Page 15 of The Survivor (Silhoutte Romantic Suspense)

Rick had just left, which meant that she and Blake were officially alone.

Her throat tightened at the thought. Even though she’d convinced him to let her stay, knowing they’d be in such close quarters made her apprehensive.

Before the attack she would’ve capitalized on the coziness of the situation.

Now she didn’t know what she was going to do.

She didn’t know why her body had decided to wake up after six months of hibernation, didn’t know why Blake was the man who’d spurred the awakening.

But what she did know, without a doubt, was that she wanted this man.

She wanted his stubborn mouth kissing hers again. She wanted to tangle her fingers in his messy dark hair and lose herself in his tall, sturdy body. She wanted those serious whiskey-colored eyes to look at her with passion again, wanted to hear that rough voice telling her she was beautiful.

Maybe it was crazy to want so much. Maybe none of those delicious things would come to be. But if she left town there wouldn’t even be a chance. Here, she could hope, and dream, and dammit, want .

“Knight requests that you lay low,” Blake said as they drifted back into the dining room. He moved his hand from his temples to the faint stubble shadowing his jaw. “You’ll be able to talk to Elaine on the phone, but you’re not leaving this house. Not until the media storm dies down.”

“All right.”

“The Chicago PD is stationing a car outside the house, and when I meet with the task force at the end of the week, an officer will be here with you.”

Again she said, “All right.”

“Are you hungry?”

The sudden change of subject caught her by surprise. Her stomach, however, seemed to be waiting for the question, for it instantly growled in response.

She gave a faint smile. “Starved.”

“I’ll fix us something.”

He disappeared into the kitchen, leaving her sitting at the table to contemplate his strange behavior.

Once it had been decided that he’d be acting as her own personal bodyguard, his entire demeanor had shifted, becoming stiff, professional.

She didn’t like it. She’d grown used to the warmth radiating from him, the impression that he actually gave a damn about what happened to her.

He still did, of course, but his impersonal manner made her feel as if she were being viewed as an assignment now, and not a woman.

She’d just have to change that, wouldn’t she?

Twenty minutes later Blake rejoined her in the dining room. He set two plates on the table, along with two glasses and a bottle of red wine, then bounded into the kitchen again. He returned with a large serving bowl of spaghetti, topped with plain tomato sauce that had probably come out of a can.

“I can’t cook anything else,” he said with an endearing shrug of one shoulder.

His gruff voice brought a smile to her lips. “It looks great.”

Looking as if he didn’t quite believe her, Blake piled the pasta onto her plate, then moved to his own chair and served himself. He pulled the cork from the wine bottle and poured each of them a glass, then dug into his food silently.

As she ate, Sam’s gaze strayed to the window.

The drapes were open, but all she saw was a curtain of white against the windowpane.

Fat snowflakes floated in front of the glass, making her smile.

God, she loved winter. She’d always looked forward to the first snow of the season, greeting it every year by slipping her knee-length Burberry coat over her shoulders, tucking her hair under a wool hat, and walking through the snow in her favorite pair of high-heeled leather boots.

This year she’d watched that first snowfall from behind a locked window in the farmhouse in Wellstock.

“Let’s go for a walk,” she blurted.

Blake lifted his head. He focused for a moment on the snow falling outside before letting out a sigh that seemed unrelated to the weather. “I don’t think that’s possible. If any of my neighbors recognized you…”

Her face fell as he trailed off. He was right, of course. And since he’d already agreed to let her stay here with him, she didn’t want to push her luck by parading through the neighborhood and getting recognized again. The last thing she wanted was Blake changing his mind and sending her away.

He must have seen the disappointment in her eyes because he released another breath. “What if we went out into the backyard?” he suggested. “Won’t be much of a walk but it’s a pretty nice yard.”

Abandoning her half-eaten food, she said, “Sounds good.”

She didn’t have her Burberry coat or her favorite boots, but she made do with the black bomber jacket Blake grabbed for her. The coat hung down to her knees, and the sexy masculine scent imprinted in the material wrapped around her like a warm embrace.

