by Francis Ray
“We should be thanking Rowland for taking a chance on us. When the new turbo is developed, you’ll be the first to hear from us,” Dillon said.
“Thanks, and just so you know, in every interview I’ve mentioned Dillon’s design of the intercooler and Collins Industry.” Carson glanced between her and Dillon. “Today has been one of my best to date. I can’t thank you enough.”
“Putting Collins Industry out there is enough.” Dillon grinned. “Roman will get a kick out of me telling him about your spin after winning.”
Carson chuckled. “That he will. Mom says he’s getting back late from Elms Fork. You must be working him hard.”
Samantha shot a look at Dillon.
“It keeps him out of trouble,” Dillon replied.
“Yeah, because when he finishes he’ll be off someplace to relax and find a beautiful woman to pass the time.” Carson looked thoughtful. “I hope when I reach sixty, I still have as much juice as he does.”
“Yes,” Dillon said thoughtfully, his brows bunched.
Samantha knew he was thinking of what his mother and Roman might be doing. He’d called her after Carson’s win. From what she’d heard, Roman was with Marlene.
“We’ll say good-bye to your parents. Bye.” Samantha tugged Dillon away. Lines formed in his forehead. “Your mother is a grown, sensible woman.”
Dillon grunted. “Even sensible women can be seduced.”
Since Samantha considered herself sensible, and she knew where the night was leading, she didn’t say anything as they made their way to Carson’s parents. This time Dillon’s good-byes were quick. He pulled out his cell phone as soon as the hotel door closed.
Samantha grabbed it. “Leave your mother alone.”
“I don’t want him to take advantage of her.” He reached for the phone.
Samantha put the cell phone behind her. “If you didn’t trust Roman, he wouldn’t be your friend or work for you.”
“He’s a man.”
“Yes, and your mother likes him. He likes her. So back off.”
His eyes closed. “I hear what you’re saying, but…”
“You need to get your mind on something else,” she said.
His eyes snapped open. Unabashed naked hunger stared back at her.
Her breathing changed. “I was thinking of hitting the slot machines or gaming tables downstairs.”
“I have a better idea.” Catching her hand, they headed down the hall to her room.
Fourteen
Samantha could have protested, reminded him she was a sensible woman, but she pulled the key from her small purse and opened her door. She was barely over the threshold before the door slammed shut and she was in Dillon’s arms, his mouth ravishing hers. She returned the compliment. It was as if her body had waited a lifetime for this moment.
She arched against him, wanting more, needing more. He gave it to her with his greedy mouth and knowing hands. Her whimpers and moans drove him on. Clothes were cast aside in heated urgency until she was beneath him.
Fierce dark eyes stared into hers as she lay beneath him. “I promised myself I’d make a feast of you, and I plan to do just that.”
True to his word, his lips nibbled and licked their way down and over her body, each touch branding her as his. She’d never wanted this way, hadn’t known desire could leave her aching and trembling with need.
She wanted to run her tongue over the corded muscles of his chest, take his nipple in his mouth as he had hers now. The thought had no more formed than she was pushing him away to feast on him. Hearing his guttural moan of pleasure drove her on. She cupped him, ran her hand up and down the hard length of him. He was perfect in every way.
She was killing him, and he was enjoying every second. He was caught between the pleasure of her lips and hands on him and wanting his on her. He couldn’t wait any longer.
He rolled her over and he was on top. His eyes drank in her flushed beauty, the swell of her breasts. He quickly sheathed himself, thankful that when they’d hastily undressed he’d slipped the condoms from his pocket and shoved them under the pillow.
His mouth fastened on hers; he brought them together with one thrust. She clamped around him, stroking him. He gritted his teeth against his release, the pleasure so intense.
His eyes closed and he fought for control as she clamped her legs around his, her tongue tangling with his. Her body called to his. He began to thrust hard and fast. She met him stroke for stroke, her face against his neck. He’d never felt more, wanted more.
