Jeff couldn’t taste her enough. He needed to have the scent of her filling his mind, his heart, his soul. It seemed as though he’d been asleep, comatose, the last nine years of his life and now suddenly his blood was pumping, his heart racing. He caught her tight against him, desperate for her. His hands dropped to the hem of her shirt and slipped beneath, feeling that smooth, soft expanse of suntanned flesh beneath his fingertips, and he ached like a dying man.
Yes. Sam sucked in air through gritted teeth as Jeff dragged his hands up her bare skin. Her flesh sizzled 262 Maureen Child and burned as though he were trailing lit matches along her nerve endings.
Her whole body felt alive as it hadn’t since the last time he’d touched her. And she wanted to scream with the glory of having his hands on her again. Everything was moving so fast, so hurried, so frenzied. They fed off each other’s hunger and lost themselves in the need to take and be taken.
Sam yanked at his shirt, pulling it free of his jeans. As it came up and over his head, she scraped her short nails across his broad chest, loving the hiss of his indrawn breath at her touch. He moved again, backing her up against the counter, shoving things out of the way as he made room.
“Sam, gotta have you. Need you. Need you now.”
“Now,” she demanded and wiggled as he pulled her shorts down her legs and then off. Cool night air kissed her skin and she shivered. “Now,” she said again, kissing him, nibbling at his neck, his jaw, losing herself in the taste of him, in the soft sigh of his breath.
Her fingers fumbled with his belt buckle and zipper until he snatched her hands away and took care of it himself. Good. Good. Now.
Then she hopped when he grabbed her around the waist and plopped her onto the cold granite countertop. “Whoa! Cold.”
“Not for long,” he promised and moved closer. Holding her head with one hand, he took her mouth again as he moved between her legs and slid himself home.
Sam arched into him, holding his head to hers as she lifted her legs and locked them around his waist, pulling him tighter, deeper. So familiar, yet so new. He touched her core and she splintered. He sighed her name and she melted. He touched her breasts and she went up in flames.
His body rocked into hers, driving into her warmth, her depths, until she felt as though they were merging, becoming one. She took a breath, held it and scooted forward on the counter, trying to get closer, to take more of him inside.
Her body trembled as the first wave crested within her, so fast, so amazing, and then before she could mourn the loss of it, the wave rose again. She felt it grow, swell, carrying her higher and higher until she felt as though she could reach out and grab a star.
Then the skyrockets went off behind her eyes and she clamped her mouth shut, terrified she might just shout out her love for him in that one blinding moment. Her body was still trembling when he groaned and lost himself in her warmth.
Seconds, minutes, hell. Maybe hours passed as they stood there in the brightly lit kitchen, bodies still locked together. Her arms were draped over his shoulders, hands hanging limply against his back. She smiled against his skin and felt . . . okay, great.
He moved slightly and she hissed in a breath as warm, sparkler-like tingles dazzled her insides. She wanted to enjoy it. Wanted to luxuriate in the sensations coursing through her. But she couldn’t. Already, that annoyingly sensible, logical little voice in the back of her mind was making itself heard.
Dammit.
She shivered, as the cool night air brushed her bare skin and quenched the last of the fires roaring through 264 Maureen Child her. This wasn’t supposed to happen, she thought sadly. Love him or not, he didn’t belong to her anymore. He wasn’t in her life, her world. He didn’t want to be in her heart anymore.
So she forced a smile she didn’t feel, dropped her head to his shoulder, sighed, and whispered, “Okay, I think we could use the term ‘swept away’ for this.”
“Yeah, I guess we could.” Jeff stroked one hand down the length of her spine and Sam shivered again, but not from the cold.
“We used to do that a lot, as I remember,” Sam said, mentally drawing away even as she enjoyed the feel of his body, still locked with hers. “Get swept away, I mean.”
He pulled his head back to look at her. An incredible sadness filled his eyes and his mouth curved into a hint of a smile. “I remember a lot of nights on the living room floor.”
