Maybe she could have kept her lids up if she’d been able to see Sam’s face. Or watch him as he strained and flexed his superb muscles. But they hadn’t turned on a light, and he was a pale blur in the darkness.
She had no idea when she lost the battle with her up-at-dawn, down-at-dusk internal body clock. She barely stirred when Sam slipped his arms under her and carried her up the stairs. Burying her face in the towel draped around his neck, she clung to him sleepily. The plush terry smelled of laundry detergent, she noted through a haze of weariness, and raw, elemental male. Groggy and disoriented, she nuzzled deeper into the towel. She had almost sunk back into sleep when Sam deposited her in the sleigh bed. Hovering in that hazy state of semiconsciousness, she didn’t immediately react to the light kiss he brushed across her mouth.
“Good night, Molly. Thanks for the company.”
The husky whisper finally penetrated. Her eyes drifted open. Sam’s face hovered just inches from hers. All she had to do was lift her hand. Draw him back down an inch or two. Bring her lips to his once again.
“You’re welcome,” she muttered, confused and just a little stunned by the need that coursed through her.
“Sleep well.”
Sure she would! Awake now and fully aroused, Molly watched him cross the darkened room to the door. It took a hard bite on the inside of her lower lip to keep from calling him back.
She wasn’t ready for this, she thought in dismay. She shouldn’t be fighting this sudden, urgent need to follow Sam down the hall to his own room. This greedy urge to peel off her T-shirt and take up where his kiss had left off. She shouldn’t ache to slide her hands down those awesome abs. To let his powerful body crush her into the covers and...
Heat flooded her face. Her neck. Her belly.
She groaned and pulled the sheet up over her head. She had to get a grip here! She barely knew the man.
Okay, he wasn’t the bloodsucking vampire or the foul-tempered martinet she once thought him. And she could have wept for the pain she’d glimpsed in his eyes when she went downstairs tonight. But Molly had learned her lesson with Brady. She’d gotten engaged to a man she thought she knew and didn’t really know at all. She wouldn’t jump recklessly into a relationship again.
Not that Sam showed any signs of wanting a relationship right now, with her or with anyone else. Obviously, he had problems of his own to work through. So did she... in the form of a nameless, faceless killer who may or may not be stalking her.
That sobering reminder was enough to push Molly into full, frightened wakefulness. She huddled under the sheet for a long while, then spent the next hour restlessly thumping the pillow and alternating between the disturbing memory of the voice she’d heard over the phone and the equally disturbing memory of Sam’s lips brushing hers.
Chapter 6
As the weekend progressed, Molly tried to remember all the reasons why she should maintain some distance between her and Sam. The remembering grew more difficult with each passing daylight hour.
It got even harder at night. Sam didn’t press for her company after that first evening, and Molly made sure she stayed out of his way so as not to interfere with his exercise regimen. She stuck to her plan of leaving his house early in the morning and returning late. Still, just knowing he was down the hall...or prowling the darkened downstairs, unable to sleep... kept her awake long past her normal zonk-out time.
Thankfully, the alarm company finally showed up on Monday afternoon. Sam came over to check out the system after it was installed, testing the infrared sensors and the pressure points on the stairs. Molly winced every time he set off the Klaxon. The raucous noise was loud enough to wake the entire cul-de-sac.
She moved herself and her few belongings back to her own house that night, happy to be home in a nesting kind of way. She didn’t miss Sam...much. Only enough to keep her standing at the bedroom window for long moments that evening. Frowning, she stared at the light spilling through the great room windows next door. Was he hurting? Putting himself through another grueling routine? She ached for him and his lonely vigils.
On Tuesday morning, Detective Kaplan called to report that his search of the police department’s database and the local pawn shops had turned up no leads to anyone with a Midwestern accent.
“So what happens now?” she asked, chewing on her ballpoint pen.
“We’re going to have another chat with some of the women Joey pimped for. Talk to the bookies he owed money to. With luck, maybe one of them will give us a lead, although I’m not holding out a lot of hope. Everything okay at your end?”
