Free Hidden Embers by Tessa Adams

thoughts and emotions.
    More than once he considered turning to look at her, but in the end he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Firstly, because after waking up and finding him nearly comatose she could have run for the door but hadn’t. That frightened him even as it made his dragon preen. And secondly, because he couldn’t stand the thought of seeing how her opinion of him had changed—not now, when he was still so raw, his wounds so close to the surface.
    Not now when he was still confused and trying to figure out what the hell had happened. He’d never had an attack that bad before, nor one that had ended so abruptly. Even while the man was grateful it was over, the scientist in him wanted to know the whys and wherefores.
    Minutes passed and he braced himself for a confrontation, figuring Jasmine would start pushing him for answers. Not that he blamed her—if he’d woken up and found her in a similar situation, he would have demanded to know what the hell was wrong with her.
    But she didn’t do that, didn’t say a word. He didn’t know if it was because she’d sensed how vulnerable he felt or because she simply didn’t care. But the way she was holding him—so tightly and tenderly—didn’t feel like lack of caring.
    As if sensing the ever-changing thoughts that were mixed up in his brain, Jazz smoothed her palms over his shoulders, down his arms and up his spine, kneading softly everywhere she touched.
    It was exactly what he needed, though he hadn’t had a clue, and the dragon reveled in her warmth and attention. He reveled in it, realizing with a shock that he was cold for the first time in recent memory. And not just any cold, but a bone-deep frigidity that went so deep he wondered if he’d somehow lost the ability to control his own body temperature. Dragons were the only animal of reptilian descent that could regulate their temperatures, due largely to the fire that burned deep inside any healthy dragon.
    But now, it was like his fire had gone out. He reached for it but it wasn’t there, and a low-grade panic started humming through his veins. Jazz must have realized how cold he was, too, because suddenly her arms were around his waist. She held him tightly to her while her hands chafed against the skin of his arms and her mouth skimmed over his bare back as she tried to share her body heat with him.
    It was the nicest thing a woman had ever done for him. That she was doing it now, when he’d been so close to giving up hope, meant more than he would ever be able to tell her.
    He wanted to explain things to her, but his normal eloquence had deserted him, and he settled instead for simply leaning into her body, concentrating on the soft, warm feel of her.
    On the crazy, blackberry scent of her.
    On the sweet caramel taste of her that still lingered in his mouth. It felt amazing to have his senses back, especially after spending so many minutes locked in complete and total sensory deprivation.
    He focused on them—focused on her—as an excuse not to think any more about what had happened to him. It wasn’t the best coping mechanism in the world, but here—in the dead of night—it was enough.
    “Can I get you anything?” she finally asked tentatively.
    How about a nice dose of sanity? he wanted to ask. Forgiveness. Oblivion . But since asking for any of those things would only make her think he was even crazier than she already did, he simply said, “I could use a drink.”
    “Of course.” She scrambled to her feet, crossed to the bathroom and filled one of the plastic glasses with tap water.
    A few seconds later she was back, the cup extended toward him. He reached to take it and suddenly there was a searing pain on his arm—it circled his bicep and shot up to his shoulder and down into his fingers. For a second Quinn was afraid that his reprieve was over, that the agony was coming back, but within seconds he realized this pain felt different. It felt hot and sharp and comforting in a way