Oh, so did she. The nights when the need had been so big, so huge, the bed was too far away to worry about. She cupped his face in her palm and drew the pad of her thumb across his cheek. He sighed and caught her hand, planting a quick kiss on the palm.
Then slowly, reluctantly, he disentangled himself from her and took one cautious step back.
Distance. A little late, but still, no doubt, a good thing. She jumped off the counter and tried really hard not to think about having just had sex on her kitchen counter. But it was stamped in her memory forever now and she’d never be able to come into this room again without remembering. “Oh boy.”
“That about covers it.”
“I don’t believe we just did that.”
He scraped one hand across his jaw. “I can’t believe I tossed you onto a counter.”
“Yeah,” she said, choking up a laugh. “I don’t know whether to have it bronzed or disinfected.”
A short, sharp laugh shot from his throat as he bent to snatch his clothes up off the floor. “Either way—I don’t have an excuse for it.”
“Who’s asking for one?” Sam felt the first bubble of temper start to brew and tried to fight it. She didn’t want him making excuses or, God help her, apologizing for what they’d just shared.
“You should be,” he snapped as the last of their little “glow” disappeared. “Jesus, Sam!” He waved one hand at the room, at their clothes scattered across the floor, and shook his head. “I didn’t even give you a choice.”
Yep, there was the temper. Riding right along on the coattails of something glorious. Dammit. “Excuse me? Did you hear me beg you to stop?”
“No, but—”
“Then I made my choice, didn’t I?” She stooped to pick up her clothes and bunched them in front of her like a shield. A little late, but better late than never. “For God’s sake, Jeff. We both did this. You didn’t take advantage of me.”
“I didn’t take any precautions, either.”
Whoops. She glanced up at him, swinging her hair out of her eyes. He looked so torn between wanting to enjoy what had just happened and beating himself up over the whole thing that she took pity on him. “Don’t worry about it. Lucky for you, I’m on the pill.”
His breath whooshed out of him in a sigh of relief.
“That’s good then. And I’m healthy,” he said tightly. “You should know that.”
“Ah, sex in the twenty-first century,” Sam said, smirking. “Feel the romance.” Then she paused, because she knew he was right. And they’d been stupid on a lot of levels. “I am too.”
He nodded and grabbed up the rest of his clothes, then he just stood there, staring at her as if he weren’t really sure what to say next.
Well, Sam knew just how he felt.
She clutched her clothes tightly to her. Sure, don’t want him to see you naked or anything. That could be embarrassing. Oh God. She ignored the siren scent of coffee lingering in the air and started backing toward the doorway.
She had to say something. Had to at least try to make sense of this. Find a way to take them both off the hook for this one moment of craziness. “Look, this doesn’t mean anything.”
“You’re right.” Jeff nodded tightly, his mouth a grim slash, his eyes shadowed. “Just a quirk. Something we had to get out of our systems.”
Disappointment flashed through her, but she pushed it away. She’d known going into this that he didn’t love her. He loved someone else. A woman who was even now planning her wedding to the man standing naked in Sam’s kitchen.
Could this get any sadder?
>
She wouldn’t let him know how she felt. There were a few humiliations she’d rather pass on. So if he wanted to believe that nothing special had just happened, she’d play along.
“Right. Good.” She held up one hand to point at him, realized she’d drawn her tank top off her breasts and slapped it back into place again. “And now that it’s out of our systems, we can move on.”
“That’s good. That’s what we’ll do.”
“Right. I’m just going to move on”—she laughed shortly—“to a shower now.”
“You go ahead. I’ll, uh . . .” He looked around, then shrugged. “I’ll wait.”
“Thanks.” She inhaled sharply, blew it out, and then paused in the doorway. He looked . . . lost. And it was in her nature to try to help him be found. “Jeff, it’s okay. I mean, we’re okay. We’ll be—”
“Fine.”
“Right.”
Oh God. Sam hustled down the hall and into the bathroom. Dumping her dirty clothes into the white wicker hamper, she leaned into the shower stall and turned on the water. Steam lifted as she pulled the glass door aside and stepped into the bath.
