by Claire Marti
She emerged from the pool, and in the dusky light, she resembled a shimmering mermaid rising from the sea. Every muscle in his body stiffened. Oh yeah––mermaids lured the sailors to their deaths against the hungry, perilous rocks.
“I was just getting some fresh air. I’m leaving now. Carry on.” He stepped back and would have escaped, but her whisper floated toward him on the breeze.
“You startled me, that’s all.” Her voice had softened, the razor sharp edges blunted.
He retreated another step. Sweet Samantha was too tempting.
She snatched up a plush striped towel from the chaise lounge next to her, wrapped it around her shoulders, and sank down onto the chair without uttering a sound.
“Are you okay?” Her silence was out of character. He inched closer. How could he leave her now?
Her heavy sigh carried across the short distance between them. “I’m sorry. It’s just all of this is giving me flashbacks.”
Oh shit. He took another step. “No, I’m sorry. Did your family really have paparazzi spying on you?” She’d just been a kid when her mom passed away.
She swallowed. “You don’t want to hear all of this. I’ll head back to the house and let you do…” She waved around one slender hand, “whatever it was you were doing.”
“Tell me.” He sat on the other end of the lounge chair and set his guitar down next to him. “What happened?”
She hesitated and her pale fingers clutched the towel even closer around her. The thick fabric enveloped her petite frame, all the way down to her slender ankles. She looked vulnerable. Young.
He held his breath, needing to know. Wanting to help her feel better. Unable to leave her now.
“I don’t really talk about it, but the period of time almost destroyed our family. My mom died in a freak accident on the set of a period piece my Dad was directing. She fell and broke…she fell and broke her neck. I was on set that day and…” She squeezed her eyes closed and exhaled a loud breath.
Damn it. Why had he pushed her? “Sam, I’m sorry. You don’t have to tell me––”
“Let me finish. I’d been doing my homework and it sounded like a car crash or an explosion. I’ll never forget that sound as long as I live.” She gave a tiny shake of her head. “Some jerk sold a story to one of those gossip rags claiming my mom was having an affair. And that there was a major screw-up with the equipment and claimed there should be an investigation for negligence or worse, foul play. They even said my dad was involved. After that the harassment didn’t stop, even though it was all a pack of lies. You’d think my mom was Princess Diana or something the way they stalked us. They’d camp out in the front yard, line up along our street, plant reporters and cameras everywhere. Helicopters.
The paparazzi lurked at our school and Dylan even got hurt running away from a stupid reporter. The neighbors began to complain, and mind you, this was Bel Air and it’s chock full of celebrities. They just kept coming with ugly innuendos and lies designed to sell more magazines and papers.” Sam’s voice was low and her gaze remained down at her clasped hands. Even in the dim light, the white of her knuckles signaled her distress.
“I had no idea. I’m so sorry––” His stomach clenched and the urge to console her coursed through him. No wonder she’d freaked out about the movie. What if the paparazzi caught scent and tried to resurrect the story?
“It all jumbles together, you know? Her death. The movies. The damned media. We wanted to mourn and couldn’t do it until my dad packed us up and we left it all behind.” She raised her face to him and the bright moonlight reflected off of the crystallized tear traveling down one flawless cheek.
He reached across the distance and brushed away the solitary tear with his thumb. Just to comfort her. He slid his hand across her silky cheek and gently cupped her jaw. Unable to stop, he leaned in and pressed his lips against her perfect full mouth.
She jolted the moment Holt’s strong fingers brushed across her face. The heat of his touch seared her icy skin and the tenderness in his expression froze her breath in her throat. How had this happened? She’d confessed things to him she’d never discussed with anyone but her sisters.
Her mind blanked when his firm sculpted lips captured hers in a whisper of a kiss. He changed the angle of the kiss, coaxing her lips apart. Both of his hands framed her face now, holding her immobile, unable to escape his dangerous mouth. Her lips parted helplessly beneath his assault and a hum escaped her throat when his tongue tangled against hers. Hot sparks shot straight down to her center and any water droplets still clinging to her from her swim evaporated in the charged air.
