Page 9 of The Survivor (Silhoutte Romantic Suspense)

And sure, she didn’t want to risk her life, either, but what other option did she have?

To place women like Elaine Woodman in jeopardy?

She knew the burden didn’t need to fall solely on her shoulders, but she still felt she needed to contribute to the investigation.

If only to gain her own sense of closure.

“What did you talk to Elaine about?” Blake’s quiet, husky voice broke through the brief silence. He moved over to the stool she’d just occupied and sat down, resting his powerful arms on the counter. Watching her.

Her gaze flitted to his strong biceps. A part of her, a long-buried part, wondered how it would feel to be encircled by those big arms. How did he hold a woman?

Gently, like she was a fragile piece of china?

Or would his embrace be passionate, solid and unyielding, a man claiming the woman in his arms as his own?

She bit her lower lip, disturbed by her thoughts. Absently she leaned against the counter and murmured, “Fear. We talked a lot about fear.”

“Hers or yours?”

“Both.” She exhaled shakily. “I showed her my scars.” Though Blake’s gaze remained on her face, she was still compelled to press her wrists to her sides, shielding the scars from him. “And then she…” Her voice finally broke.

“Then she what?” Blake stood up and closed the distance between them. She thought he might reach out and touch her but he didn’t. Just stood in front of her, somber as always.

“She took off her hospital gown and showed me her bandages.” She lifted her head, searched his face imploringly. “There were so many bandages, Blake. Why would he do that to her? Why didn’t he do that to me?”

A wave of dizziness swept over her as she remembered all that white gauze on Elaine’s body. On her chest. Her breasts.

Her legs. The horror Sam hadn’t let herself reveal then slammed into her now, making her knees wobble and her hands tremble violently. She didn’t even realize that she was crying until Blake drew her into his arms and she noticed her tears staining his shirt.

He held her tightly, and her earlier unspoken question was answered. His grip was gentle. But solid.

She pressed her face against the crook of his neck and cried, wondering why she wasn’t pulling back. She wasn’t supposed to feel sheltered in this man’s arms. In any man’s arms.

She was supposed to be terrified by a simple touch, panicked by a mere look, but Blake’s touches, Blake’s looks, evoked none of that in her. They only brought warmth.

And desire.

“Don’t cry,” he murmured, running a large hand over her shoulder blades. “I promised you it would be all right, remember?”

She inched back, not breaking their contact, but not sinking into it, either. “How can it be, when he’s still out there?”

A lone tear slid down her cheek, but Blake brushed it away with his thumb before she could lift her hand. “I’m going to find him, Sam. I’m going to stop him, and that’s not a promise—it’s a guarantee.”

His certainty hung in the air. He sounded so relentlessly convincing that she actually believed him.

She tilted her head and saw his determined brown eyes, the firm set of his wide mouth, and as their gazes locked, the air in the kitchen swiftly changed.

It hissed and sizzled, crackled like twigs under the sneakers of a morning jogger.

She wanted to look away, to walk away, to make it stop, but she stood frozen in place. Waiting. Waiting for what?

Unable to take her eyes off his mouth, Sam just watched as he leaned closer and closer, knowing what was about to happen and not doing a thing to stop it. She stared at his lips, saw them part, saw his pulse throbbing in his throat.

Closer that gorgeous mouth came, and suddenly it was brushing over hers in the lightest of kisses.

A tiny gasp tore from her throat, but he covered it with his lips and swallowed it with his kiss.

A gentle kiss, the soft brush of his lips against hers, the teasing flick of his tongue.

The spicy, masculine scent of him suffused her senses, making her woozy with desire.

The fervor of her response stunned her. Her tongue greedily darted out to taste him.

Her breasts eagerly rubbed against the hardness of his chest. Her entire body was overcome with sweet warmth.

Nothing had ever felt as good as Blake Corwin’s kiss.

And yet it was a controlled kiss, one that told her he was the type of man who’d never fully let down his guard, never succumb to the pleasures of the flesh before clearing it with his head.

She wasn’t sure if it was that disturbing notion that made her pull back, or if it was the unfamiliar quickening of her pulse and the loud gallop of her heart. Whatever it was, she broke the kiss, stumbling back and watching him warily.

The flush of his face, the lust-filled, slightly glazed look of his eyes, showed that he’d lost at least some control. He looked startled, blinking as if emerging from a hazy dream. As if he couldn’t quite believe what he’d done.

His hands promptly dropped from her waist, but not before she felt them trembling. With a soft curse, he shook his head as if he were trying to shake the bewilderment from it. His voice was hoarse as he uttered, “I’m sorry.”