The kitchen door opened out into the backyard and the second they stepped into the chilly night air, a smile filled her face. Blake flicked on a light and a yellow glow bathed the snow-covered patio.

“God, it’s so beautiful,” she breathed, tilting her head to stare up at the inky sky and the snowflakes dancing down from it. “Isn’t it gorgeous?”

“It is.”

Heat spilled over her cheeks when she realized he wasn’t admiring the display of winter around them, but that his dark gaze was focused on her face.

Her heart skipped, then broke out in a frenzied gallop and vibrated against her ribs. Swallowing, she brushed a few wet flakes off her eyelashes and ascended the short set of steps from the patio to the barren yard.

There wasn’t a single piece of furniture out there, not even a birdhouse for the sparrows she’d heard chirping outside the guest room window this morning.

But the way the falling snowflakes hit the solitary light illuminating the empty yard created an almost magical ambience.

She inhaled deeply, savoring the scent of the clean air and the pine trees lining the perimeter of the yard.

The snow began to gather and pile on the ground under their feet. “Think there’ll be a blizzard tonight?” she asked as she stuck her hands in the pockets of her coat.

“I hope not.” He paused, then added, “You know, blizzards were the bane of my childhood existence.”

“Why is that?”

“My mother always used a blizzard as an excuse to launch into family game night. When I was growing up, a storm was the only thing that would get the entire family in the same room, all five of us trapped indoors. Mom would sit us down in front of the fireplace and pull out those God-awful board games.”

“Come on, it couldn’t have been that bad,” she teased when she heard the exasperation in his tone.

He thought about it for a moment. “You’re right.

It wasn’t as bad as I make it out to be.

” A smile tugged at his mouth. “Mark, my brother, would force us to play Monopoly, and he’d go around the board buying every property until he ran out of money in the first ten minutes.

My sister Jess cheated up a storm, stealing hundreds from the bank when she thought we weren’t looking. ”

“And your parents?”

Blake laughed. “Dad would fall asleep before he reached Go for the first time, and Mom pretended to like the game when really she just liked spending time with us. And me, well, I’d always win, of course.”

“Of course.” She didn’t miss the fondness in his tone when he spoke of his family, and a pang of longing tugged at her belly. She averted her eyes before he could see the sadness in them.

Apparently she didn’t break the eye contact fast enough. “Hey, what’s wrong?” he murmured.

She sighed. “I’m just envious, that’s all. Beau and I never had any family gatherings like that growing up.”

“Your file said your parents died when you were sixteen. That should have been plenty of time for family togetherness.”

“Not really. My parents were both lawyers. They owned their own firm, and they spent seven days a week in the office. Beau and I had a nanny.” She laughed softly.

“Her name was Hilda, and she was an absolute nightmare. Her idea of fun was making us help her wash the windows. But she spent time with us at least, which is more than I can say for our parents.”

Blake reached out and took her hand. She glanced at it for a moment but said nothing. It seemed like a subconscious move on his part, and she liked the feel of his warm fingers against her palm too much to draw attention to it and risk him taking his hand away.

“That must have been tough,” he said.

“It was.” She shot him a sideways glance.

“But I had my brother. He’s five years older, so he thought I was a pain in the ass most of the time, but he was always there for me when I needed him.

After our parents died he even put off going to college so he could live at home with me until I finished high school. ”

“What does he do for a living?”

“He’s an artist. A painter. And argue with him all you want, but he’ll never consider any of the photographs I’ve posed for as art. He always hated my career.”

“Did you like it, though? Modeling?” He rubbed the inside of her palm with his thumb.

She took a sharp intake of breath. Oh, God.

His touch felt like heaven against her cold hands.

She wanted so badly to lace her fingers through his, but held back, afraid if she did he’d become rigid and professional again.

“I liked it a lot, actually. I started out doing catalogue work, seasonal stuff for department stores, that kind of thing. Then my agent got me a go-see for a swimsuit magazine, and my career took off.” She grinned.

“I was lucky enough to travel to some incredible places. Gosh, I can’t even begin to describe it.

I remember this one shoot in Bora Bora, a rock-climbing spread—wearing a bikini, mind you—and it was unbelievable. ”

He looked surprised. “Wait, that was an actual mountain you were on? In that picture with the yellow bikini?”