Her protective towel slid away and she wrapped her arms around his neck, thrusting her fingers into his thick, unruly golden hair. He tasted delicious, a hint of the citrus from the chardonnay mingled with something darker, forbidden.
More. She wanted more.
As if he’d read her mind, he yanked her closer and molded her against his muscular torso. His clean masculine scent surrounded her. She was losing herself in the sensation of his lips, his arms, and his presence, just as she did in the music and the flow in ballet. No longer thinking, simply experiencing. Living. Savoring.
An inane thought burst through her foggy brain––she was soaking his shirt with her wet bathing suit. She managed to lift her heavy eyelids halfway. Was her vision blurry or was steam pumping off of them now? Did it matter? Flames licked along her skin and their shared heat continued to rise.
Time ceased to exist as he explored every corner of her mouth, every nuance in her kiss. His focused attention and the single-mindedness of his embrace pulled her deeper. She was drowning and sliding further beneath the surface, reveling in the descent.
He pulled his mouth from hers and trailed kisses along the side of her neck, the stubble from his square jaw eliciting a violent shiver down her spine. When he pressed an open-mouthed kiss on her collarbone, her head lolled back. A moan split the air. Was that her? Every single spot where his lips connected with her burned.
“Samantha.” His breath seared against her flesh. He brushed his mouth along her collarbone and one hard palm curved over her breast. She arched into him, her nipples leaping to attention, chafing against the rough material of her ancient bathing suit.
His hand tightened on her taut nipple and he yanked her top down and paused, gazing at her breast. He groaned. Stroked her. Once. Again.
She squirmed, unable to catch her breath when his tawny head shifted down and his hard warm tongue scraped against her sensitive skin. Her back bowed and she bit back a scream at the intensity of the pleasure.
He growled and one arm snaked around her, pulling her in even closer. His hot mouth covered her breast and he raked his teeth across her nipple. Her head fell back again and heat permeated her being, the dampness no longer just from her bathing suit. He jerked his head away from her breast and captured her mouth again. The languid exploration vanished and his kiss turned hard and wild. With one hand possessively cupping her breast, he lifted her to straddle his lap. Her hips rocked against his of their own volition.
She dug her fingers into his thick, silky hair, abandoning anything other than the powerful sensations flooding through her. His hands were everywhere––roaming down her bare back, sliding up her waist, cupping both breasts. His rough calloused palms captured her hips, molding her against him and leaving no question of his iron-hard arousal. She stroked her hands down his beautiful carved biceps and back up to curve around his powerful neck. She arched against him, hungry for more.
His hands curved around her hips and slid inside the loose edges of her bathing suit, his long fingers cupping her bottom.
“You’re a perfect handful everywhere. So beautiful. So perfect.” He buried his face against her neck again and his breath seared against her skin. “I want you.”
“Holt.” She arched away from him, but couldn’t leave the temptation of his embrace. “This is crazy. We don’t even like each other.”
He slowly lifted his golden head and his heavy-lidded gaze roamed across her face and then pinned her own.
For a moment, only their panting punctuated the evening air. Was her chest heaving? Was heaving a thing outside of historical romance novels? Her heart thundered against her ribcage like she’d just sprinted from one end of the ranch to the other. She licked her suddenly dry lips.
His gaze dropped from hers and fixated on her mouth again.
She pressed one hand against his chest. “Holt.” Her voice came out breathier than she would have liked. Breathier than it had ever sounded before.
“I don’t know, sweetness, it feels like we like each other. A lot.” His sculpted mouth curved up into a half-smile.
His wicked, dangerous mouth.
Space, she needed to put some space between them before she did something she regretted. What was she doing? Holt was only here for a few weeks and could she afford to complicate things more than they already were? She’d already revealed too much. She scooted off his lap and landed with a hard thump on the chaise. She snatched her towel up of the ground and wrapped it around her. Protection. A layer of protection.
