Page 34 of The Survivor
Just freaking great. “All right,” he said with a sigh. “Thanks for letting me know.”
“Knight says to keep Samantha out of sight while we look into the florist theory. He doesn’t want her gallivanting around in public and attracting unwanted attention.”
“Don’t worry, she’s not going anywhere.”
He hung up the phone and headed to the kitchen counter, where he poured himself a cup of black coffee. He thought about what transpired between him and Sam last night, how he’d almost kissed her, and heat surged through him, accompanied by a flicker of agitation. Dammit. He needed to stop this. These growing feelings for Sam would only complicate matters.
His chest constricted as he remembered how beautiful she’d looked standing under the falling snow, her dark hair cascading down her slender shoulders, her eyes glimmering with passion. He either deserved a medal for his restraint, or a kick in the shin for the sheer stupidity of pushing away a woman like Samantha Dawson.
He was leaning toward the shin kick when her sleepy voice filled the kitchen.
“Morning,” she murmured, offering a tiny yawn that brought a smile to his lips.
With her thin nightshirt hanging over her knees and her brown hair tousled from sleep, she was the prettiest sight he’d seen in a very long time.
“Good morning,” he responded, leaning against the counter with his mug in hand.
“There’d better be enough coffee left for me. I’m still half-asleep.”
“Isn’t it too early to start making demands?”
“Demands?” She snorted. “A model doesn’t demand. She is simply given.”
He threw his head back and laughed.
“It’s true,” she insisted, her eyes twinkling. “The life of a model has its perks.”
“Yeah, like what?”
She looked thoughtful as she poured herself some coffee. “You know when you go to a fancy-pants restaurant and the maître d’ tells you there aren’t any tables? Well, he’s totally putting you on. There was always a table for me, you know, being a VIP and all.” Her eyes sparkled playfully.
“Of course,” he said graciously.
“And then there was traveling first-class all the time. Seriously, never fly unless it’s first-class.” She stared at him with wide eyes, as if she’d just stumbled upon the Hope Diamond at a garage sale. “Did you know they give youslippers?”
“My God. I can’t believe I’ve been missing out on first-class slippers all these years.”
She jabbed her finger in the air. “Hey, those slippers were unbelievably comfortable.” She sipped her coffee, then broke out in a sexy grin. “Oh, and I met Brad Pitt once.”
He faked a jaw drop.
“Yeah, that jaw better be dropping,” she teased. “That one-minute meeting was a highlight of my life. You know what he said to me?” She didn’t wait for him to hazard a guess. “‘Nice to meet you’! How wild is that?”
“Definitely wild,” he agreed, unable to keep the amusement out of his tone.
He loved seeing her like this. Lighthearted, happy, chattering on about airplane slippers and some actor she’d met. Duringtheir first encounter back at the farmhouse, he’d thought the trauma she’d faced had sucked the life out of her. But he was wrong.Thiswas the real Samantha Dawson. The laughter dancing in her stormy gray eyes. The relaxed yet elegant demeanor. The tiny grin curving her full rosy lips.
Dear Lord, he wanted to kiss her. Just pull her into his arms and devour her mouth while he touched every inch of her gorgeous body.
Suppressing the urge, he lifted his mug to his lips and took a long sip. As he watched her to do the same, a thought suddenly came to mind.
“What is it?” she asked, sensing his indecision to speak.
“When this is over…will you go back to modeling?”
The joy drained from her face and he immediately regretted the question. “No,” she answered quietly.
“Because of the scar?”
