It took a moment for the realization to sink in. She was safe, Rod was here, Tomas was unconscious, and the horror was over—at least for now. Cara released her pent-up breath, but the adrenaline continued to pump. Delayed panic whispered unexpectedly along her nerves and left her trembling. She sank down on the pile of burlap and peered up at Rod through the darkness. Even dirty, unshaven and tired, he had never looked more wonderful. Even with that familiar tone in his voice—half amused, half impatient—she’d never been happier to hear him. “I think I’ll just hang onto the knife a little longer, if you don’t mind,” she said in a shaky voice. “It makes me feel more secure.” The harsh line of his mouth softened slightly. “I could do that,” Rod suggested quietly, dropping down beside her. Then she got a really good look at his expression. It was far from the dispassionate one she’d expected. Hazel eyes, darkened by a raw, passionate hunger, met hers. The gaze caressed and lingered as if an eternity would not be long enough to reassure him that she was uninjured.
