Page 32 of Craving Danger

“Samantha.” When my eyes snap to him, he tilts his head. “Nothing about this is insane. You have all the time in the world and don’t have to lie down right now.”

The man’s voice has some kind of magical power because I instantly feel calmer.

Nodding, I set my handbag down on the bed. “Thank you for being so understanding.”

“There’s no need to thank me. I’m not a therapist, but I’m glad I can help you in some way.”

My gaze settles on him, and a smile wavers around my lips. “Are you always this nice?”

Instead of answering the question, he lets out a soft chuckle.

My eyes return to the bed, and I stare at the black covers.

Just get on it.

My hands curl into fists as I sit down on the side of the bed, and I have to close my eyes to focus on breathing through the wave of panic that threatens to overwhelm me.

“Can you talk, please?” My voice is filled with the tension I’m feeling.

“Earlier this week, I had to listen to two grown men argue about country music. It was the most tiring conversation I’ve ever listened to.”

The corner of my mouth lifts. “Yeah? I take it you’re not a fan of country music?”

“Not when I have to listen to it on a daily basis.”

While he’s speaking, I move further up the bed. My body tenses and my breaths speed up, but I keep going until I can lean back against the pillows.

My stomach churns, and the memories creep around the edges of my mind.

“What kind of music do you like?” he asks.

“Ah…” My tongue darts out to wet my dry lips, and my heart is beating so loudly it sounds like it’s taken up residence in my ears.

My side is on fire, and my mind is reeling with horror as I feel his tongue swipe over my skin to lick up my blood.

“Samantha?”

My eyes fly open and snap to the corner of the room where my mystery man sits. I notice his fingers are tightly linked. It’s the only sign that he’s on edge.

“What kind of music do you like?” he repeats his question.

“Uhm. Anything. I’m not fussy.”

I wrap my arms tightly around my waist and glance down to where the blue and white top I’m wearing covers Todd’s name that he carved into me with a scalpel.

Licking my lips again, I ask, “Do you have any tattoos?”

“Yes.”

My gaze darts to his. “Can you recommend a tattoo artist?”

“I’ll give you the address before you leave.”

My attention returns to the bed, and my muscles lock in place when I think about moving down into a lying position.

Come on! You can do this.

It takes a lot of strength to unwrap my arms from around my waist, and placing my hands on the covers, I slowly scoot down.

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