She faced him.“My issues started five years ago when Ridley Kemper held his blade to my throat.Ever since then, I’ve had occasional nightmares.Now, with this new threat, they’ve escalated to just about every night.And it doesn’t help that whoever is stalking me uses a knife icon on his messages.”
“Seems a reasonable response to trauma,” Ben said.“To be scared of the thing that threatened you.That event made you face your mortality.I’m no shrink, but I’ve known a lot of guys who came out of their military service with PTSD.Seems like what you’re describing, Sarah.”
She tilted her head.“You think I’ve got Post Traumatic Stress Disorder?”
“I don’t know.I’m just saying there are similarities.”
Drawing a deep breath that made her breasts rise, she said, “Well, I hate it.I hate being so frightened of an inanimate object.It doesn’t seemreasonableto me and I want it to go away.”
“So, you figure that if you learn how to properly use a knife your fears will be calmed?”He scratched his chest.“I like the notion of desensitizing yourself.Once you’ve mastered the thing you’re frightened of, you can conquer it.Something like that?”
Her eyes brightened.“Yes!”
He had to admire her gumption.She wanted to face her fears head on and overcome them.Clearly Sarah wasn’t just a pretty face.He was glad to learn more about her.He wished she hadn’t stopped talking about her life before she’d retired.He wanted to know everything.
“It’ll be dark soon,” he said, “and you’ll want to serve your dinner.There’s not enough room in the house to move around.Let’s wait until after we eat and start in the barn.”
She beamed at him, her face open and pleased, her perfect teeth gleaming, her eyes glittering, just as they had so often for the camera.
She was a true beauty, her skin, her hair, her eyes, her shape.In every way, she was perfect.No wonder the world had worshipped her image.
For a moment, Ben was dazzled.When she turned and bounced into the house, he took off his hat and stabbed fingers through his hair.God, he wanted her.More than any other woman he’d ever met.The fever in him was strong.He tried in vain to will away the persistent hard-on threatening the fly of his jeans.
At the last second, he regained his wits.Before she made it through the door, he called out.“Sarah?”
She turned only her head.
“There’ll be a price.”
Her expression became wary.“A price?”
“When I asked you about your life as a model, you cut the conversation off.I’m still curious.”
Her hand on the door, she lost her smile.“I don’t like talking about those days.”
“I know,” he said softly.“But you will, won’t you?”He watched the battle wage across her face.
After a moment, her reluctance obvious, she nodded.
He was pleased he’d thought to use his leverage.Now, she’d have to face him, talk to him, just the two of them, all alone, for long seconds, minutes, maybe hours.He’d get her full attention.It was an event he’d long craved.
Yet what the hell had he just promised?He shook his head.Life certainly did take strange twists and turns.
Was he really going to teach a supermodel how to kill with a knife?
