by Lisa Plumley
“You know,” Sam said, “your mother has an overdeveloped mothering instinct. But I think she means well.”
Surprised, Holly looked up at him. “You do?”
“Sure. If she didn’t care, she wouldn’t spend all that energy trying to tell you what was best for you.”
Grinning, he accepted two cranberry margaritas from a passing waiter. He handed one to Holly, then raised his glass. “To true love.”
“To relentless men,” she said, raising hers also.
“Touché.”
They both drank. Sam set his glass on a damask-skirted table, then looked around. “Now that we’ve greeted, made an appearance, and toasted each other, can we slip out of this shindig?”
“You don’t like parties either?”
Tugging at his bowtie, he made a face. “Not this kind. I’ve had enough of these press-the-flesh, networking things to last a lifetime. But I’ll stay if you want to.”
Holly thought about it. “Now that my mother has already talked to us and restyled my hair, I don’t think she’ll miss us if we make an early getaway. There are just a few people I want to say hello to.”
Her “few people” took nearly an hour to say hello to, especially since she had to introduce Sam to each one. Surprisingly, no one asked her about Brad—and for that Holly was grateful. She didn’t want to make any explanations, at least until everything was settled between them.
Outside the hotel, the Christmas ambiance continued. Lush evergreen wreaths decorated the stucco exterior walls, along with red velvet bows and trailing lengths of ribbon. A row of paper luminarias, filled with clean sand and lighted candles, lined each side of the saltillo-tile path around the landscaped grounds. There wasn’t any snow, and the jingle bells were strictly of the recorded variety, but Holly loved it.
Sam caught hold of her hand and squeezed gently. After that, she loved it that much more.
“Why do you have to go to so many parties if you don’t like them?” she asked him, reaching up to brush her fingertips along the canopy of feathery mesquite trees. Within their branches, tiny Christmas lights twinkled.
“Goes with the job.” He shrugged. “I guess there’s a certain amount of glad-handing that goes with any kind of work.”
“But construction?”
“No, my other job. My faraway life in Tucson. Remember? The road to tenure is paved with hard work, publication, and about a million faculty parties.”
At that, Sam looked so aggrieved that Holly had to laugh.
“See? That’s exactly what I was talking about earlier. I’ve spent so much time seeing you rip my house apart—”
“Hey! I think the remodeling is going well.”
“—that I forget about your alter ego. What’s it like to be a college professor?”
They passed an open archway. The sounds of conversation and holiday music drifted outside.
“It’s probably not the way you imagine it,” Sam replied. “Less ivy-covered halls of academia and more Animal House. I teach night classes—Composition, Literature, and some remedial English—mostly to returning students.”
“Dropouts?”
His expression was indecipherable. “Sometimes. Or sometimes my students are just people who’ve had life interfere once too often with their plans. They’re the ones old enough”—he frowned—“no, determined enough—to really value what they’re learning.”
Stopping abruptly, Sam pulled her close. “And that’s probably more than you ever wanted to know about any of it.”
With no warning at all, he danced her the rest of the way down the luminaria-lit path.
By the time they stopped, Holly was breathless. So was Sam, but he didn’t seem to mind. She decided she should have been taking spontaneity lessons from him all along. He made it all seem so effortless.
Wondering why they’d stopped dancing, she looked around. They’d arrived at a landscaped border of fuchsia bougainvilleas. In the darkness beyond it, the hotel pool shimmered turquoise, surrounded by a deserted deck and more candle-filled luminarias.
“Mmmm. The water looks good.” Sam gave her a reckless wink. “Let’s take a swim.”
“It’s December!”
“It’s December in Arizona,” he reminded her. “We live in the desert, remember?”
“It’s still too cold for swimming.”
He shrugged. “The water’s probably heated.”
“The hotel pool is for hotel guests only. They’re very strict about that here,” Holly argued. “They have security, you know. Besides, we’d have to go home first and get swimsuits.”
“Who said anything about swimsuits?”
She put both hands on her hips. “My dress is new, and your tux is a rental. You’ll forfeit your deposit if you take a dip.”