“So far. No more misdirected phone calls or uninvited visitors, anyway.”
“For what it’s worth, I think the killer must have realized that you can’t ID him. If you could, we would have tagged him by now. My guess is that he’s feeling pretty secure. Assuming that was our boy you heard in the house the other night, I don’t think he’ll be paying you any more late night visits.”
“I hope not!”
Molly hung up a few minutes later, fighting a spurt of guilty relief. She certainly didn’t want anyone to get away with murder. Far from it. She’d done her part to bring Joey’s killer to justice. If that wasn’t good enough, well, too bad. At this point, all she wanted to do was put the whole incident behind her.
Maybe not the whole incident, she amended. Certainly not the spin-off truce between her and Sam.
She propped her chin in her hands, thinking about her neighbor. She still hadn’t thanked him for his hospitality, and didn’t have a clue how to. As she’d discovered in the past few days, Sam Henderson had narrowed his world and his focus while he battled his private demon. He seemed to have cut himself off from his past and sidestepped any talk about the future. His needs these days, he’d told Molly with a casual shrug, were simple. So what could she give this self-contained, self-sufficient man to thank him for coming to his pesky neighbor’s aid?
The question had stumped her all weekend. It continued to nag at her until her idle gaze snagged on the Convention Center circular containing the printed show schedule for the week. She stared at the twoinch letters announcing a gala opening night show at Caesars Palace, then jumped up and headed for the offices downstairs.
Molly drove home that evening with the Trans Am’s top down and the wind streaking through her hair. Anticipation bubbled like sparkling water in her veins. She couldn’t wait to see Sam’s face when she handed him the tickets nestled in her purse.
Why not just admit it? a smug little voice mocked. She couldn’t wait to see Sam’s face, period. So much for tiptoeing around his house and making herself scarce all weekend! The hot air rushing past her cheeks seemed to blow away all those lectures she’d given herself, all those stern reminders that she’d just escaped one uncomfortable entanglement and didn’t need to fall into another. Or maybe it was Kaplan’s seductive suggestion that the killer recognized he was safe, that he had no reason to come after Molly.
Whatever the reason, she felt more lighthearted than she had in days. Her resurgent spirits took a slight hit when she drove up the cul-de-sac and spotted a truck parked in the driveway next door. The red lettering on the rear panels identified the vehicle as belonging to Aqua Aruzzo Spa & Pools.
Uh, oh! Sam’s pool contractor.
The Trans Am screeched to a halt halfway up her drive. Fingers drumming on the wheel, Molly stared at the truck. Had her truce with Sam ended so soon? Were they about to resume their battle over their contested property line?
The thought gave her a sinking feeling. She didn’t want to redraw the battle lines. She’d gotten too close to her neighbor to paint him as the bad guy any longer. If it came to a choice between her oleanders and extending their cease-fire, she concluded with a tug of regret, her beautiful bushes would have to go.
Crunching across the lava rock between their houses, she pressed the doorbell at the same moment the front door opened. A lanky, gray-haired stranger blinked in surprise. Just beyond him, Sam sm
iled a greeting.
“Hello, Molly. You’re home early.”
“A little. I saw the truck in the driveway. I came to talk to you about the hedge.”
“It’s not an issue any longer. I’ve asked Mr. Aruzzo to redesign the pool to leave the hedge intact.”
She flashed Sam a look of surprise. “Thank you! That was very generous and...”
“Neighborly?” he suggested, his smile cranking into one of those heart-stopping grins.
“Neighborly,” she echoed, trying to catch her breath. How in the world could a few crinkles at the corners of a pair of gray eyes and a crooked grin do such a number on her respiratory system?
“The new design might take some time,” Aruzzo warned, climbing into his truck. “I’ll have to see when our architect can get to it. With all the building in Vegas these days, we’ve got almost more business than we can handle.”
“Tell me about it,” Molly muttered.