The hot water hit her body like a blessing and she dunked her head into the steady flow of it, hoping to wipe away the memory of what she’d just done. What they’d just done.
But she couldn’t.
Worse, didn’t want to.
If that was all she’d ever have of Jeff again, then why shouldn’t she remember it? Cherish it?
She grabbed the bath gel, squirted some of the jasmine-scented lotion into her hand and smoothed it over her shoulders, her arms. Her body was humming nicely. She felt liquid, warm, delicious. And oh God, so miserable. She braced her hands on the shower wall and let the hot water pound relentlessly on her back.
She was going to lose him all over again. He was already gone—at least, mentally. He’d pulled so far away, she could barely see him. He was regretting what had happened. Probably feeling guilty as hell. As she should be, if it came down to it.
She’d slept with a man who was engaged to someone else. Okay, he was still married to her, but that didn’t make this right. It only added yet one more layer to the craziness that was her life.
God, Jeff was probably packing. Trying to get the hell away from her before he had to face her again. Yes, he’d made the first move, but she’d been a close second, so he couldn’t blame himself entirely. But oh God, it hurt to think that he felt guilty for touching her.
The shower door scraped open, and startled, she gasped, and turned, covered in floral-scented suds.
Jeff stood just outside the tub, watching her.
So. Not packing.
His eyes held her.
Her breath clogged in her throat. Her pulse did a wild two-step. Her blood rushed and her stomach flipped and other parts of her went even more warm. Moving on?
Not yet.
“Sam . . .”
She shook her head, swinging her wet hair back from her face. Mouth dry, she reached out for him and dragged him into the steamy bath with her. Going up on her toes, she leaned into him, her soapy skin sliding along his.
“Don’t talk,” she whispered.
His arms came around her and she slanted her mouth over his.
Morning sun poured through the window and lay across the bed like a spotlight. Outside, birds were singing, and a lawnmower growled in the distance.
Here in her bedroom, though, the silence was deafening.
Sam sat up, holding the sheet to her chest as she pushed her hair back out of her eyes and looked at the man beside her on the bed. Jeff was braced on one elbow, his dark hair tumbling across his forehead, the sheet draped low over his body.
Her mouth watered again.
Inhaling sharply, deeply, she then let the air slide from her lungs in a rush. “So,” she said, trying to understand just what exactly had happened between them during the night. “We can call the first time being swept away. Maybe even stretch that to cover the second time.”
“Yeah, we could,” he said, reaching out to cover one of her hands with his own.
She looked at their joined hands because it was safer than looking into his eyes. Through the long night, she’d allowed herself to build foolish fantasy castles. But now morning was here, and with the sunlight came reality, crashing down on them.
“But by the fifth time, nobody was swept away.”
“I know that, too,” Jeff said and watched her avoid his gaze. Everything in him told him that what had happened during the night was right. Was what was supposed to be. But his heart was telling him it was wrong. And that he was the worst kind of bastard. He’d made promises to two different women in his life and he’d broken all of them.
He’d stumbled back into Sam’s world, smashing and burning her everyday life around her. He had a woman waiting for him in San Francisco and a woman beside him here in a bed that was made for long, lazy mornings.
And both women deserved a hell of a lot better than they were getting from him.
“I don’t know how to say this,” she said softly, and pulled her hand from under his. “But I never planned to be the ‘other woman.’ And I don’t like it.”
Jeff sat up, reached out and brushed her hair back from her face. Letting his fingertips trail along her jaw, he smiled sadly and met her gaze. “I don’t blame you. I never planned on being an asshole, either. And can’t say I like it much.”
He got off the bed and grabbed up his clothes. Stalking across the room, he stopped in the doorway and looked back at her. She hadn’t moved. Sunlight played on her hair, her face, and he etched this picture of her into his mind. Because no matter what happened next, he would always have last night—and this morning.
“You’re leaving.”
“Yes, I am.”