Sam grabbed his tie and yanked it free. “Who said anything about wearing clothes?”
Five minutes later, Sam was as naked as the day he was born, chest-deep in the warm water of the hotel pool. Feeling carefree, he ducked his head underwater and came up shaking drops of it from his hair.
“Come on in. The water’s fine,” he called to Holly.
She shook her head and held her ground at the edge of the pool. He couldn’t read her expression, but the moonlight caught every sexy curve beneath her white dress, teasing him with her nearness. So close and yet so far.
“Don’t make me come over there and get you,” he warned with a grin.
She didn’t budge. Sam swam closer.
“You wouldn’t dare,” Holly said when he was halfway there.
“I wouldn’t?”
He stood, making rivulets of water run from his body into the pool. Holly developed a sudden, apparently overwhelming interest in the lush bougainvilleas that secluded the pool area from the rest of the hotel. She crossed her arms over her chest, staring fixedly into the distance. On a lounge chair just behind her, his dress shoes, tuxedo and shirt lay where he’d dropped them—now folded neatly, thanks to Holly.
“Nobody’s around.” Sam started toward her through the shallow end, goose bumps prickling his skin. It was a lot warmer in the water than out of it. “Come on. It’s fun.”
“I never said I’d go skinny-dipping with you,” Holly reminded him, pushing her bare toes against the pool deck. She’d taken off her shoes while his back was turned, and stowed her strappy sandals on the lounge chair beside his clothes.
She chewed her lip, looking vaguely guilty. “I’m not… Well, you might as well know the truth. I’m not really the spontaneous type. It was all an act.”
“You’re kidding.”
“It’s true. I can’t help it.”
Sam came closer. She backed up.
“I even planned the whole spontaneity thing,” she confessed.
“If you’re trying to scare me off, it won’t work. I’m already hooked.” He smiled. “I’m at your mercy.”
Her eyebrows lifted. Holly did look at him then, but only at his face. She studiously avoided the bare-naked rest of him. “You’re at my mercy?”
“Absolutely.”
He reached the steps, almost close enough to grab her. Almost close enough to drip pool water on her bare feet. Sam was laying himself bare for her, naked in every way. The idea of that was enough to send a sane man screaming to the hills, but he wanted Holly to know the man who loved her. If that made him crazy, then Sam didn’t care.
“Okay, then.” She narrowed her eyes at him in a contemplative, amused look. “If you’re really at my mercy, prove it.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Stand back. I’m afraid you’re going to toss me in the water.”
He laughed, moving closer. “Very perceptive. The idea had crossed my mind.”
“Well?”
“Anything but that.” He scooped her in his arms and carried her toward the pool.
“Let me go!”
“If you don’t quit kicking and wriggling, I just might drop you.” Sam stopped at the pool’s edge
. He grinned at the woman in his arms. “Well?”
“Okay, okay,” Holly relented. “Just let me down first.”
“No way. You’ll chicken out.”
“I won’t. I promise. Look! I’ll prove it.” Giving him an unreadable glance, she unwound her scarf from her throat. The sheer fabric fluttered as she tossed it to the lounge chair. “See? I’m all ready to go.”
He decided to risk trusting her. “That makes two of us.”
Taut with anticipation, Sam lowered her to the steps. At the first lap of water over her toes Holly shivered, but she was as good as her word. Biting her lip, she held his biceps for balance and waded farther. Her white dress dampened by inches, clinging to her thighs and hips, highlighting each subtle curve and intriguing hollow. Too quickly, pool water enveloped her from the waist down.
Surprise lit her features. “It is warm!”
To his astonishment, she dived underwater, dress and all.
In the pool lights he glimpsed her movements, fluid and graceful as she swam. Her red hair was a dark cloud around her face; her dress a whispery white trail. Moments later, she’d made it to the opposite end of the pool.
Naturally enough, Sam realized, she was making him chase her for every inch of progress.
