Free White Heat by Jill Shalvis

tense and tight with what she realized was fear. For her. “You all right?” he demanded, and when she just stared at him, he added a little shake. “ Lyndie. Are you all right?”
    Sure. Unless she counted the yearning for the safety of his arms. But she didn’t need anyone’s arms, warm or strong or otherwise. She never had. She had no idea then, why she shook her head no in answer to his question. “I don’t think so, no.”
    “God.” He hauled her into the arms she’d wanted around her. “I’m sorry.”
    She could feel the pounding of his heart, the bite of his wet fingers spread wide on her back. It didn’t feel like anything but the protective hug of a man she could count on, who’d be there if she needed him.
    Like now. Horrifying herself, she let out a sound that might have been a pathetic whimper.
    He pulled back, only to run his hands over her body. “What’s hurt?”
    Actually, she had no idea. If she was relying on a man she didn’t even know for comfort, when she never relied on anyone, then no doubt, she’d hit her head. She glanced down at herself. Two arms, two legs…everything seemed to be in focus and all in one piece, but before she could answer, he’d put his hands on her face, tilting it up to his.
    “Lyndie.” His voice was hoarse, rough. His clothes clung to his every hard inch. The yellow shirt delineated the fact that he was made up of corded muscle, without an inch of excess. Something she already knew, now that she’d been plastered against him. He had a scrape over his chin and another on his throat, both bleeding lightly, and yet he never took his eyes off her. “Talk to me.”
    Because he looked so serious, and because she was quite relieved to find herself in one piece, she let out a strangled sound that was half laugh, half cry. “I’m…good.”
    He didn’t look convinced. His finger gently stroked her jaw, and the growing swelling there from where a rock had glanced her.
    “Superficial stuff,” she whispered. “Really.” For a moment, a very brief moment, she felt like putting her mouth to his cuts and bruises to kiss them all better, and with another man she might have, but she retained her sanity. Griffin Moore—sexy, brooding, haunted—was not a man to mess with. “Guess what…we lived.”
    He blinked once, slow as an owl. “Yeah.”
    Because she was still just a bit in shock, she splashed him, and then because he looked so surprised, she did it again. “Feel that? Alive. ”
    Another slow blink, and then the hands that he’d put on her face tightened, just a little. His expression was fierce, so fierce, but before she could soothe him, he’d leaned in, sinking his fingers in the tangled mess of her hair.
    She could feel the heat of his breath against her face, and then her own shockingly needy response.
    “We’re okay,” he murmured.
    “Right.” Against her brain’s command, her body struggled to get even closer to his. “We’re okay.”
    He stared down into her face, specifically at her mouth, which she nervously wet with her tongue, making him groan, and then in the next breath, his mouth hungrily covered hers.
    Just one quick, hard kiss. She had the time to think he tasted like sun and incredibly yummy man, but then it was over before she could even fully register it.
    He stared at her, still close enough to bring his mouth back to hers without effort if he chose to, which to her disappointment, he didn’t.
    “What was that?” she asked, breath heaving even more now.
    “A good, hard fall.”
    “No, after that.”
    “You were in shock.”
    “Was not. You put your lips on mine.”
    “I kissed you.” His gaze dropped to her mouth again. Speculation and something else flickered in his expression. It was the something else that got to her.
    “It was a confirmation of your statement,” he said. “We’re alive.”
    As a rule, most men were intimidated by her, and if they weren’t, well, then they usually weren’t interested. In all