Page 40 of The Survivor
“He tied me up, facedown, to my own bed. He tore off my dress and I lay there naked, convinced he would not only rape me, but slit my throat.” She paused. “You never found the knife, did you? Not in any of your pictures because he took it with him. But I saw it, Blake.”
She stopped again, willing every morsel of strength she possessed to keep the pain at bay, far enough away so that she didn’t break down.
“It was steel, big and sharp and it shone in the little bit of light coming through the window. He held it to my throat, dragged it over my body instead of using his fingers. I told myself that if I ever survived I would never let another man touch me. But I let you.”
“Sam, please—”
“Then he dug the blade into my skin. I was crying, the pain was so excruciating. I passed out from it, but woke up just as he made the first cut in my left wrist.”
“Goddammit, Samantha—”
“He sliced my other one. I couldn’t see him, but I could feel him standing there and watching me. Watching me bleed.” She never took her eyes off Blake’s. “I told myself that if I survived I’d never let another man look at me that way. I’d never be vulnerable again, never give anyone the opportunity tomakeme vulnerable. But you did, Blake.”
She rose slowly, reaching for the hem of her sweater before pulling it over her head. She wore a pink lace bra underneath and Blake’s dark eyes darted unmistakably to her chest and rested on her covered breasts.
“I want you because you make me feel alive. Because I trust myself to be vulnerable when I’m with you. And because I trust that you can look at this and not be disgusted.”
She fought for air, closing her mouth before the sob in her throat could slip out. And then she turned around and gave him a candid eyeful of the eight-inch scar on her back.
Sam could feel his gaze burning into her skin and was grateful that she couldn’t see his expression. The scar had healed nicely. No longer the angry red slashes that formed together to create a rose. Just faded pink lines that would one day become white, or disappear entirely if she chose to undergo the surgery the doctors had suggested. None of that mattered, though.
To her it would always be a sickening reminder that a madman had branded her. An ugly symbol of the night that had changed her life.
“It’s not pretty, is it?” she whispered.
She heard his pants rustle as he stood up. Her first thought was that he would walk away in horror, and that caused a chill to sweep up her body and tighten like a vise around her heart.
“It’s beautiful.”
Those two soft words broke through her fears. “What?”
She felt him come up behind her, and then his big warm hands were touching her exposed skin. He traced each line ofraised tissue with his fingers, replacing the chill with a pulsing heat that spread over all he touched. His caress was gentle, erotic, and in response her knees trembled, buckled beneath her.
Strong hands gripped her waist, keeping her steady. She nearly keeled over again when something hot pressed against her shoulder. His mouth. A cross between a moan and a whimper slid out of her throat. Her skin quivered under his lips. He kissed the sensitive spot between her shoulder blades, then kneeled down and dragged his mouth lower. Ran his tongue languidly over the rose carved into her.
“You’ve got a war wound, Samantha,” he said huskily, slowing moving up her body and wrapping his arms around her from behind. He pressed his lips to one side of her neck. “You could have given up and died that night, but you didn’t. You fought like hell to stay alive, didn’t you?”
Her eyelids fell closed as he took her earlobe in his mouth and suckled it. “Yes.”
“That’s what that rose represents to me,” he said hoarsely. “It’s a symbol of your strength, Sam.”
He didn’t let her answer, simply whirled her around and crushed her in his embrace. Their mouths found each other with little difficulty, their tongues danced together as if they’d done this hundreds of times before.
He rested his hands on her bare back, sending heat pulsating down to her most intimate place. Her knees buckled again and this time he cupped her bottom and lifted her up against him, never tearing his mouth from hers.
Somehow they found their way upstairs to Blake’s bedroom, though everything became a blur to her. His lips were too intoxicating, his hands too skilled. Her entire body was on fire, hot with pleasure and heavy with need. She didn’t object when Blake gently placed her on the bed.
He reached for the button of her slacks, then paused and met her gaze. “Do you want to stop?” he murmured.
“Do you?”
“I don’t think I could, even if I wanted to.”
It wasn’t the answer she’d wanted, an answer she could even be satisfied with, but it was enough for now.
A shiver sprung up her spine as he pulled down her slacks and exposed the pink cotton panties underneath. She suddenly wished she’d worn sexier lingerie. She wanted to feel beautiful, wanted tolookbeautiful for Blake, but her insecurities diminished when his dark eyes widened at the sight of her barely clad body.
“You’re gorgeous,” he muttered, running a finger over her lower thigh.
