He Kills Me, He Kills Me Not

suburbs.”
    “That’s why you left? To get away from her?”
    “It was one of the reasons.”
    She cleared her throat and brushed an imaginary speck of lint from her shorts. “It’s getting late. We probably should get back.”
    The silence stretched between them but she refused to look up, afraid he’d see the yearning in her eyes. Imagining him as a husband, a father, had her thinking all kinds of thoughts she had no right to be thinking. He was everything she ever thought she’d want in a man, but she knew she wasn’t everything he wanted in a woman. She was damaged goods. Her scars were far more than skin-deep, and she was a fool to hope for what could never be.
    Finally, he started the engines and turned the boat toward the dock. When they were back on solid land again, he led the way with a flashlight and guided her through the path in the woods back toward the house.
    Tension coiled inside her as they crossed the footbridge. They would be back at the house in just a few minutes, and this feeling of closeness, of intimacy, would be gone. He’d go into his study and work on the case. She’d spend another night alone, watching TV or reading a book in the living room, wishing her computer algorithm had been more successful.
    And she’d go to sleep, wondering what would have happened if she hadn’t panicked when he’d kissed her by the creek. Suddenly she didn’t want to wonder anymore. She wanted to know, needed to know. And the only way to know was to try again.
    She stopped at the end of the bridge where the moonlight shined through a break in the trees overhead. She could see Logan’s surprise, his concern, and she hated that the killer had made her such a victim. She wanted Logan to look at her with desire, not pity. “Kiss me,” she whispered, stepping close, wanting to touch but afraid to in case he turned her away.
    His nostrils flared and she heard the sharp intake of his breath as he stared down at her. His hands shook as he reached out his fingers and slowly ran them down the sides of her face, a slow, soft caress that feathered lightly across her scar, a scar she almost never thought about anymore when she was with him. Almost.
    “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice as soft as hers, but deeper, huskier than she’d ever heard him before.
    “Yes.” She closed her eyes, shivering when his thumb caressed her bottom lip.
    He cupped the sides of her face. “Mandy,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, rough. “Look at me.”
    Her eyes flew open and she stared questioningly at him. As she watched, he slowly, ever so slowly slid his fingers into her hair, his intense gaze holding hers, never wavering.
    The first prickling of panic squeezed her chest. She reached up and grabbed his forearms.
    He stopped, but didn’t remove his hands. “Trust me,” he whispered. “Look into my eyes. Trust me.”
    She wanted to, so much, but suddenly her boldness of a moment ago was gone. She was afraid again, afraid she would shatter into a thousand pieces, afraid she would run screaming like a crazy woman if he didn’t stop.
    “Mandy, fight. Don’t let him win.”
    She stared into his eyes, her chest tightening as confusion roiled within her.
    “Breathe, Mandy. Breathe with me, look into my eyes. Don’t close your eyes.”
    She took a deep breath, felt some of the tightness ease in her lungs. His hands still cradled her face, his gaze locked onto hers, a lifeline to the panic rippling through her. He was so patient, and he was looking at her with desire, not pity.
    Forcing her fingers to relax their grip on his arms, instead she wrapped them around his waist. He was so warm and hard. She shuddered as her fingers splayed out across his back. Her eyes slid closed. . . .
    “Open your eyes. Don’t close your eyes.”
    She forced her eyes open, stared into his, watched him as he leaned down and pressed an achingly sweet kiss to her lips. Then he pulled back, just far enough for her to focus on his eyes again.
    “Have I told you how incredibly beautiful you are?” he murmured. His eyes locked on hers as he told her, in vivid detail, exactly how beautiful he thought she was. Then he leaned down and pressed a whisper-soft kiss against her lips. She shivered and flexed her fingertips against his chest, reveling in the warmth of his skin that radiated through the soft cotton fabric of his shirt.
    “There, now, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” he asked.
    She blinked, realizing his hands were buried