by Neesa Hart
His eyes twinkled. “Then you’re going to have a very long day tomorrow, Molly, because in case you’ve forgotten, you’ve got a four o’clock deadline.”
“I’m very good under pressure,” she assured him.
SAM INSISTED on driving Molly’s car home that night. He wasn’t going to risk his life by letting her drive in the heavy festival traffic. Molly had grumbled, but had finally relinquished the keys. They’d sat in companionable silence while Sam negotiated his way through the stream of cars exiting the parking lot.
He liked that about Molly. She didn’t need to fill up empty space with idle chatter. He found that sexy, he realized. He slanted her a quick look. The moon was full, and it bathed her hair and face with the luminescent glow he’d seen in the boathouse. Now, as then, it awakened visions of seeing and touching her skin, of tasting her secrets and of finding all the places on her body that would make her moan.
Sam shifted in his seat as the stream of images had its predictable effect. Molly’s fingers were tapping an idle rhythm on her thigh. They were long and slender, and he could still feel their imprint on his hand.
The heat in his body spiked up another notch. Tonight, he promised himself silently—just as he had when he’d sat in the grandstands with her, just as he had when he’d watched her with her family, just as he had when he’d seen her leaning over that fence and cheering for a duck—tonight, he would coax that look out of her. He’d see her turn to him with an invitation in her gaze that would finally assuage the hunger he’d been harboring for weeks.
As he finally escaped the parking lot traffic, Sam shifted into high gear. Beside him, Molly sighed and leaned back in her seat. “Thanks, Sam,” she said softly.
He glanced at her, his eyebrow raised. “For what?”
“For driving. For being so wonderful with my nieces. For—” Molly hesitated.
“For?”
She took a shaky breath. “For not being who I thought you were.” She looked out the window. “I’m embarrassed. It’s not like me to jump to conclusions.”
“I was in your territory,” he told her. “I understand.”
“You didn’t seem to understand when I was arguing with you these past few weeks.”
His lips twitched. “That’s because you turned me on.”
She frowned at him. “Sam—”
“You did.” He turned into the long street that led to her house. “Anybody ever tell you you’re cute when you’re angry?”
“Not and live to tell about it,” she muttered. Sam laughed. “I’ll bet.”
“For what it’s worth, though, I like your family.”
“I’m glad.”
“Your sister is…”
“Don’t worry,” Sam assured her. “You’re not the first person to say that Taylor defies description.”
“I’m beginning to see why you’re nervous about this birthday party. Is she always so flamboyant?”
Sam parked in front of Molly’s brownstone. “For as long as I’ve known her,” he said as he opened his door. He rounded the car in four quick strides and helped Molly onto the curb. He liked the way she threaded her fingers through his and kept her grip on his hand as they walked up the sidewalk. It felt quaint and old-fashioned. And very much like something people did in Payne, Massachusetts.
With little effort Sam could picture himself walking down the tree-lined streets holding her hand, wading through the leaves that littered the sidewalks at this time of year. With Molly, he imagined, it would be the same twenty years from now. She’d still have that fire in her eyes and that adorable tilt to her mouth. She’d still argue with him. And she’d still have the power to make him want her. The image caught him off guard. He wasn’t accustomed to imagining longevity or permanence. That was a luxury he’d never been able to afford.
Molly took her keys from Sam and opened her front door. As the light from the foyer spilled across their feet, she looked at him. “Sam—”
In the dim light, he couldn’t read her expression. “Yes?”
“I want you to come in,” Molly said simply.
Sam felt a rush of satisfaction as he pushed open the door. “I thought you’d never ask.”
TWENTY MINUTES LATER, he sat with his feet propped on Molly’s coffee table, a cup of hot chocolate in his hand, and Molly curled against his arm while a warm fire crackled in the fireplace. He’d experienced world-class entertainment that held far less appeal, he decided.
Molly turned toward him, her look piercing. “Okay, Sam, out with it. I’m out of patience!”