He breathed her name; she cried out his. They shattered together.
* * *
Blissfully happy with Dillon’s arms wrapped around her, her back to his front, Samantha snuggled closer, loving the feeling of being surrounded by him. His groin nudged her lightly, an unnecessary reminder of what had happened between them and what they were going to do again. She couldn’t wait. She’d never felt more content. She loved Dillon, had probably started falling for him when she was thirteen. He was all that she desired.
“Together we’ll take Collins Industry to new heights.” Dillon tensed. Lifting her head, she frowned at him over her shoulder. “What is it?”
“I haven’t changed my mind about leaving.”
Those seven words shattered her dreams and her heart. Her eyes shut. Pain and regret lanced through her. She scooted away, drawing the sheet with her, well aware that she might distance her body, but her heart was forever his. “Please leave.”
He reached for her. She shrugged his hand away.
“Sam, you can’t mean that.”
“I do. I won’t be used until you find my replacement.”
His brows furrowed. “What are you talking about?”
If he wanted it spelled out, she was hurting enough to give it to him. “I want what you can’t give me—family, home, permanence.”
Eyes that earlier had been filled with passion chilled. “I suppose Washington can,” Dillon snapped.
“If that was the case, I would have married him when he asked. Good night.”
Her easy dismissal of him ticked him off. She sat primly with the sheet clutched to her breasts when minutes ago he’d kissed and licked every inch of her, had been buried deep in her satin heat.
“I asked you to leave.”
So she had. With any other woman, he’d be out the door. “Why can’t you be happy with how things are?”
Up went her chin. He was learning Sam had a latent stubborn streak. “Because I deserve more.”
“Have it your way.” Dillon rolled from the bed, looked for his clothes scattered around the bedroom, and began dressing. He wasn’t changing for any woman or begging one. He slammed the door on his way out.
Samantha jumped at the angry sound, then lay down and curled into a miserable ball. She’d gambled and lost. She’d mistaken lust for caring. Her fault. Dillon hadn’t made any promises. Collins Industry was saved. Her grandfather and her parents would be proud of her.
She just wished that were enough.
* * *
Dillon had a horrible night and his morning wasn’t much better. It became worse when he decided to act as if nothing had happened and call Sam’s room. He’d reserved a car to take them to the airport.
“The guest in that room has already checked out.”
Dillon barely kept from slamming down the receiver. Downstairs, he had another surprise: Sam had paid their bills. Dillon was spitting mad and hadn’t calmed by the time he saw her waiting in the terminal to board.
He walked directly to her, his booted feet inches from her black flats. Her head was down, so she had to have seen him. He could be stubborn, too.
Ten minutes later, tired of people and their luggage banging against him, he reached out and lowered the e-reader. He was ready to blast her until he saw her lower lip tremble, and tears slid from beneath her sunshades. His anger disappeared. His gut twisted. “Sam.”
“First-class passengers for Flight 70721 to DFW can now board.
”
She slid her e-reader into her overnight case, picked it and her small suitcase up and headed for their gate. Dillon was left staring after her. As he followed slowly, it occurred to him that women didn’t fight fair. In any case, hadn’t he told her about those tears showing weakness? Sam just didn’t listen.
After working his way through the crowd waiting for the next call to board, Dillon boarded the plane. Sam, looking small and vulnerable, was already buckled into her window seat, her head buried in the e-reader.
He stored his luggage and took his seat, his long leg brushing against hers. She jumped, swinging her face toward him. He swore he felt an electric jolt, and it wasn’t static. She moistened lips that he hungered for, then turned toward the window.
His hand reached out to touch her trembling shoulder, but instead he straightened and leaned back in his seat. Perhaps it was best that he leave her alone. Despite his intention not to, he’d done it anyway. He’d thought she’d understood that their being together last night—no matter how unforgettable—wasn’t forever.