She peeked over at him. Even in the dim light from the pool house, the imprint of her body stood out against his pale grey T-shirt. A giggle escaped her.
“Are you laughing at me?” Holt quirked a blond brow. He looked down at himself and chuckled. “Nice, I look like I went swimming myself.”
“Sorry about that.” Not too sorry.
He angled toward her and she hopped off the chaise, wrapping her towel more tightly around her. If he touched her again, she’d be lost. No, she needed to think. She needed to slow this down. Whatever this was.
“Are we going back to hating each other now?” He leaned back, his damp t-shirt stretching across his broad chest, revealing the chiseled muscles. She bit the inside of her lower lip to prevent herself from drooling. Or worse, throwing caution to the wind, tossing off the towel, and climbing back onto his lap.
“I never hated you.” Should she cross her fingers on the little white lie?
“Oh please. Two words––tease mare.” He straight white teeth flashed in the dim light.
“Okay, you were pretty obnoxious. And I don’t want the movie here.” She shrugged one shoulder. “But maybe you aren’t all bad.” She could flirt right back with him. That’s what they were doing, right? Flirting?
“Yeah, I’m obnoxious. But you’re temperamental and blunt.” His voice maintained the thread of humor, belying the insult.
“I am not temperamental. I prefer quick tempered.” She laughed. “I’ve got to be blunt. Breeding horses isn’t exactly a role governed by Miss Manners.”
“Truce?” He stretched one powerful hand out toward her.
“Truce.” She clasped his warm hand for a moment, savored the rough texture, and then retreated a step.
They stared at each other, the silence comfortable now. Her pulse still raced and she willed it to slow. Change the subject.
“How long have you played?” She pointed to the guitar leaning against the chaise.
“Ever since I was a kid. Just for fun. I was just going to play a bit until you yelled at me.” A mischievous grin played across his face.
“I didn’t yell. Do you sing too?” Please no, it would be too sexy. Why did the picture of him strumming those long fingers across the strings make her heart slam against her ribcage?
“Not well.” He stood and picked up the guitar in one fluid motion. “Look, I understand more now why protecting the ranch is so important to you. To your family. I can’t imagine what it must have been like for you. If that had happened to my mom or sister, I would have gone nuts.”
He stepped closer to her, his eyes solemn. “We didn’t experience anything like that, but my dad bailed on us when I was in high school. I swore I’d never let anything harm them again. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure no press gets anywhere near your home, okay?”
Sam’s stomach took a long slow roll. “I’m sorry about your dad. That’s rough. It’s just a lot at once. Everything’s happening so fast and with my dad directing too…” She shook her head. “It’s just a lot.”
“Don’t worry. I’m going to head back. Want another hug?” A dimple winked in his lean cheek and his eyes darkened.
“Hug, yeah right.” She snorted. “That wasn’t a hug and you know it. Let’s sit on this for a while. It’s safer.”
If he touched her again, he wouldn’t be going back to the guesthouse alone and her frayed emotions couldn’t handle the complication. What else didn’t she know about him? He cared about his mom and sister––his protectiveness made him more appealing. Although, he lived on the road. Did he want to be a stuntman forever? Had he been in love before?
“Playing it safe is over-rated, Samantha.” He brushed the pad of his thumb across her swollen lower lip, turned, and sauntered away.
She touched her mouth, still swollen and tender from his kisses. Had today really happened? From her breakdown on set, to her father’s shocking decision, to Harry’s bombshell about her mother, to Holt. The decade of blessed serenity at Pacific Vista Ranch and freedom from the past was finished.
No matter what happened, she had changed already and the movie hadn’t even begun filming. Would her family ever be the same again? What would happen when the crew loaded up and shipped out?
When the movie ended, it meant Holt would leave too.
Going back to her room alone was her only option.