He gritted his teeth. “There really isn’t—”
“Uh-uh. You don’t get to disappear for four days without telling me where you’ve been. This getting involved thing was your idea—not mine.”
He cursed beneath his breath and plunked his mug down. “It’s family stuff. It doesn’t bear—”
“You promised,” she reminded him.
“I did not.”
“You did.”
“When?”
“Doesn’t matter. You promised you’d tell me later.”
“I said later. I didn’t say anything about tonight.”
“I say it is later.” She lowered her head and studied him in the firelight. “What’s the big deal? Were you with the other woman?”
Sam frowned and removed his arm from around her shoulders. She couldn’t possibly know what this would cost him. “Cute,” he said as he surged to his feet. He grabbed his mug and headed for the kitchen.
Behind him, Molly scrambled off the sofa. “Sam—” He kept walking. She caught up to him and blocked his entrance to the kitchen. “Sam, wait. What is the matter with you?”
He could feel the tension rising in his shoulders as he looked at her. What he wanted to do, what he’d wanted to do every night that week, was to take Molly to bed so he could forget. He could bury himself in her warmth, in her sweetness, in her vibrancy. Then all the aggravation and sourness of the past few days, hell, of most of his life would melt away, just for a moment. He knew, absolutely knew, that making love to Molly would do that. She’d consume him, and for an instant she’d obliterate everything else.
Molly’s expression registered her concern. When she laid a hand on his chest, he felt the soft contact all the way to his core. “Sam?”
He hesitated, shocking himself with the realization that he wanted to tell her. The thought sent him reeling. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted to tell anyone something as personal as what he’d been through this week. Life had taught him the value of privacy. The fact that he was tempted to unload his burden at Molly’s sympathetic feet made him feel inexplicably vulnerable and uneasy. With a soft groan, he covered her hand with his and tugged her toward the kitchen.
Molly followed wordlessly, as if she sensed his conflict. It was one of the things he liked best about her. She knew the value of unspoken communication.
Sam dumped the remaining contents of his mug in the sink and turned to put his hands on Molly’s waist. He lifted her easily and sat her on the counter. With one step, he stood between her legs, his face at her eye level. Molly’s eyes searched his as she placed her hands on his shoulders. “Talk to me,” she urged. “Something’s wrong.”
Dreadfully wrong, he concurred. Embarrassingly wrong. So wrong she couldn’t possibly imagine what this was costing him. Sam drew in a ragged breath. “My mother called Tuesday.”
Molly gently stroked his shoulder. “And?”
“And it’s the first time I’ve spoken to her since she handed me over to Edward.”
Understanding dawned in her gaze. “I see.”
Sam shook his head. “I doubt it.”
“Did she call because of the ad?”
“Molly, I hate to break this to you, but a personal ad in the Payne Sentinel isn’t exactly national news.”
“I know that. You’re the one who insisted we put the personals feature in. It wasn’t my idea.”
He accepted that gracefull
y. “Actually, she called because she read in some tabloid that Taylor was planning a birthday party.”
“Oh.” Molly’s hands came up to cradle his face. “I’m sorry,” she said softly, her thumbs brushing his ears and sending a lick of fire through his bloodstream.
“It wouldn’t have been so infuriating if she’d just called to let me know that Taylor got the date wrong.”
“Did she?”
“Beats me,” he said. Bitterly, Sam remembered Tuesday’s conversation with his mother. She’d sounded angry, as if he’d somehow betrayed her by adapting to life as a Reed. “She’s out of money. It seems Edward’s settlement didn’t last as long as she thought it would.”
“Oh.” Molly’s slid her fingers to his neck where she kneaded the tight muscles. “She asked you for money?”
Again, Sam shook his head. “You know, even that wouldn’t have been so bad.”
Her eyebrows drew together slightly. “Just tell me, Sam.”
He placed his hands on her hips and edged her closer to him. Somehow, her warmth warded off the chill that had settled on him. “She tried to blackmail me.”
He sounded so defeated, Molly felt her indignation swell. “Blackmail! What on earth for?”
