleep tonight.  He never did when he lied next to her.  He managed to catch a few winks during the day, or Dena would come in and relieve him of his nightly vigilance for a while, but even then, he slept fitfully.  He never knew if she'd wake up in the morning and even the memory from the past week had been erased from her mind, and they'd have to start all over, more trips to the doctor, more screaming that she didn't know who he was, more heartache to bear.

It was enough to drive anyone to the brink of madness.

*****

Chrissie rolled over and blinked her eyes open.  He was there again, an arm tucked around her waist and the other hand tangled up in her hair.  But this time, his eyes were closed, rather than watching her like he did every morning, and she bit down on her lip, waiting for him to realize that she was awake.  Yet, he didn't.  His breathing was steady, and his jaw slacked, like he was truly asleep...and she smiled at him.

A lock of hair fell over his brow, and his lashes -- so thick, any woman would kill for them -- fanned out across the upper swell of his cheeks.  He hadn't shaved in a few days, and the scruff that coated his chin and upper lip intrigued her.  She'd always like men who were clean-shaven, but there was just something about Race's two-day shadow that caught her breath.  Dark shadows marred the inside corners of both eyes, and she knew it was because he stayed up with her while she walked about in her sleep.

Tentatively, she reached up and smoothed the lock of hair back, freezing when he frowned in his sleep.  He mumbled, "Can't let you go...beautiful...my love, my life..."  

She swallowed roughly against the extreme pain and sorrow in those words.  "You do love me, don't you?" she whispered, barely making a sound.

The arm around her tightened, pulling her into his chest.  "Chrissie," he sighed, still inert and off somewhere in a dreamworld, and she wondered if she could ever go there with him.  She tucked her nose against his collar bone and breathed him in.  She couldn't very well complain about his promise to never touch her without permission when he did it unconsciously.  He was so warm and cozy to snuggle against, and as he began to stir, his lips brushed against her temple.  She just closed her eyes and allowed the pleasant sensations to overwhelm her.

"Chrissie," he repeated, moving his lips down her face, lightly touching her eyelids, the tip of her nose, the corner of her mouth.

She couldn't help it...something sparked and bloomed and she kissed him, full on the mouth, and he responded by shifting to lay on top of her, moving his palms up her side to slither under her nightgown and capture a bare breast in his calloused fingers, kissing her back with a fever.

Then he woke up.

"Oh, God!" he cried, scrambling off of her.  "I'm so sorry!  I didn't know...I..."  He dropped to his knees beside the bed and pounded his head on the edge of the mattress.  Chrissie tugged the quilt up to her chin, covering the embarrassment that stained her skin a bright pink.  

Dena ran into the room.  "What's wrong?  What..."  She trailed off, seeing Race breathing heavily next to the bed and Chrissie's bright cheeks and swollen lips, and she grinned, said, "Oh," and left them alone.

"Chrissie...I'm sorry, I really didn't know what I was doing..."  He looked up, his eyes dark with shame and guilt.  "Please, forgive me, Chris."

"It's okay," she said, gulping to get some oxygen into her lungs.  "It was my fault.  I shouldn't have kissed you."

"No, no," he said shaking his head, right before it popped up and he stared at her.  "Wait...you kissed me?"

She hid under the covers, moaning and not able to look at him.  What he must think!  She told him she wasn't a casual sex kind of person, and then she went and attacked him in bed.  The corner of the quilt lifted.  "Chris?  Are you okay?"  He peered at her, yet there was a shining light in his blue eyes.

"No, I'm not okay!  I can't believe I did that."  She flipped over and buried her face in her pillow.  

"Aw, Chris," he chuckled, uncovering her head.  "You just got to give me a warning next time so I don't accidentally maul you."

"Next time?!"

He grinned and sat next to her, his back leaning against the headboard, so her face was right next to his thigh.  He was wearing those Scooby Doo pajama bottoms again, but no shirt.  She shuffled back a few inches.  "Yes, next time," he said.  "I refuse to believe that will be our last kiss."

"That's a little optimistic, don't you think?" she asked, glaring up at him, but the anger wasn't there.  He had a point.  She doubted, as well, that they'd never share another kiss.

"Just realistic," he replied calmly.  "Did you sleep well?"

That question introduced a whole other set of questions.  He and Dena always disclosed what she did at night, but sometimes she wondered if they kept back a few extracurricular activities of hers.  Did he ever try to kiss her?  Did she try to kiss him?   "Yes, I slept well...what happened last night?"

He shrugged.  "We danced, and then I brought you to bed.  That's it."

"'Lay It Down' again?"

He smiled.  "Every night."

