He heard her stir. He leaped up and ran into the bedroom.

Not soon enough. The scream bubbled up in her, ear-piercing and anguished. She saw him, woke, tried to stop, did stop and started sobbing while saying, “I’m okay, I’m okay.”

“No, you’re not.” He was almost sure that none of his neighbors lived within earshot, but if this continued, someone would hear Elle’s anguish and come to investigate. He sat next to her, stroked her head while she cried.

With surprising strength, she gripped his forearm in both hands. “Tall. Strong. Coming after me out of the darkness. Why does he hurt me? Why?”

“Some people, some men...they’re cruel and...” He was taking her question literally when in fact he didn’t know the answer. “Do you remember the name of your attacker?”

“I don’t even remember his looks.” She reached for the tissues and blew her nose. “I’m sorry. I can’t believe this is me. Afraid like this. Consumed by this terror, not able to escape...” Her gaze strayed to the window, to the darkness that stretched forever.

He stood, fetched the trash can, offered it to her. “I can’t sit here with you. I’m tired. As tired as you. Do you want me to lie down with you?”

She tossed her tissues and nodded, big-eyed and teary.

“I can sleep on the outside of the blankets—” although the nights got cold this time of year “—and be here to wake you before you scream.”

“You can get under the covers.” She scooted over and lifted the blankets. “We’re both exhausted. And please, I want you to hold me.”

Five years he’d been alone, deliberately alone, paying penance for his mistakes, and now in a single day he’d bathed a young woman who wanted him to sleep with her. Nothing more, just sleep. Sturdily he told himself she was right, that they were both too worn out to entertain so much as a thought of anything... Yet today, he’d entertained a striped circus tent of thoughts.

He eased onto the mattress. He was so tired, uncurbed instinctive reactions leaked through his usual controls. He thought longingly of that time earlier today when he’d been unhappily alone, dealing with his own problems... Okay, not dealing. Thinking of ending his troubles with a permanent dip into the Pacific Ocean.

“You can take off your pants,” she said.

But surely that was better than this. This torture involving an attractive woman who had washed up on the beach and dragged him into a painful semblance of life... “No.”

“At least your belt.”

He thought about that. Of necessity, they would be close, and yes, maybe his belt and its buckle would be touching her person. He removed and coiled it and placed it neatly on the nightstand.

Still she held the blankets up, waiting for him, her eyes anxious.