“Just like that.” She clutched the pale lemon-yellow sheet to her chest and stared at him, clearly stunned.
He’d liked to have talked to her about the thoughts racing through his brain, but what the hell could he say? “I have to go to the city. Take care of a few things.”
She flopped backward, landing on the stacked pile of pillows behind her. She looked rumpled and tempting and it took everything he had in him to keep from rushing back to that bed and grabbing her.
But that’s exactly what had gotten them to this point, wasn’t it? “Tell Emma I’ll call her tonight.”
Then he left.
While he still could.
Chapter Seventeen
Jo spotted her first. A gorgeous blonde in a designer suit, wearing three-inch pink high heels for God’s sake, was hard to miss on a job site. Her stomach took a nosedive as she realized who Barbie in Pink had to be. “Psst! Mike!”
She kept her voice down, despite the clamor of electric tools rising from the yard below and waited until her younger sister turned to snarl at her.
“If you want help on this stinking roof, then let me lay the stupid paper so I can get back to my damn sinks.”
Jo ignored the temper. Just part of Mike’s charm. “Look,” she said, pointing with the business end of her hammer.
“What?” Mike shot a glance at the yard, then whistled low and long. “Uh-oh.”
“It’s her, isn’t it?”
“Oh yeah. Has to be. Weasel-dog’s new babe.” She shifted a look in the direction the blonde was walking. “And headed right for Sam.”
“Think we should go down there?”
Mike’s instinct was to do just that. But she didn’t move. “No. This is Sam’s shit. Besides, when has a Marconi needed help to do battle?”
“True,” Jo said, watching as the cool blonde picked her way daintily across the yard. “But I don’t think Sam’s got the kind of weapons that chick uses.”
Sam looked up as Cynthia approached and instantly felt heat rush up her neck to flood her face with color she hoped would pass as sunburn. Dear Lord. She was the other woman. And now she had to look Cynthia dead in the eye and pretend she hadn’t had sex with J
eff the night before. Sure. No problem.
“Hello again.” Cynthia smiled and held out a beautifully manicured hand.
Wincing slightly, Sam wiped her own paint-stained palm on her jeans, then took Cynthia’s in a firm, fast shake. “Hi.” She paused, then glanced at Grace, standing patiently in the shade. “Sorry. Grace Van Horn, Cynthia Fairwood. Cynthia, Grace.”
“So nice to meet you.” Cynthia smiled and her perfect, pearly-white teeth were displayed to, well . . . perfection.
“Hello. I’ve so enjoyed getting to know Jeff and Emma. She’s a lovely child.” Grace shifted a look from one woman to the other.
“Isn’t she, though?” Cynthia agreed. “I can’t tell you what she means to me. Well to us, Jeff and me.”
Sam winced.
“Of course,” Grace said smoothly, then turning to Sam, she said, “Why don’t I go and keep Emma busy with her grandpa while you and Cynthia visit?”
Just what Sam wanted to do, she thought. Go have a nice long visit with her husband’s fiancée. Good times.
“I can’t imagine how you do this kind of work,” Cynthia said with a quiet chuckle. “I would just be hopeless at it.” She smiled. “I don’t think I’ve ever even held a hammer.”
Well, Sam thought, didn’t she feel dainty.
Cynthia squeaked as one of the goats strolled up to touch the back of her knee with a whiskered snout.
“Sorry, sorry.” Sam grabbed one of the goat’s twisted horns and gave it a pull. “They won’t hurt you.”
Cynthia laughed shortly, uneasily, and kept a wary eye on the hairy beast still trying to snuffle at her hem. “If you say so,” she said, clearly unconvinced. “But if you don’t mind, could we take a walk away from it? I’d really like to talk to you. Woman to woman.”
That couldn’t be good. But Sam figured she owed it to the woman since she had spent most of the night before bouncing on her fiancé. Oh God.
“Sure, just head back the way you came, I’ll catch up.” She gave the goat a deliberate push in the opposite direction, then quickly followed in Cynthia’s mincing footsteps.
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