Sexy.
She’d been that way from the beginning.
But now, there was something different. A tension around her full lips. Shadows in her eyes.
And her nails dug into his shoulders. Not with passion this time. With fear.
“For a minute there, you seemed to stop breathing.” As far as he was concerned, that qualified as being way past just a nightmare. “You looked like you were fighting to get air.”
Silence. One beat of time. Two, then… “Well, I guess it’s a good thing you were here.” Her lips curved but the shadows never left her eyes. Her fingers skimmed over his chest. “I’m glad you could give me mouth to mouth.”
She was shutting him out. His jaw clenched.
“Let me freshen up a bit, and then…” She kissed him. A light, biting nip. “You can make me forget all about my bad dream.” Samantha eased away from him. She rose and walked toward the bathroom, completely naked, with her head held up high and her hips swaying.
He watched her, keeping silent. His damn c**k was up, but with her around, there was no real way to stop the lust.
The door closed behind her with a soft click.
The sound of rushing water filtered through the room.
And he realized that his hands were clenched into fists. That’s what she looks like when she lies.
Sam stared at the image in the mirror. Her hands were wrapped around the faucet, holding on too tightly. The better to stop the trembling in her fingers.
It had been six weeks since she’d had a flashback, and yes, that’s what it was. No nightmare. No freaking bad dream.
A flashback.
She was supposed to be better.
Max had seen her when she was weak. No, no, he shouldn’t have seen her like that. She was with him for sex and pleasure. To push the ghosts away.
She wasn’t there so that he could see her get tangled in the past.
“You looked like you were fighting to get air.”
Dammit. Just… dammit.
Sam grabbed a handful of water and splashed it on her face. But the warm water didn’t thaw the ice in her cheeks.
She couldn’t do this, couldn’t let the past come back and control her. Luke would be watching her every move. All the agents would. She had to hold things together.
A knock rattled at the door. “Samantha? Are you okay?”
“Fine!” She called and stared back into the mirror. Liar, liar.
The knob rattled. Max was trying to get in, but the attempt wouldn’t do him much good. She’d locked the door. “Give me just a minute!”
Get out. Run. The tension had her body tight again. She couldn’t stay with Max. She should not have made the mistake of falling asleep in his bed. Her defenses came down when she slept.
Water dripped down her face and splashed into the granite sink.
“Samantha, open the door.” Quiet. Firm.
Don’t show fear. Don’t ever show fear. She turned off the water. Slowly, taking her time, she opened the door. A smile was already on her lips, the water drying on her skin, when she faced him. “Sorry, Max, I think I’m going to have to take a rain—”
“Stop it.” His gaze raked her face.
Sam let her brows rise. “Uh, stop what?” He didn’t know how fast her heart was beating. Didn’t know that her muscles were locked.
Max grabbed her hand and tugged her toward him. “We don’t have to f**k.”
Blunt. But then, she was fast realizing that was his way. He said what he thought and to hell with everyone else.
Must be nice to be able to live like that. She worried too much about others.
Only with him can I let myself go and just feel pleasure. But there wouldn’t be any more pleasure tonight, and she couldn’t risk letting the memories come back.
“Get in bed, baby.” The words were soft but his hold, the grip that pulled her forward toward the bed, was unbreakable.
The back of her knees bumped into the mattress. “I have to go. I’ve got an early meeting tomorrow. I forgot—”
“Bullshit.” He pushed her onto the bed. She scrambled back, sliding against the cool sheets. Max came in after her, crowding her, and she caught sight of his cock. Big and long and more than ready.
Sam shook her head. “I thought we weren’t—”
He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. The embrace wasn’t sexual. Max was just… holding her.
And that scared her.
“Go to sleep, Samantha.”
In his arms. Her body stiffened even more.
“If the dreams come back, I’ll wake you up.” Max stretched, snapped off the lamp, and turned his head back toward her. “You’re not the only one with nightmares.”
He didn’t understand.
Max pulled her closer. “Sleep.”
No, he didn’t understand, but—but she didn’t want to be alone. Wasn’t that why she’d gone to that bar in the first place? To find someone else? To feel skin against hers? To know someone wanted her? That someone didn’t see her as twisted and broken?
Moonlight fell on her, pouring through the glass windowpanes. She turned her head away from Max because she didn’t want him to see her face.
Sam licked her lips, felt the comfort of his embrace, and finally, Christ, finally, almost believed she was safe.
Safe, in the arms of a stranger.
She was so screwed up.
• • •
The stench of bleach burned his nose when he entered the house on the end of Sycamore Lane.
He’d cleaned the shack himself, every inch, because he wanted to make sure that the job had been done right. There’d be no mistakes on his watch. This was too important.
The chair sat waiting in the back bedroom. The wooden chair was the only piece of furniture in the ten-by-thirteen-foot space. The oak gleamed now, but it had been stained red earlier. The blood had dripped onto the hardwood floor.
Jeremy Briar hadn’t died easily. He’d slit Jeremy’s throat, not enough to sever the jugular but enough to stop the ass**le’s screams. He hadn’t sliced the guy’s throat because he’d been afraid someone might hear Jeremy. No chance of that out here. He just hadn’t wanted to hear the desperate cries and the begging anymore.
Begging didn’t work with him.
Only money stopped his hand. If Briar’s father had just paid the ransom…
Then Morgan Briar wouldn’t have been forced to scrape his only son’s flesh and blood off the driveway.
A car’s engine sounded outside. A soft purr. He glanced over at the window. Right on time.