Free Her Last Chance by Toni Anderson

she’d panicked she’d phoned Marsh, rather than
dialing 911.
    She looked over her shoulder,
waited for him to catch up. Pru Duvall watched them with a catty expression on
her face—she’d looked at Josie like she was something nasty scraped off the
sole of a shoe.
    “She’s got the hots for you.” Josie
glanced up into hazel eyes that sparked with amber and jade like fall leaves
scattered about the city.
    He shook his head, “She’s a
power-monger. She wants me on my knees groveling.”
    “She wants you on your knees all
right, but I don’t think groveling is what she has in mind.”
    He grinned and she looked away.
    He disturbed her. Made her
thoughts scatter. Made her think about sex.
    Everything about him appealed to
her senses, from the way his suit molded those wide shoulders, the strong
length of his legs, and that perfect face with the lean cheekbones and full
bottom lip. He even smelled great, clean and fresh like the ocean.
    She wanted him.
    Her mouth went dry. She was stunned
to think this way. The whole time she’d been growing up “sex” had been a dirty
word. Her father’s favorite nickname for her had been whore and that was
on a good day. All these years later, her father’s vicious words still hurt.
She made a fist, clenching her fingers so tight her knuckles pulled at her
skin. She’d done everything to prove him wrong, to prove she wasn’t a whore and
that she wasn’t going to get dragged into the gutter like her mother or the
whisky-soaked alcoholic who’d spawned her. That’s why she hadn’t touched a guy
until she’d seduced Marsh last year. That had been a disaster, but at the time
it had felt amazing.
    Somehow this ultraconservative
government agent had flipped a button inside her that made her want to get
naked and busy, and it scared the hell out of her. But not as much as the man
with the big knife did.
    She shivered.
    He put his arm around her
shoulders, startling her, and guided her around a group of college students all
wearing shorts despite the cold weather. Some of the guys were checking her
out. She knew she should be flattered by the stares and murmurs, but the scars
that branded her flesh reminded her how superficial beauty was.
    So maybe it wasn’t the desire to
prove her father wrong that kept her from indulging in physical relationships.
Maybe it was nothing more than simple vanity. Touching Marsh like this, pressed
so close against him, made her heart speed up and excitement flutter along her
veins. She’d always pushed heterosexual males away because she was afraid to
let anyone see her scars. But right now she had a heterosexual male by her side
who’d seen all her many flaws. It didn’t seem to be such a problem anymore.
    But if scars had been her only
issue she’d have just turned out the lights.
    She was screwed up and the bottom
line was she didn’t want to let anyone close. Relying on anyone but herself was
dangerous. She pushed away from Marsh. He only looked surprised it had taken so
long.
    “What happens next?”
    “I’ll set up protective custody,”
his voice went deeper, seductive and compelling, “get you into a safe house—”
    “I’m not going to a safe house.” He
drew in a breath as if to argue, and for the first time in her life she felt
compelled to explain. “Look. Social Services made it their mission to take me
away from the one person in the world I trusted.” A piece of lint clung to his
lapel; she concentrated on brushing it off rather than the emotions that went
hand-in-hand with thinking about Marion. Her gaze settled on the strong column
of his throat, above his starched white collar. “There’s no way I can stand to
be locked up again.”
    “You’d rather be dead?”
    “ I wanted to leave,
remember? To disappear? You’re the one who wants me to stay and, yes, frankly
I’d rather be dead than locked up in some ‘safe house’ waiting for someone to
kill me.” A lump swelled in her throat. “But I’d rather not