Deep in the Heart by Sharon Sala Page B

of clothing didn’t bother him at all. He liked the shorts and jeans that she’d stuffed into her carryall when they’d made their escape. He especially liked the soft T-shirts she wore. They cupped her body in the exact same places that he would, if he could.
    He didn’t know that Samantha had seen that look on his face when he thought she wasn’t looking. He didn’t know that she was watching his interest turn to intrigue, and intrigue to desire. If he had, he would have denied it in a heartbeat, as Samantha would have done.
    In her opinion, her Johnny had been faithful and trustworthy to a fault. And she already knew that John Thomas Knight could be trusted with her life. He’d proven that by coming after her. She just wasn’t certain how far to trust John Thomas, the man, with her heart.
    He’d made love with her and then made tracks with her trust. After seeing him again, she realized that she’d never really forgiven him. And so they circled each other, warily and carefully, and tried to pretend nothing was wrong.
    John Thomas stared at the clock again as an owl hooted in a tree outside his window. Rebel woofed softly from the porch as a reminder to whatever was out there that invading his territory was not permitted.
    The bedsprings squeaked in the room across the hall and, even from here, John Thomas could hear her moan. He could tell from the sounds of her tossing and turning that she was dreaming again. He swung his long legs over the side of the bed, and then sat quietly in the darkness, listening. When the scream came, he was across the hall and into her room before Rebel even had time to react to the broken silence.
    “No!” she screamed.
    Samantha was running. Her legs moved, but seemed to cover no distance. The clutch of hands on her shoulder was painful and swift. The swirl of heat from his breath on the back of her neck sent her rocketing forward, fighting the tangle of bedclothes and dreams in a desperate desire to escape from the nightmare. And then she was snatched from hell into heaven as strong arms yanked her from her bed.
    “Samantha, honey. Wake up! Wake up! It’s me, Johnny. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
    He dropped down onto the side of her bed and pulled her across his lap, rocking his body along with hers as she threw her arms around his neck, buried her face beneath his chin, and swallowed the last of her sobs.
    And when she could think past the panic, she sighed and leaned against the wall of his chest, holding her hands against her breasts in an odd, protective manner. But it was not to keep John Thomas from touching her. It was to keep her hammering heart where it belonged. Long moments passed as he held her and rocked her, allowing panic to subside and reality to return.
    “Are you okay?” he finally asked.
    His voice was deep. It echoed in the quiet…in the dark…and in her heart. In that moment, Samantha faced a fact she’d been trying to ignore. She knew that she had to find a way to renew her faith and trust in this man, because if she had to tell Johnny good-bye a second time, she’d never be okay again.
    The summer heat drew them together, melding the softness of her skin with the muscle of his own. Another kind of heat simmered between them. An awareness that if they’d let it, more than comfort would pass between them this night.
    She stirred in his lap and felt the answering response of his own body beneath her. Then she moaned softly and buried her face in her hands. She wasn’t ready for this, but needn’t have worried. John Thomas wasn’t either. He had his own set of demons to exorcise.
    He lifted her from his lap, laying her gently back onto the bed, and walked from the room without explanation. Certain that she’d angered him, she was vaguely surprised when he returned moments later.
    The stark whiteness of his briefs and the long, muscular shape of his body were easy to discern through the half-light of moonglow. An old memory of how their bodies