She groaned and closed her eyes.  "I bet you are getting tired of hearing that song, huh?"

"No, I happen to love that song.  It has a special meaning to me."

Cracking an eyelid at him, she wondered what special meaning that would be, but she was afraid of asking.  He sighed tiredly and rubbed a hand down his face and across his scruffy jaw.  "Do you mind if I move the stereo upstairs, Chrissie?  I don't like you going down the basement stairs in your sleep."

She thought about how she detested electronic equipment tarnishing her decor with ugly black boxes and wires everywhere, but she also thought about how much she loved Aerosmith and Queen and AC/DC and so many other bands, and why she hadn't installed one of those hidden systems, with the speakers set conspicuously into the walls and a closet where everything could be stored out of sight...and she saw the worry and concern in his face for her safety, so she said, "I think I might have a better idea."

He raised an eyebrow.  "Oh?"

"Yeah," she smiled, nodding happily, "I think I'm ready for a remodel," and the eyebrow came down, and he said, "Oh."

She laughed.  "Don't look so gloomy.  I just want to install a stereo system in the house, one of those that you hear, but you can't see."

Both eyebrows rose.  "Oh...okay, then."  He smiled a crooked smile, and Chrissie fell into his dimples and smiled back.  He held her gaze, his eyes darkening, and he scooted down the mattress to get closer to her.  "You know...if you ever want to kiss me in my sleep again...I won't mind.  I won't mind a bit."

Her breathing hitched because she wanted to do exactly that -- over and over again --  and her heart pounded fiercely, and she did something else.  She kissed him while he was awake, a soft, light, easy, quick, floating kiss, and he looked at her afterward and said, "They're even better when I'm not asleep."

"Yeah, they are," she admitted bravely.  "I think we should do more of them."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Oh, yeah," she breathed, thinking her brain must be muddled more than she thought to feel this way about him after such a short time, or if this was what people meant about falling in love so fast they never felt the ground as they smashed into it.7

Accept him...my husband...4

Race's finger traced along her jawline.  "You are so beautiful, you steal my breath away."

"You're not so bad yourself," she countered earnestly.  My husband...Race...accept him...

"Kiss me again, Chris...one more time before reality comes back," he pleaded, and she moved closer, accepting this reality, and touched her lips to his, and he laid there and let her take control of the kiss...right up until she licked the seam of his mouth, and his control snapped.  With a muted groan, he latched onto her, crushed her body to his and pushed his tongue past her lips.

"Okay...okay," he panted a few million seconds later, still moving his mouth over hers, "I need to...to...stop...get up...oh, God, Chris!...okay...I'm leaving...I'm..."

"Shut up, Race," she told him and crawled onto his chest.  He said, "Okay," and greeted her mouth like a man starved for attention...which she guessed he was, in a way....at least, certain parts of him were definitely hungry.  His hands -- what? did you think she meant something else? -- were everywhere, and some parts in between, though he didn't go diving under her clothes.

And as she squirmed on top of him, one problem presented itself to Chrissie.  There was only so long she could kiss him without him thinking she was willing to go further...because she wasn't.  Oh, she could kiss him and nibble those lips and taste his dimples all day and night and into next week, but sex?  They might be married, but she just couldn't go that far yet.  Accepting him should not mean becoming someone she wasn't.  Just as she was about to ease away, big, rough palms slapped each of her butt cheeks and squeezed, making her squeak, "Oh!" and he grinned and said, "Sorry."

"Please tell me you don't like it rough," she said, looking down into his amused eyes.

"Not in the least," he said, smiling like he just won the lottery, "but unless you intend to take this a little further, I think maybe we should stop before I'm not able to and go get some breakfast."

Chrissie sighed and rolled off of him.  He was right.  After all, Dena was just in the other room.  What was she thinking?  The door wasn't even closed!  "Breakfast sounds wonderful," she said, sitting up and brushing her hair back from her face.  "What would you like?"

"Oh, no," he answered, hopping up from the bed, though studiously turning his aroused body away from her as he rushed to the closet for some clothes.  "After a wake-up call like that, you, my dear, get Cracker Barrel for breakfast.  Hop up and get dressed.  Their hashbrown casserole is calling your name."  He returned, fully dressed and smiling.  Chrissie took in his casual jeans and polo shirt, loving the way the denim hugged his hips and rear.  He was one delicious male, and he was hers.

"Did you say hashbrown casserole?" she asked.

"Your favorite," he replied.

"Are you trying to spoil me?" she said with a laugh.  Race winked as he walked out to give her some privacy.

"I always do, sweetheart," he said sincerely, and Chrissie rolled her eyes, but something about that bothered her.

"Wait...what?"