This time the kiss was very mutual. Was it just sympathy, or had this powerful attraction existed all along? Either way, she was not stupid enough to think this was a good idea, but she let him take her face in his hands. His fingers explored as a blind man’s would and brushed across her lips.

He kissed her again, a deeply sensuous kiss, and his hands caressed her neck and shoulders. He touched her breasts, lightly and through two layers of fabric, but it was enough, and Jenna felt both a shiver of pleasure and a stab of claustrophobic panic. She stiffened and caught her breath sharply.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked, his voice husky.

“No,” she said, but faintly. Yes. God, yes.

“Just tell me,” he said. “Now would be a good time.”

“No.” She was glad he had asked, though. She wasn’t about to be raped by Barbara Raymond’s killer. No, she wasn’t afraid of what he would do, but of what he could make her do—or feel. She didn’t want to be hurt again as Patrick had hurt her.