A man with gray hair came down the aisle, and Dillon thought of Roman and his mother. He reached for his phone on his belt. It wasn’t there. “Do you have my cell?”
After a few seconds that seemed like forever, Sam reached into her overnight bag at her feet and handed it to him—end to end. She was taking no chances of touching him again. He wasn’t keen on the idea either. “Thanks.”
He activated the phone, then remembered the two-hour time difference. She’d just be waking up in bed—hopefully alone—and the ringing phone would worry her. Shutting off the phone, Dillon tried to push away the erotic images of him and Sam last night, locked in passion and need, and hoped like hell Roman had gone home last night.
He didn’t want tears on his mother’s face.
* * *
She’d broken her promise to herself; she’d cried in front of Dillon. It was harder than she’d imagined ignoring him now that she’d experienced the arousing touch of his hands, his wicked mouth on hers.
The flight seemed to take forever before the pilot announced the approach to DFW. She wasn’t sure she could have lasted much longer. Each time Dillon moved—which seemed like every five minutes—his legs brushed against hers, bringing back memories of the wild night they’d spent together, her weakness for him.
As soon as the plane touched down, she grabbed the case in front of her feet. She’d rent a car. There was no way she was riding with Dillon.
The seat belt light clicked off. People stepped into the aisle to leave or grab luggage. Trying not to look at Dillon, she didn’t move to grab hers until he moved down the aisle. Then she jumped up to get her bag. It wasn’t there. Her gaze snapped to Dillon. He had her luggage.
He’d left her no choice but to follow him. Watching the easy way he moved, the broad shoulders and lean build, wasn’t helping her get over him. She caught up with his long-legged stride. “I want to rent a car.”
“People in hell want ice water.”
She was so struck by his response, she let him get several feet ahead of her before she caught up with him again. “Now, see—”
He swung around, his black eyes glittering. “Not happening, and unless you want both of us talking to airport security, you’ll save your tantrum for later.”
Samantha actually swung her arm back to throw her handbag at him—until she caught a man in uniform watching her. Flushing, she hurried after Dillon.
* * *
In his Ferrari, Dillon made the hour-long drive from DFW to Elms Fork in forty-three minutes. His jaw was clenched the entire trip. Sam could drive a man crazy. She was either tempting him to kiss her or shake her. It had taken all of his control not to stare at her long legs in the short skirt. He’d think she’d worn it to punish him if he didn’t know she played fair.
He wheeled into the driveway of Collins mansion at seventy miles an hour, reached eighty before easing off the gas, and came to a smooth stop in front. Without a word, he removed her luggage from the trunk and placed it on the porch by the front door.
She opened the door, picked up the luggage, and said a quiet, “Thank you,” as she passed.
The door closed quietly, and he wanted to kick something. She had no right to sound so wounded. He shoved his hand over his head and got back in the car.
Six minutes later, he pulled into his mother’s driveway and stopped in back by the garage. Her Volvo was still there.
She was usually at work by now, but knowing her, she’d stayed home to fix him a late breakfast and get an update. He just hoped she left Sam out of the conversation, but he knew it wasn’t happening. Opening the door, he was greeted by the smell of fresh-baked cinnamon-raisin bread, the sight of his mother smiling at the stove.
“Good morning,” she greeted him. “Roman said you and Carson made the AP news. I tried to call you and ask if Sam wanted to come to breakfast, but your phone was off.”
He stuck his hands into his pockets. “Sam and I are on the outs again,” he admitted, the words spilling out before he could stop them.
“Oh, Dillon.” His mother was no longer smiling at him. In fact, he had the distinct impression she was a bit annoyed with him.
“She wants me to stay and I can’t.” He went to the half bath to wash his hands, then returned to take his seat and say grace.
“Is that the only reason?” she asked.
Dillon was glad he didn’t have the coffee in his mouth. “What else could it be?”
“Hmmm.”
