He was silent for a long time. Too long. Long enough that she knew he didn’t approve. She knew why. Zahra tended to blurt things out. She could overshare at times, but she also could keep confidences when it mattered. If Stella asked her not to breathe a word to anyone, she would go to her grave never speaking a word. That was Zahra. In any case, she didn’t need Sam’s approval. She wasn’t that woman.
“Do any of your other friends know who you are?” Before she could answer he sighed, his long fingers moving to the nape of her neck to begin a slow massage. “Raine. She did a background check on you and she would be thorough about it.”
She attempted to turn her head, but his fingers felt too good and they prevented all movement, so she just held still and let him soothe the tension from her. “How do you know that?” Raine knew about Sam. Sam knew about Raine. She just wanted to go back to scheduling her events at the resort. She thought that was complicated. Now she had killers to worry about.
“She won’t run her mouth.”
“As opposed to Zahra, who might?” This time she didn’t care about the soothing massage, or the fact that he was the only person who had ever helped her in the middle of the night when the world had come crashing down. Zahra was her best friend, completely loyal to her, and she wasn’t going to have him act as if Zahra couldn’t be trusted.
“Woman.” His dark eyes caught the moon through the window, glinting at her with amusement.
Her stomach did an unexpected roll. He didn’t look like that ever. His harsh features softened, eyes drifting over her face as if he might want to devour her.
“Man,” she whispered back.
“You think I can’t see inside her? I spent most of my life reading people to stay alive. Not only does she love you, but she’s as loyal as they come. I think she’d chew off her own arm before she’d tell someone who you are.”
His straight white teeth flashed in the briefest of smiles and she nearly fell out of his lap. He didn’t do that. Smiles were so rare they felt like a gift. She touched her fingers to his mouth. “What was that for?” Because she was going to do it again. Often. She liked that he “read” Zahra and recognized she was loyal.
“You have such a nasty little temper. Cracks me up sometimes.”
“My temper cracks you up?” Her eyebrows drew together in the darkest scowl she could summon. “I don’t have a temper. If I do, it’s a very tiny one.”
“Turn around and let me massage your shoulders. You get very upset when anyone is threatening your friends. Even a perceived threat.”
“There was a but in there when you were giving Zahra a compliment. I could hear it in your voice. What was that?” She turned around because she wanted the massage. Who would turn that down?
He took the water bottle out of her hands and put it on the nightstand before settling both hands on her shoulders. He had big hands and strong fingers. “When she drinks, she’s totally uninhibited. She has no idea what is coming out of her mouth.”
“You can say that of anyone, Sam.”
He leaned close, his mouth next to her ear so that his lips brushed against her lobe. “That’s not so. You might blurt out how hot you think I am, but you would never talk about your real identity.”
Her entire body turned red, she was certain of it. She tried not to choke. She had said it to the others right where he could hear it. She knew she had.
“She wouldn’t have any reason to tell anyone.”
“Not even Bruce?”
“She wouldn’t tell Bruce,” Stella told him with absolute confidence.
He was silent, continuing to massage the tension from her while she sat in his lap, Bailey resting his large, heavy head on her leg. She petted the Airedale, her fingers in the curly fur, listening to the sounds of the night, realizing Sam had managed to distance the nightmare from her with his presence, letting her talk and then distracting her with their discussion.
“No, she wouldn’t tell Bruce,” he agreed eventually, and easily lifted her by putting his hands around her waist, to set her on the mattress. “I’m going to make you hot chocolate. You can sketch what you saw and write out the details in the journal you keep. When I come back, if you’re ready, you can tell me about it.”
He hadn’t even asked her to tell him about the nightmare. She waited until he was out of her bedroom before snapping on the small lamp beside the bed and unlocking and then reaching into the drawer where she kept her journal and sketchpad. She visualized everything she saw in her nightmare. There were no faces, but she saw the woman’s blonde hair and athletic clothing. She’d been stylish, as if she’d chosen her clothing more for looks than because they were the best for hiking the trails. A newbie? She wasn’t his normal partner then, that was why he fussed over her, making certain her backpack sat just right. He looked comfortable; she didn’t, but was willing. This was something she wanted to do with him.