“It’s ironic really.” His hands tightened on her hips. “If I don’t pay her what she wants before Taylor’s party, she plans to tell the tabloids that she lied seventeen years ago and that I’m not really Edward Reed’s son.”
“Oh, Sam.”
“The hell of it is she’s finally telling the truth. She never did have an affair with Edward.”
“Then why—”
“Did she claim she did? For the money.”
“No. Why did he—”
“Beats the hell out of me,” Sam confessed.
Molly exhaled a long, slow breath, and brought one hand around to stroke his cheek. “I’m sorry, Sam.”
“So,” he went on, “I’m stuck with two choices. I can tell her to go to hell, knowing full well she’ll approach the media.”
“No one will believe her. No one’s going to believe Edward adopted you if he didn’t think you were really his.”
He shrugged. “It’ll be messy and embarrassing and a hell of a nuisance.”
“What about Ben and Taylor? How are they going to take this?”
“I doubt they’d care. Actually, Taylor would probably relish the attention from the tabloids. As far as the money’s concerned…” He shrugged. “I never took Edward’s money anyway. I forced Ben to pump my share of the inheritance back into the business.”
“I see.”
“But I don’t like spectacles, Molly.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “I know.”
He wasn’t sure he wanted to continue. Molly prodded him. “You’re angry at her. For what it’s worth, I think you have every right to be.”
“Hell, yes, I’m angry. God, doesn’t the woman understand that I’d have given her the money?”
“People like that only know one way of surviving,” Molly said gently. “If manipulation doesn’t work, they have no other recourse.” She ran a finger along the line of his upper lip. “It’s sad.”
“It’s infuriating.”
“And mean,” Molly added. “I don’t like mean people.”
Sam took a moment to relish her fingers traveling the planes of his face. His eyes drifted shut and he whispered her name.
Molly traced one eyebrow, then the other. “Sam?”
“Hmm?”
“That’s not the worst part, is it?”
He met her gaze again. She was watching him with an expression that wrenched his heart. “I don’t know who I am.” He surprised himself with the admission. He hadn’t admitted what had made him so angry about the events of the past few days. Though he’d never felt he truly belonged to the Reeds, he’d also never doubted where he’d come from. Now, his mother had changed even that.
“I understand.”
“How could you possibly understand, Molly? I spent my afternoon with your family. I’ve seen how you are together.”
With a smile full of womanly wisdom, she said, “You were very charming.” She stroked his earlobe as she spoke.
“And having had the advantage of a family like the Flynns all your life, how in the hell can you tell me you know how I feel?”
“Because,” she said, sliding both her hands to his nape where she urged him closer. “I’m adopted.”
Sam’s mouth fell open in shock. Molly took advantage of his surprise and kissed him. Her lips were warm and full and sweet, and Sam suddenly felt bombarded with sensation. He wanted to press her for details, demand an explanation. But he was slowly losing his train of thought to the intoxicating sensation of Molly’s kiss.
She tasted like hot chocolate and melted marshmallows, and he’d waited too long and wanted her too much. Sam groaned softly as she slid her tongue along his lower lip and purred. There was no other possible definition for that sound. It nearly undid him. Sam slid one hand to her back and pressed her to his chest. “Molly,” he murmured against her lips. “Molly, what—”
She shook her head, leaned into him and deepened the kiss. “Later, Sam,” she muttered against his lips. “Ask me later.”
When her fingertips dipped into the whorl of his ears, Sam felt it all the way to his toes. He pulled his mouth from hers and ground out, “But you—”
She slid her forefinger along the crease of his lips. “Not now. Just kiss me.”
Sam did. Hard and thoroughly. Lord, he thought, could he die from too much sensation? He reached for a shred of self-control, not sure Molly knew what she was toying with. He wouldn’t be able to hold back much longer. He groaned when she raked her fingertips over his nipples. The fabric of his shirt seemed to amplify rather than dampen the impact of the caress. Sam raised his head, cradled her face in both his hands, and looked deeply into her eyes. “I want you, Molly. Tell me you want this, too.” He remembered her lecture that morning and the way she’d tried hard to convince him that she wanted to keep her distance. Her breathing was slightly ragged as she swayed toward him. Sam squeezed her tight. “Tell me,” he ordered.