He keyed the ignition, then added a final caveat. “With the new design, you’ll have to double your laps if you’re going to get the distance the docs recommend.”
“I understand.”
The contractor’s truck backed down the drive and roared off as Molly swung to face Sam. Dismay rushed through her in guilty waves.
“Oh, no! Why didn’t you tell me the pool was part of your therapy?”
“It’s not a problem.”
“It certainly is! Call this guy back. Tell him to go ahead with the original design.”
The dismay in Molly’s eyes pierced Sam’s pleasure at her unexpected appearance on his doorstep. That wasn’t pity darkening them to a deep emerald, but it came too damn close for his pride to swallow in one bite. After spending a weekend in close quarters with this woman, the last thing he wanted or needed from her was pity.
Correction. He didn’t need anything from her. But he wanted. Oh, yes, he wanted. He’d gone through six kinds of hell these past few nights knowing that she slept just a few yards down the hall from him, her face slathered with beer mush and those long legs bared to the balmy desert night. When she packed up her little plastic tote and returned to her own place yesterday morning, he’d felt relieved...and lonely for the first time in a long, long time.
He didn’t like the feeling, any more than he liked the idea she felt sorry for him.
“Don’t worry about the pool, Molly.”
“But....”
“Let’s drop it, okay? We can declare the war of the hedges officially over and done with.”
She tilted her head, her frown etching deeper. The afternoon sun haloed her windblown hair. Just enough breeze swirled by to ruffle the waves even more. Deliberately, Sam blanked out the memory of how soft that tangle of silk had felt against his chin when he’d carried his sleepy guest upstairs.
“Do you want me to go with you while you check out your house?”
“No, thanks. I just saw the truck and came over to, uh....”
He forced himself to relax. “Defend your property.”
“Actually,” she said with a little toss of her head, “I came over to concede defeat. And I wanted to thank you again for taking me in.”
“You’ve already thanked me. Several times.”
“I know. Bear with me one more time.”
Rummaging in her purse, she pulled out a small envelope and handed it to him. Sam slid his thumbnail under the flap and drew out a pair of tickets. His eyes widened at the embossed printing.
“Buck Randall’s opening performance at Caesars. How the heck did you wrangle these?”
“The Center reserves a block of tickets for visiting VIPs. I strong-armed them into letting me purchase two. I know it’s short notice, but I hope you can make the performance tonight.”
“I can make it.” He glanced down at his watch. “The show starts at nine. We’ve got time for dinner first.”
“We?” A wave of color rushed into her face. “I didn’t get you these tickets with the idea that you’d take me to the show.”
Obviously not, Sam thought. He followed the becoming wash of pink from her neck to her cheeks. Well, he’d already put one foot in it. Might as well drop the other.
“I think you should go. What better way to learn to appreciate Randall’s artistry than to see him in person?”
“Artistry?”
Her little hoot of derision lifted his brow. Realizing that she’d just looked her own gift horse in the mouth, Molly hastily backpedaled.
“I’m sure he has talent.”
“He does.”
“I just don’t have the, ah, educated ear to appreciate it.”
“So it’s time your ear got educated. I’ll pick you up at seven.”
She hesitated, then capitulated with a smile. “Seven it is. Let’s get one thing clear, though. Dinner’s on me. I still owe you for that steak.”
Molly turned off the expensive new alarm system—which had set her acquisition of living room furniture back another three months—and tossed her purse on the hall bench. All right. She might as well admit it. She couldn’t think of anything she’d enjoy less than sitting through a Buck Randall concert. Or anything she’d enjoy more than spending another evening with Sam.
She didn’t even try to convince herself that she’d accepted his invitation out of common courtesy or as a result of his generous concession about the oleanders. Common courtesy didn’t explain this pulse of excitement beating just below the surface of her skin. Sam’s gracious concession hadn’t generated this shivery sense of anticipation. Just the thought of being with the man for a few more hours had her quivering.
She’d been bitten by the vampire next door, she conceded, kicking her shoes in the general direction of the closet. Only time would tell how badly.
