He released her only to sit in the chair beside her. He’d been there, beneath the wisteria, watching her sleep for five minutes, perhaps ten. She’d appeared so content, and he could look at her knowing the reserve she normally held herself in wasn’t there.

He’d wanted to look at her, just look. There was no use denying it to himself. When he watched her, he could remember her as she’d been years before, a young girl, pleased with herself, confident, innocently sensual. He could remember her as she’d been in his arms—a woman, arousing, bold, giving. He knew, as he looked at her, that he wanted her there again. And more.

Beyond that, he was aware that desire for her interfered with his objectivity. And a cop was nothing without objectivity, he knew. But he wasn’t a cop any longer. Wasn’t one of the reasons he’d turned in his badge that the constant struggle to be uninvolved and distant had become distasteful to him? He’d wanted something different in his life. He just hadn’t counted on it being a princess.

He sat back, waiting until Brie’s breathing steadied. For her sake, he’d better remember the rules he’d lived with during his years on the force. “Tell me,” he said simply.

“There’s not that much. It’s confusing.”

He took out a cigarette. “Tell me, anyway.”

She sent him a look that he interpreted, correctly, as half resentment, half exasperation. It was better than neutrality. “I thought you were here as bodyguard, not analyst.”

“I’m flexible.” He lit the cigarette, watching her over the flame. “Are you?”

“Not very, I think.” She rose. He’d already learned she rarely sat still when she was nervous. After she plucked off a spray of wisteria, she ran it lightly down her cheek. Another habit he’d noted. “I wasn’t here, but someplace quiet. There was grass. I could smell it, very strong and sweet. It seemed I was sleepy, but I didn’t want to be. It was annoying, because I was alone and wanted to enjoy the solitude.”

This was accompanied by a look of pure defiance. Reeve merely nodded and leaned back. There was very little satisfaction in insulting him, Brie observed, and tucked the spray of wisteria in her hair.

“I was drinking coffee to try to stay awake.”

His look sharpened, but she didn’t notice. “Where did you get the coffee?”

“Where?” She frowned, finding it a foolish question when they were discussing a dream. “I had a thermos. A big, red thermos with the handle gone from the top. The coffee didn’t seem to help and I dozed off. I remember the sun was very warm and I could hear the bees, just like now. Then …” He saw her fingers tense before she stuck them in her pockets. “I wasn’t there any longer. It was dark and a bit damp. It smelled musty. There were voices.”

He tensed, as well, but his voice was calm. “Whose?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t really hear them as much as sense them. I was afraid.” Turning away, she wrapped her arms around her body. “I was afraid and I couldn’t wake up and stop the dream.”