He did, swimming after her with powerful strokes. Catching Holly with both hands around her waist, he drew them both to the surface. She laughed, her skin sparkling with dampness. Her dress molded wetly to her body—to his hands—as though it had been designed exactly for this. Her face shone with elation, framed by her chlorine-scented, slicked-back hair.
“I didn’t think you’d do it,” Sam said, panting a little.
“I’m braver than you think,” she informed him, wriggling slightly as she clutched his bare shoulders. “I’ve been doing all sorts of risky things lately.”
“Oh, yeah?”
A grin. “Yeah.”
“Risk this.” Digging one hand in her hair, Sam tipped her head back and kissed her, hard.
She welcomed him with a ferocity that matched his own. Damn, but he wanted her. He dragged Holly closer, loving the feel of her tight against him, the feel of her breasts pressed against his bare chest.
They drifted in the water, mouths still exploring, and all he wanted was to never stop touching her. With a groan he kissed her neck—small, deliberate bites, then tongue-sweet kisses along the base of her throat. Holly moaned, the low, husky sounds she made as potent as wine. They sent desire shivering through him. She felt it, too, felt and breathed desire with every sigh, savored it with every bite of her fingernails against his back.
“Oh, Sam…”
It was too much and not enough, all at once. He cupped her breasts, making the water eddy between them, and through her soaked dress her nipples rose to meet his thumbs. He stroked slowly, slower, making the good feelings last. Holly made him feel something beyond simple desire, beyond anything he’d experienced before. He wanted to strip away her dress, wanted to take her there in the water, on a lounge chair, on the pool deck. He wanted somebody to shut off the lights that were blinding him.
Sam squinted past Holly. At the pool’s edge, an industrial-strength flashlight was trained directly on them. Beyond the brightness, he saw the silhouetted figure of a uniformed, pot-bellied man.
“Break it up, folks,” the man drawled. “Or get a room, at least.” He chuckled. “This here’s a private pool, and it’s closed for the night.”
The hotel security guard—Sam realized that had to be who it was, judging by the uniform—motioned with his flashlight.
“I’d hate to have to arrest you both for indecent exposure, too, along with the trespassing charge,” he said without a trace of regret. “So you’d best put your clothes on, sonny.”
“I can’t believe he actually had us arrested.”
Shaking her head, Holly gripped the cold bars of the holding cell issued to her and Sam at the county jail. She peered down the dank corridor leading to the front of the jail. No action there. Except for the snoring of the drunk who’d been asleep in the adjacent cell when they arrived, everything was quiet.
Behind her, one of the gray metal cots squeaked as Sam sat on it. He rested his forearms on his thighs and loosely clasped his hands together, looking almost as relaxed as he had in the middle of the pool at the Cheshire hotel. He was dressed now, except for his tuxedo jacket and tie. They lay where he’d tossed them at the foot of the cot’s mattress.
“I feel like a criminal,” Holly complained, brushing vainly at her wrinkled, still-damp dress. Its matching scarf hung limply around her neck. She ran her tongue over her teeth, wishing fervently for a toothbrush.
She headed for the cot—barefoot, because they’d kept her high-heels for some inexplicable reason—and stopped in front of Sam. There was no way she’d actually sit on the mattress. Who knew what kind of people had used that thing?
“But then I guess I have a criminal record now, don’t I?” Holly went on. “I’ve been arrested and booked into jail.”
Booked into jail. “Booked into” sounded wrong, as if she’d made reservations at an exclusive resort. Sure—Casa de la Criminal.
None of this seemed to be making a dent with Sam. Holly waved her arm wildly at him.
“Into jail!” she wailed, feeling slightly hysterical. “Do you know I’ve never even been inside a place like this before, much less been thrown into one?” She paced across the gritty concrete floor. “Here I am, in jail,” she muttered, halfway to herself. “The slammer, the joint, the hoosegow. Dear Lord, what am I doing here?”
Sam gazed calmly back at her. “It’s only a trespassing charge. The hotel decided to get tough with us, thanks to the vandalism problems they’ve had lately.”