15
Holt carefully placed his beloved Martin guitar onto one of the large leather recliners without bothering to attempt a chord. He strode to the gleaming stainless-steel refrigerator, grabbed an icy cold bottle of water, and pressed it to his overheated forehead. What the hell had just happened?
One minute he was savoring the quiet evening, ready to settle his mind by playing some music, and the next moment, he’d lost himself in the sexiest woman he’d ever met. Her lips were the sweetest he’d ever sampled. Her sleek, compact body and her perfect little breasts with their sensitive nipples and silky skin plastered against him thrilled him. When she’d been on his lap and he’d slid his hands under the blessedly loose elastic of her wet bathing suit, he’d almost cried when her heart-shaped bottom fit into his hands, as if she was made for him.
He’d almost tossed her back onto the chaise lounge and taken her there with the moon shining down and the mild Southern California breeze washing over them. Almost crossed a line he couldn’t afford to cross. His body stiffened again as he remembered––her mouth, her passionate response, her openness.
He ripped the lid off the water bottle and chugged half of it, willing the frigid water to cool him off. He smacked the bottle onto the granite countertop and listed the reasons why touching Samantha McNeill again was a terrible idea.
Movie.
Investment.
Retire and start agency.
Move mom and sister to California.
No room on the agenda for a bad-tempered, bossy, irritating, independent, resilient, absolutely seductive woman. Her strength and backbone impressed him.
Damn it.
What now?
He couldn’t have an affair with Sam. It was too messy. Harry would kill him. Well, if Chris McNeill didn’t rip him from limb to limb first. Samantha belonged on Pacific Vista Ranch and he belonged…well, maybe nowhere.
He chugged the rest of the water. Hell, he should dump it over his head. He prowled around the guesthouse. Why her? If anything, Dylan was more his usual type. Sweet, artistic, and kind. Why was he attracted to Samantha when the twins looked exactly alike?
Was it seeing her vulnerability this morning when she’d cried? Hell, was that actually only this morning? Was it because he was finally getting a clue about the hell she and her family had endured in addition to losing their mom? What had seemed like an over-the-top reaction before made sense now. Why the hell hadn’t Harry given him more of a warning?
Damn it. H
e’d just have to avoid her. That’s all. He’d be leaving in a few weeks, like he always did. Friends. He’d act like friends with her if he saw her. He’d sworn to himself he wouldn’t be an asshole any longer. He could handle it, right?
And he was stalking around his temporary home muttering to himself. Thinking too damn much.
His guitar. He’d play his guitar. Playing always allowed him to channel whatever was happening around him or at least escape from it. His faithful guitar had saved him during those years he’d dropped out of school after his dad left. Although he worked and finished school at night, he had found time to play whenever he could. Thank goodness he’d never needed more than four to six hours of sleep.
He picked up his treasured guitar and settled back into the deep couch cushions. He closed his eyes and began to play one of Chris Cornell’s most melancholy songs, “Like a Stone.” Holt couldn’t sing, but he could play. The familiar notes slipped through his fingers and the heartbreaking beauty of the tune softened the stiffness around his shoulders.
Pictures of Samantha’s face, soft and aroused, still wouldn’t fade away.
He’d play a little longer, but he needed a cold shower to relegate Sam to the friend zone.
An icy cold shower.
Sam flipped over onto her stomach and yanked her fluffy pillow over her head, but the soft down failed as a barrier against the incessant buzzing tormenting her. It stopped. Silence. Blessed silence.
She rolled over, flopped onto her back and prayed for sleep to find her. She’d tossed and turned all night, memories of Holt’s kisses sending flashes of heat through her body. She’d tried counting sheep, she’d tried counting backwards from one hundred––what a stupid exercise that was––but cool, calm and quiet eluded her. Imagine that.
The last time she’d glanced at the clock it was 2:36 a.m., and damn it, she needed more sleep. She pulled her soft duvet cover up to her chin, snuggled deeper into her comfortable queen bed, and sighed. Her muscles relaxed and she settled into her comfy nest and…