After a long, decadent bath, she dragged herself out of the tub, then debated about the proper attire for a Buck Randall concert. She considered jeans, a dressy little two-piece suit, and silky palazzo pants with a silver tank top. Finally, she settled on her favorite cocktail dress. The concert was being held at Caesars, after all.
The short, sparkly dress blazed in a sinful red. Its swishy skirt swirled just above her knees. The halternecked bodice plunged in front and dropped even lower in back. She might not have the lush curves of a Las Vegas showgirl, Molly mused, twirling in front of the bathroom mirror, but her legs weren’t bad. Not bad at all.
Piling her hair on top of her head, she secured it with a rhinestone clasp that matched the clip on her little red bag. A dab of perfume, a fresh application of makeup, and she was ready. She went downstairs to wait for Sam, hoping she hadn’t overdressed for the occasion.
He rang the bell a few minutes later. Her first sight of him resolved her doubts instantly. It also caused a minor cardiac infraction.
In casual clothes, he’d snag the attention of any female over ten or under a hundred. In more formal attire, he’d have even the post-centenarians craning around for a second or third look. He’d slicked back his dark hair. His tanned face was freshly shaven. An elegantly tailored charcoal gray suit was paired with a pale yellow shirt with a tie that splashed reds and blues and oranges in a paisley pattern. He was, Molly decided, when she gathered her stunned senses enough for coherent thought, every woman’s fantasy come to life. Assuming, of course, that those fantasies ran to broad-shouldered, square-jawed, knockyou-down gorgeous males.
He flashed her a quick grin, and Molly knew she was done for.
“You look terrific.”
“So do you.”
“Ready to do some serious damage to your diet and your taste in music?”
Groaning, she punched in the alarm code. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
She locked the door behind them, then Sam crooked an arm and led her down the walk. His gleaming, cherry red Mustang convertible waited in the driveway.
“We’re going in style, I see.”
“I’ve been working on this baby for over two years,” he admitted. “Tonight’s the first night I’ve t
aken her out in public. I hope she behaves herself.”
“I hope so, too.”
After duly admiring the restored chrome and original hood ornament, Molly slid into a leather seat that breathed saddle soap and loving hand-polishing. Her sparkly red dress swirled about her thighs before settling demurely.
Fighting to control the sudden surge of heat generated by a brief flash of leg, Sam thunked the door shut with far more force than his pride and joy deserved. And he’d thought just sleeping down the hall from his neighbor for a couple of nights was torture!
He’d needed only one look at her flushed, smiling face and throat-closing flame dress to know his torture was just beginning. Now that slither of silk stockings would thunder in his ears for the rest of the night. He didn’t want to think what her light, fragrant scent would do to him.
Sam shoved the key in the ignition, realizing that he couldn’t deny it any longer. He wanted her. More than he could remember wanting any woman, including the bright, ambitious redhead he’d once thought of combining careers and lives with. He might not be able to offer Molly any kind of a future, he thought with a slow twist in his chest, but he could sure give her one hell of a tonight.
Las Vegas by day could enchant the most blasé visitor. By night, it wove a gossamer, magic spell. Even after six months, Molly wasn’t immune to its sorcery.
The coming dusk puffed dark clouds across the horizon as the Mustang purred its way down the cul-de-sac, behaving so well that both she and Sam were free to admire the glittering network of lights laid out below. The wind tugged her hair free of the rhinestone clip, but she vetoed Sam’s offer to stop and put up the top. She didn’t think she’d ever get enough of these balmy, star-studded desert nights.
Molly soon realized that Sam knew the city far better than she did. While her job had taken her to all the major hotels and tourist attractions, she hadn’t yet sampled many of the small, out-of-the way places that the locals frequented. The Continental Grill was tucked away in the corner of a small strip mall and combined the best of both worlds. Its decor inside and out lacked the neon and flash of the big casino restaurants, but its menu did credit to a gourmand.
If A Man Answers Page 8