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An Excerpt From: FLESH AND BLOOD
© Copyright ELISE ADAMS, 2005.
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave, Inc.
She broke free of the trees
and rushed up the stone steps to the cabin door. To safety.
To Sam Kincaid.
Could she trust him? Paul
had. He’d trusted Sam enough to hire him as a bodyguard for the times he transported
his formula back and forth from the lab. Trusted him enough to make sure
Faith knew where to find Sam, should anything happen to Paul. Despite her
husband’s assurances, standing at Sam’s doorway brought to mind standing at
the entrance to a bear’s cave as it woke from hibernation.
She raised her fist and
knocked on the door, her hand shaking so hard it barely made a sound. She
drew a deep breath and tried again. An owl hooted somewhere in the
distance. Leaves rustled behind her. She spun, found glowing eyes—a
wolf?—staring at her out of the darkness of the woods. The front yard. The
place where she’d just been. A shiver ran through her. She pounded on the
door. Please. Please be home. Please, Sam, open the door.
The animal turned and fled.
A shaky, hysterical laugh bubbled from her throat. His car sat in a small,
cleared spot next to the house. Another laugh broke free. She might just
make it after all. One more hurdle. Now she had to convince the man in the
cabin to save her life. Sam Kincaid was a virtual stranger—a man she’d met
the few times he’d been at her home. His intense, assessing gaze had
followed her wherever she moved, chilling her blood yet heating her body at
the same time. Hard. Shadowy. Dangerous. He dampened her panties like no man
ever had. Haunted her dreams with visions of dark, forbidden sex.
For the two weeks before
Paul’s death, Sam had been a constant presence in their house. For
protection, Paul had told her. He hadn’t done a thing to make her feel
safe. No. Just the opposite. Put her off balance. Made her wanton. Needy.
Made her forget herself, and who she’d become. She had spent many nights
hiding in her private bedroom, avoiding the man who twisted her insides
into knots. Avoiding the mind games he played, the way he frightened her,
made her want things she had long ago tried to forget.
How ironic that now, after
he hadn’t been able to stop Paul’s murder, she stood on his front doorstep
ready to offer him anything in exchange for his protection. Anything.
Even if it meant making a deal with the devil himself. Sam’s services would
come with a price. How steep would that price be? If he wanted money, she
had more than enough. If he wanted something else… She sighed. There didn’t
seem to be much choice in the matter. What he wanted from her, beyond
money, had been clear in his dark gaze every time he looked at her. If it
came to using her body as a bargaining chip, so be it. Alone and desperate,
she had nowhere else to turn.
She raised her fist and
pounded on the door again.
Footsteps sounded on the
other side of the door. It swung open as if in slow motion, groaning in
protest, and then Sam loomed in front of her. Her heart thumped against the
wall of her chest as his gaze locked with hers. His deep green eyes bore
straight into her soul. Aggravation laced his expression, his mouth set in
a hard, cold line. She shuddered, bit back a strangled whimper. Dark
stubble covered his jaw, hiding most of the long scars that lined the right
side of his face. He wore nothing but a pair of faded jeans, zipped but
unbuttoned, exposing too much golden skin. She gulped.
“Mrs. Richardson.” His
voice, hypnotic in cadence, soft yet menacing, sent a shiver to the tips of
her toes.
“Faith.” She swallowed
against the hot lump in her throat, ran a hand through the tangled strands
of her hair.
“Faith,” he repeated, his
mouth caressing the single syllable. “I’m sorry about your husband.”
“You’re lying.” The words
left her mouth before she could stop them. She winced.
He shrugged, a mocking smile
tugging at one corner of his mouth. “Perhaps. Do you need something, or do
you always call on near-strangers in the middle of the night?”
“Did you forget your
manners?”
He barked a rough laugh,
crossed his arms over the broad expanse of his chest. “What do I need
manners for?”
I’ll give you manners,
you big jerk. She shook off his callous words and drew a deep breath. Do
it now. It isn’t going to get easier, and he’s certainly not going to try
to pry it out of you.
“I need help.”
His eyes denied her request,
though he had yet to open his mouth.
No. Don’t send me away.
Hear me out. My life is at stake. “Please let me in. I can explain
everything. I don’t feel safe standing out here like this.”
He said nothing, raised one
thick, dark eyebrow and propped his hip on the doorframe. His heated gaze
raked the length of her body with excruciating slowness, traveling from her
eyes to the tips of her toes and back up again. He closed his eyes for a
brief second, snapped them open and shook his head. Finally, he stepped
back. “You can come in, but all the talking in the world isn’t going to
convince me to help you.”
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