She believed him.
“You’re like a rose,” he told her, surprising her with words that were sweet. Not his style. “Beautiful on the outside. Vibrant and so bright, a fucking light drawing me in.”
Her breath had frozen in her lungs. And when he gave her a slow grin, she could have sworn her heart jumped right out of her chest.
“But you’ve got thorns, don’t you, my Whitney?” He leaned toward her and put his palms on the top of the table. “Beautiful but strong, and if someone comes at you too hard, I think you just might cut them…”
She forced a laugh. “I’m hardly armed with a knife.” Or thorns.
“Um. Force isn’t the way to go with a rose. You don’t just grab it. Don’t hold it too hard. You do that, you’ll crush the rose. Destroy the petals. And you’ll bleed.”
There was no way she could look away from his eyes.
“You have to be careful if you want to touch a rose. Go slowly. Carefully. Be more tender than you’ve ever been with anything in your life.”
Holy crap. He was hot. His words were seducing her as he leaned forward and rumbled to her in that deep, sexy voice of his. She was craning up toward him, and all she wanted was his mouth on hers.
But if he kissed her, what would happen next?
Whitney couldn’t wait to find out. Her lips parted, and she could practically taste him.
“Do you want my mouth?” he rasped.
Wasn’t it obvious?
“If you do, then ask for it.”
Fine. “Kiss me.”
His lips brushed over hers. Careful. Tender.
Whitney wanted a lot more. “I’m not going to make you bleed,” she whispered against his lips. “I won’t hurt you.” Her lashes lifted, and she stared into his gaze. “I want you.”
His mouth came back toward hers again. He caught her lower lip with his teeth. Tugged. Then his tongue thrust inside, and desire exploded within her as—
***
Whitney jerked upright in bed. Her breath panted in and out, and she put her hand over her racing heart. For a moment, she was lost as she stared into the darkness around her.
The dream was fading. Only bits and pieces remained. But she wasn’t convinced it had been a dream. She thought it might have been a memory.
Sensory memories.
Her therapist had told her those might be coming. Of course, she’d already known about sensory memories. Memories that could come from the five senses. Like when you smelled something and then that scent got associated with an event. Or a particular sound could stir a memory of a place. Or a person.
She could remember kissing Ramsey. When she’d kissed him that night, had it triggered something in her mind? Triggered the flashes she’d had while she slept?
Because for a while there, everything had seemed so real. She struggled to hold on to the pieces. To pull them back to her.
Roses.
Whitney shoved aside the cover. Jumped out of bed. Her bare feet flew across the hardwood floor as she bounded into her kitchen. She hit the lights.
A red rose waited in a vase on her kitchen table. A single red rose. She’d found the rose on her doorstep the previous day.
Had Ramsey left that rose for her? If so, why had he turned her away when she’d been at his bar? What game was he playing?
***
The kitchen light had just flashed on in Whitney’s house. Ramsey’s eyes narrowed as he stared at that light. It was close to four a.m.
Why was she awake? He knew why the hell he was awake. When she’d first disappeared, he hadn’t been able to sleep at all.
At first, he’d thought that she’d just left him. Changed her mind about them.
Then…then the truth had come out.
Whitney Augustine had been the presumed victim of a serial killer. His Whitney had been taken. When he should have been protecting her.
Eventually, a confession had come. A confession about her murder. Her body had been dumped in the Gulf. And all he’d wanted to do was rip apart anyone and everyone who’d ever hurt her—
I hurt her. I let her down. I pulled her into my world.
When he’d learned that she was alive, that she’d survived—because his Whitney was such a fucking amazing fighter—
He stopped the thought. She’s not mine. He had to stop thinking of her that way. He had to—
Movement caught his eye. Someone was sneaking toward her house. A shadow creeping carefully forward.
Fury pumped through his body. Some asshole intended to break into Whitney’s place? Oh, hell, no. Without making a sound, Ramsey left his spot beneath the heavy branches of a nearby tree and rushed toward that figure. The jerk dropped something on her porch and spun to bound away. He wasn’t even looking where he was going.
So Ramsey just lifted one arm, and he let the creep plow straight into it. The guy was rushing so fast and hard that when he hit Ramsey’s arm, he immediately flew backward and slammed down onto the sidewalk.
He also screamed.
Ramsey bent and grabbed him by the shirtfront. “Hey, asshole. What the hell did you think you were doing?”
The front porch light turned on, almost blinding in its brightness. The pad of footsteps rushed across the porch. “What is happening out here?” Whitney’s shocked voice.
She’d actually just run outside? Run straight to danger? “Get in the house,” Ramsey snarled.
“Help me, lady!” The guy on the ground twisted and heaved beneath Ramsey’s hold. He didn’t get free, though. No way would he get free. “This psycho just attacked me!”
Ramsey studied the man in his grasp. Early twenties. Thinning hair. A stupid, bright shirt with a big, red bird on the front. “You tried to break into her house.”
Whitney gasped.
She still hadn’t gone inside. “In the house,” he ordered.
“No, thank you,” Whitney snapped back as she came even closer. “I’m calling the cops!”
“Yes!” From the man on the ground. “Please, do it! He attacked me! I was just doing my job and he—”
“What job?” Ramsey demanded.
“D-delivering the flower. Just like last time. I was—”
Ramsey hauled the jerk to his feet. “Who the hell delivers flowers at this time of night?”
“Uh, I do?” Fearful. “Guy said it was a surprise. W-wanted them here for his lady when she went to work first thing. Was just easier for me to stop after my shift, so I brought the rose now and—”
“There’s a rose on my mat,” Whitney said.
Finally, Ramsey’s head whipped toward her. Mostly because the woman just would not listen to reason and go inside like she was supposed to do so she could be safe. And when he saw her…
Legs for days. Long, perfect legs.
Whitney was clad in a loose, silky robe. The robe stopped at her thighs and showed off her gorgeous legs and her bare feet. One of her hands clutched a phone.
From what he could tell, she hadn’t made a call yet. Not that he needed the cops to handle this prick. But first… “Clothes.”
Her brow furrowed.
“Could you put on clothes?” he managed to grit out.
“I have on a gown and I’m wearing a robe. Those are clothes. Focus on the important matter, would you?” Whitney snapped right back at him. “In case you don’t know what that matter is…it would be the man you’re currently holding captive.”