Dillon felt his face heat. His head down, he piled warm slices of bread, soft-scrambled eggs, pan sausages, and red-skinned potatoes that he didn’t want on his plate. He hadn’t fooled his mother. Worse, Roman might have left his mother with a smile, but Dillon had left Sam miserable.
* * *
Samantha would have liked nothing better than to crawl into her bed, pull the covers over her head, and cry—which would settle nothing. She’d still love Dillon and know he didn’t love her.
She showered again, dressed, and went downstairs. She had no idea if Dillon planned to come in today, but she wasn’t hiding from him.
Grinning, the cook held up the Elms Fork newspaper. Collins Industry had made the front page. There was a picture of her, Dillon, Carson, Tess, and Nathan. She looked happy.
“The whole town is buzzing,” Louise said. “Mr. Abe and your parents, God rest their souls, must be smiling down from heaven on you.”
“Thank you,” Samantha said, hoping her voice didn’t crack. “I’m going to the plant. I’ll probably be late tonight.”
“You don’t want anything to eat?”
It would stick in her throat. “No, thank you.”
“Tonight I’ll leave dinner in the refrigerator for you,” she said.
Samantha nodded then went to her car and drove to the plant. She made herself get out and discovered Louise had been right. Every person Samantha met congratulated her with handshakes, a hug, or both. People were excited about the company’s recognition. More than once she heard, “Abe would be proud.”
Tears stung her eyes, but she didn’t let them fall. She was not shedding one more tear. Dillon had given her all he could. It wasn’t his fault she wanted more.
* * *
Dillon arrived at the plant a quarter to twelve. He hadn’t come earlier because he didn’t want to see tears in Sam’s eyes. Once there, he was surprised at the well wishes from many of the people working there. Sparks at the security gate had been his usual snarly self, however.
Dillon wanted to go to the work area and start with the modification on the turbo, but he found himself in front of the door to the office he and Sam shared. He didn’t realize his hand was shaking until he turned the knob and stepped inside.
She glanced up from her desk, dry-eyed and serene. “Hi, Dillon. We’re getting a lot of calls for interviews about the intercooler. I put the notes on your desk. One of the largest auto supply houses left a message as well.”
“Was there something else?”
Dillon had the strongest urge to cross the room and kiss her until he melted the frost. Instead, he went to his desk and picked up the notes in her small, precise handwriting. If she could act as if nothing had happened, so could he.
“Mr. Kingston, this is Dillon Montgomery returning your call. How can I be of service?’”
* * *
Shortly before lunch Thursday morning, Samantha considered ignoring the knock on her door. She wasn’t sure she could keep pretending everything was all right in her world. Since their return, she and Dillon were ignoring each other, and she was miserable. But she had a company to run.
“Come in.”
Evan entered her office, and she wished she had followed her first thought and ignored the knock. For once, he didn’t appear so cocky.
“Uncle Evan, I’m busy. I’m doing an interview in ten minutes.” She barely kept from sighing. Mark had insisted on doing a follow-up piece. She wasn’t so sure he wouldn’t pick up that things had gone badly between her and Dillon. He’d jump to the obvious and, unfortunately, correct conclusion.
“Maybe I should stay in case there are any questions,” he suggested, taking a seat in front of her desk. “I might have been wrong in my estimation of your ability to run the company. With my help, we can put Collins back on the map. I’ve already had a couple of calls about purchasing our turbochargers.”
“So have I.” Tossing the pen on her desk, she leaned back in her chair, working the muscles in her neck. She had been going over orders since eight. “Mark did a good job of getting Collins Industry out there. Nathan and Carson Rowland helped.”
Evan’s eyes gleamed. “Nathan is a multimillionaire. He comes from old money when oil and land were moneymakers. His family got out before the economy tanked. Racing is his hobby. He has his fingers in more pies than anyone can count. When he says something, people listen.”
“You’d never know it. He and his wife are as down-to-earth as they come. So is Carson,” she told him.