She frowned, remembering the lecture they’d endured in the office of the hotel manager while waiting for the Saguaro Vista police to arrive. As if she, a perfectly upstanding citizen, were likely to vandalize lounge chairs, dump paint in the water, or paint graffiti on the pool deck. The very idea rankled.
“So it’s a night in jail, no sleep, and a fine,” Sam continued. “It’s no big deal.”
Holly gaped at him. “What are you, a career criminal?”
“I’ve had my share of scrapes with the law.”
“What?”
This was what she got for being spontaneous. She’d become involved with a wanted man. A felon. An ex-con, maybe. It sounded like a bad late-night “B” movie. Babes Behind Bars, Part Two—Sam Returns. Holly grabbed the cell bars again and gazed toward the door leading to freedom. She might have known changing her life would lead to disaster.
“It wasn’t anything serious,” Sam said. “Some stupid high-school pranks, a couple of drunk-and-disorderly charges. I’ve changed my ways since then.”
He tried a grin. Holly wasn’t having it. Sure he was charming—the dangerous ones always were, weren’t they?
“I’ll just bet you’ve changed your ways! Changed them right into jail again, you mean. Why didn’t you tell me you’d been arrested before?”
“It never came up.” He shrugged. “This will blow over in no time, you’ll see. Don’t worry. Everything will be fine.”
“Fine? No, it won’t be fine.”
She felt like shrieking at him, but she didn’t. She was afraid they’d put her and Sam in separate cells if they argued too loudly. The only thing worse than being locked up in a jail cell would be being locked up in a jail cell without Sam.
She was still mad, though. Mad and scared. Holly jabbed her forefinger at his chest.
“This is what comes of being irresponsible,” she told him. “This is what comes of crazy stunts like skinny-dipping in a private pool at midnight. This”—she paused for emphasis—“is what happens when you don’t plan ahead.”
Her point made, Holly stomped to the other end of their cell. She crossed her arms over her chest, not looking at him. Wait until the people at her office heard about this. She’d probably be fired on the spot. After all h
er hard work, too.
It just wasn’t fair. Why, oh why, had she let Sam talk her into going swimming with him?
“You can’t plan your whole life.” He crossed the cell, then stopped behind her. His hands lowered to her shoulders, warm against her bare skin. “You can’t plan who you fall in love with.” He kissed her shoulder. “Life happens to you. You have to take the good with the bad.”
Holly whirled to face him. “Oh, no, I don’t. I’m not standing by waiting for life to take its chances with me. Only a fool does that. Everything I’ve gotten, I’ve gotten because I worked my tail off for it. I’ve done a damned good job of it, too!”
Her eyes filled with tears. Why did that always have to happen when she got mad? Angrily, she blinked them away.
“So don’t you tell me to just take what life hands me,” she cried. “Because I won’t do it.”
“So now I’m a fool, then?” Sam stepped back. “Now I’m the stupid one, because I’m not a neurotic, compulsive Felix Unger wannabe with a retirement plan and a set of matching towels?”
She gasped. “I should never have told you about that!”
“About which, the retirement plan or the towels?”
“Neither!”
“You tell ‘em, sister!” the drunk from the next cell shouted. He’d awakened during their argument and now had his grizzled old face pushed halfway through the bars to watch the final round. He waved his fist in encouragement, then winked at Holly.
“Give ‘em what for, honey,” he slurred.
Sam’s eyes narrowed. His face darkened. Holly had never seen him mad before—it was an education. Their whole relationship was an education in mistakes not to repeat again.
Sam nodded toward the drunk. “Friend of yours?”
Holly glared at him.
“No, wait. You wouldn’t have anything to do with someone who wasn’t perfect, would you?” Sam asked. “You can’t be bothered with somebody who’s made a few mistakes.”
“Somebody such as…an ex-felon like yourself?” she inquired with a lift of her eyebrows. “I know better now.”
Hurting too much to look at him any longer, she turned away. Sam didn’t try to stop her. Stony silence descended upon their cell, only to be broken by the scrape of a key in the door at the end of the corridor. They both looked expectantly toward it.