Her eyes drifted shut and she tipped her mouth toward his. “Take me to bed, Sam,” she said softly.
True to his word, Sam didn’t wait for a second invitation.
Chapter Nine
Molly stretched beneath the sheet and winced at a slight twinge in her lower body. The reminder had her rolling to her side to find a sleeping Sam, his arm slung above his head, his face relaxed, his pose decadent. Molly squinted at the clock on her nightstand. It was just after four. Sam had made love to her twice. The first time had been hot and fast and needy, with hurriedly removed clothes and hasty touching. It had been driven, hungry, too long in the making, Molly realized, not to be like an inferno.
Despite Sam’s urging that she let him take her to bed, Molly hadn’t wanted a chance to change her mind. She’d known that—the first time, anyway—she’d need to be swept away.
Sam, she realized now, was quite a sweep-awayer. He had plundering skills that would put a pirate to shame. When she’d countered his suggestion that they move away from the counter with a tight squeeze of her thighs around his waist, he hadn’t needed another hint. Sam had lifted her from the counter, taken two long strides toward a chair, and proceeded to make her see stars underneath the soft glow of the fan light.
Molly wondered, irreverently, if he had splinters in his butt from her antique oak kitchen chairs.
Their lovemaking had been wonderful and mind-numbing and inspiring and overwhelming—like an afternoon thunderstorm that crests the horizon and overtakes the sky with power and force.
But the second time, the time he’d laid her gently on her bed and proceeded to explore every one of her secret places, that had been the point where Molly’s heart slipped slowly and irrevocably into his keeping. He’d lavished attention on her. He’d praised her skin and its texture, her hair and its color, her
body and its softness. With dark whispers and lush words, Sam had made her feel like the sexiest and most beautiful woman alive. When he entered her that second time, Molly had felt things she’d never before experienced. That time, he not only showed her the stars, he took her to them.
Now, in the dim light, she studied his face and remembered the haunted look she’d seen there when he told her about his mother. Gently, Molly brushed a lock of hair from his forehead. Sam stirred and muttered something in his sleep. Whether he was ready to admit it or not, he had felt stricken and set adrift by his mother’s revelation. Molly knew the feeling. As a child, she’d wrestled with it herself. There was something frightening about not knowing where you’d come from and who you belonged to. She’d been an adolescent before she finally realized that the family you pick, or the family that picks you, is sometimes far better than the one you could get stuck with if nature had its way.
Molly wrapped an arm around his waist and laid her head on his chest. She understood now why she’d felt so drawn to him. That look in his eyes wasn’t just a lonely cry for help. It exactly mirrored what she used to see in her own.
“TELL ME,” Sam said three hours later as he swept a hand over her bare hip. “Tell me now?”
Molly didn’t pretend not to understand. She’d risen early, made them breakfast and served it to Sam in bed. He’d been watching her warily ever since she crawled back into bed wearing her cow-print pajamas. He wasn’t going to wait any longer for an explanation of what she’d told him last night.
Molly took a long sip of her coffee. “I was about three when my birth mother abandoned me at the Payne hospital. Dad was there visiting a friend from work when he overheard the nurses talking about me.” She smiled as she recalled the way her parents told this story. “According to Dad, he’d been telling Mama he wanted another daughter. According to Mama, she’d been telling him he’d have to get another wife if he wanted any more babies.”
Sam studied her through narrowed eyes. “Your father brought you home from the hospital?”
Molly laughed. “Lord, no, Sam, it’s not quite that easy. Adopting a child isn’t like adopting a puppy, you know. There are papers and legal documents and security checks, and all kinds of stuff. Dad pulled a couple of strings and got Child Services to agree to let them be my foster parents until everything was sorted out. The police spent several months trying to find my birth mother, and Dad spent those months convincing Mama that whether I was born a Flynn or not, I looked and acted enough like one that I should be one.”