Page 10 of The Survivor
Indignation colored her cheeks. “Excuse me?”
For the first time since they’d met, he shot her a grin. “I mean, is it cold or anything? This car has top-of-the-line seat warmers. I could turn yours on if you’d like.”
“Oh. No, that’s okay,” she stammered, still feeling winded by the unexpected smile tugging on the corners of his mouth. Lord, this man looked gorgeous when he smiled.
“Suit yourself.” He shrugged and turned on the ignition, then pressed a button under the dashboard and gave a contented sigh. “God bless seat warmers.”
Oh to be the seat under that man’s ass.
The sly little thought popped into her head before she could stop it. It was exactly the type of thing she would’ve thought once upon a time, when she’d had a successful modeling career and a parade of men at her door. Her best friend, Susan, had always teased her about the mischievous little comments she’d used to make.
God, she missed the days when she’d been…carefree. Happy. She missed Susan, too, but she knew that temporarily severing ties with the people in her life was for the best.
She leaned against the soft headrest behind her, shooting Blake a sideways glance as he backed out of the driveway and turned the SUV around. They didn’t speak as he drove down the icy road. She listened to the sound of snow crunching underneath the tires and the soft strains of country music floating out of the stereo speakers.
Her pulse quickened the moment they turned onto the main street leading toward the highway. She inhaled slowly, willing her pulse to slow. She didn’t want Blake to know that the thought of returning to civilization scared the crap out of her.
“It’ll be okay, Samantha.”
His quiet voice and words of reassurance made surprise jolt through her. Had he read her mind, or was her fear written on her face? She hadn’t thought it was, but since the idea of her features giving her away wasn’t as unsettling as the idea of Blake finding a way into her head, she preferred to consider herself transparent.
“Sam,” she finally said, not responding to his astute remark. “You can call me Sam.”
“All right. It’ll be okay, Sam,” he repeated.
“I know.” She blew out a shaky breath. “Of course it’ll be okay.”
He shot her a quick glance, the expression in his deep brown eyes telling her that he didn’t quite believe her. “By this time tomorrow, you’ll be back in your farmhouse, doing—what is it you do all the way out there? Puzzles, crosswords? Do you like to read?”
He was trying to distract her and they both knew it. But she welcomed the distraction nevertheless. “I read a lot, actually,” she admitted, playing with the sleeve of her warm wool sweater.
“What do you read?” His voice remained relaxed, even as he turned onto the on ramp of the highway and easily merged with traffic.
Her gaze darted to the window, fixing on the cars and trucks and vans whizzing by. Her pulse accelerated, just a little, at the sounds of tires squealing and horns blaring, at the sight of faceless, nameless people driving alongside them. Overhead, the late-afternoon sun disappeared behind a patch of thick gray clouds the moment they picked up speed. An omen of things to come?
Pushing aside the disturbing notion, she focused on Blake’s question. “I like mysteries. Some romance.”
“Bodice-rippers, huh?”
“Why do men always call them that?”
He chuckled. “Because the covers always depict a half-naked Fabio ripping the bodice off a fair maiden.”
“Well, what do you like to read? Or are you too busy for that?”
“You hit the nail on the head with that one. With my caseload, I’m lucky if I get past the first page of a novel. I used to read a lot of thrillers though.”
“Is that why you do this job, for the thrills?”
The question slipped out before she could stop it, but she regretted it the second his voice turned harsh. “There’s nothing thrilling about chasing monsters.”
She drew in a breath. “I…you’re right. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.”
She heard him take a breath of his own. “No, I’m the one who should be sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”
Out of newfound habit, her fingers slid down to her wrist and rubbed that irritating scar. For a long while they drove in silence before she said, “You’ve been after him a long time, haven’t you?”
He didn’t need to ask her whohewas. “Almost eight months now.”