Pleasure suffused her entire body. “You saw the spread?”

He actually blushed, which made her heart do a couple of jumping jacks. There was nothing sexier than a man who was man enough to blush.

“I may have come across it,” he said grudgingly.

“Admit it,” she teased. “You were a fan.” Her eyes twinkled. “I could sign an autograph for you, if you’d like.”

He let out a laugh and held his palm over his heart. “An autograph from a real-life swimsuit model? I’d be honored.”

“Now you’re making fun of me,” she grumbled. She gave him a wry look. “You probably think what I did was sleazy, huh? Putting myself on display like that.”

“Sleazy? No. Sexy? Yes, ma’am.”

Her stomach did a happy little flip. “What if I told you I only started modeling to stick it to my parents?”

“Was that the case?”

She nodded. “They were already gone by the time a modeling agent discovered me, but it didn’t matter.

All my life I wanted them to notice me, and they never did.

When I told them I had no interest in going to law school, it got even worse.

Beau had already disappointed them by deciding to be an artist, so I guess my decision not to go into law was the final straw.

That’s when I became completely invisible. ”

“I can’t even fathom how you could be invisible to anyone.”

“Well, I was.” She shrugged. “And then I started modeling and suddenly everyone noticed me. I loved the attention, loved the sense of importance that came with it, even if I was only important to a few designers and some drooling men.” Her voice hardened. “Until the wrong person noticed me.”

She stalked past him, nearly slipping on the frost-covered grass. Blake hurried after her and pressed both hands on her shoulders to keep her steady.

“It wasn’t your fault, Sam,” he said quietly.

Her shoulders drooped. “If I hadn’t chosen to put my body on display, he might never have found me.”

“Hey, don’t think like that. You didn’t do a thing to provoke the attack. Neither did Elaine or the others. None of you deserved what that psychopath did to you, none of you asked for it. Bad luck and the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, Samantha. That’s all it was.”

He sounded so earnest, so sure of himself, that tears pricked her eyelids.

How did this man know exactly what to say and do to make her feel better?

And why, when she should be focusing on putting the man who hurt her behind bars, did she want nothing more than to kiss Blake Corwin again?

For six months she’d dreaded the thought of a man touching her.

Shied away from it. Now she wanted Blake to touch her. Over and over again.

As if sensing her need, he stepped closer.

Lazy flakes of snow floated down between them, tickling Sam’s nose and sticking in her hair, but she couldn’t make her hands brush the snow away.

She couldn’t take her eyes off Blake. The scent of him filled her nose—heady, masculine.

His gaze flickered with desire and uncertainty, as if he were torn between pulling her close and pushing her way.

God, she didn’t want him to push her away. It had been so long since she’d felt this way, since she’d wanted so badly to draw someone close and never let go.

“Blake…”

Her voice trailed, her lips unable to form the words she really wanted to say. So she reached out slowly and pressed one palm to his chest. His coat was unzipped, and even with her hand touching the thick material of his sweater, sinew and rock-hard muscle filled her palm.

A wave of warmth and desire lapped over her breasts, tickled her thighs and settled promptly in her core. And in its wake, prickling shivers teased every nerve ending and caused her pulse to quicken to a fevered rate.

God, this was crazy, how badly she wanted him. So badly that every part of her grew hot and damp.

Heat and hunger mingled in her blood. When she tilted her head and saw the same heat and hunger reflecting in his eyes, an unbearable combination of raw need and unadulterated lust filled her body.

His ragged breaths seared her cheek, her skin tingled and trembled at his nearness. As his brown eyes darkened to a smoldering hue, time stopped. They stared at each other.

He seemed to read her mind again as he reached out and traced the outline of her jaw with his thumb, then stroked her lower lip with his fingers. He dipped his head, his warm breath tickling her face, his hands stirring something hot and primal inside her.

She parted her lips. Waited for his kiss.

It never came.

Before she could blink, he drew back. Broke the contact and sent disappointment spiraling through her.

“The snow’s getting heavier,” he said thickly, avoiding her gaze. “We should go back inside.”